LE

TO S. C. S.

ET your own worth my pardon plead,
While in my eyes you daily read
What language muft not, cannot speak;
Can you difdain these tearful eyes,
This heavy heart, surcharg'd with fighs,
That countless from my bosom break.
Ah! no; a heart attun'd like thine,
In which the fofteft graces fhine,
Will pity when it can't relieve;
And when afpiring hope it chills,
Will footh where tyrant beauty kills,
And blunt the edge of its award.
In this sweet hope my foul fhall reft,
And tho' it never can be blefs'd

With more than pity's balmy dew;
That kind compaffion deep imprefs'd,
Shall ftamp thy image on my breast,
And feal the love and honour due.

In vain will distance intervene,
And time confpire with change of scene,
My fix'd attachment to crafe;

Nor beauty's charms, nor fortune's fmile,
Shall e'er my heart from thee beguile,
Or check its fond its fervent blaze.

My last expiring day fhall fee,
The tend'reft wishes dwell on thee;
And when the embers cease to burn,
E'en when I close my dying eyes,
I'll bear thy mem'ry to the skies,

And my first thoughts to thee shall turn.

W. H,

FROM AN ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. WILLIAM MASON.

ARK from its height the folemn organ breathe;

MA

'Twas His own hand that plac'd the mufic there : Lift to the infant choir that chaunts beneath;

'Twas His Own task their early fong to rear.

Behold the white-rob'd minister of heav'n,
(Such was he once !) the hallow'd rites begin;
Tell of the grave subdued, a Saviour giv❜n,

Life without end, and bliss unftain'd by fin.
Hark! heard you not the grating chords withdrawn?
Then fought mortality her last abode;

There waits the blush of that eternal dawn,

Which "bids the pure in heart behold their God." Hark! "Earth to earth"-the lifted spade behold! With lift'ning awe behold each face o'erfpread!— With fullen found, the emblematic mould

Drops on the hollow manfion of the dead!

"Ashes to afhes"-yet again the found!
Accordant groans from every breast reply;
"Duft to-" in fobs the failing voice is drown'd,
The bursting, forrows itream from every eye.
Clos'd be the funeral fcene! On feraph wing
Let hope the dead purfue to realms above;
View him to meet his bleft MARIA fpring,
Nor fear the agonies of fever'd love.

For hope was his, and faith's celeftial ray:

Faith could the gloom of fever'd love affuage; Brighten'd in manhood's golden prime the lay *; And warm'd, with holy flame, the song of age T

* See the Elegy on the Death of a Lady.

+ See the Sonnets on the Anniverfary of his Birth Day, 1795 and 1796, a third on the Anniversary in the laft year (February 23) was communicated by him to some of his friends. The author was then feventy-two.

His breast of lawlefs anarchy the foe,

For Britain fwell'd with freedom's patriot zeal *;
Nor thus confin'd, for every clime would glow,
And in a flave's a brother's wrong could feel:

Could feel, o'er Afric's race when avarice spread
Her bloody wing, and shook in scorn the chain;
While juftice, hand in hand by mercy led,

To Chriftian fenates cried, and cried in vain!
Now their new gueft the facred hofts include,
They who on earth with kindred luftre fhone;
Whom love of God to love of man fubdu'd,

Nor pride nor avarice fear'd the heart to ftone. There fhall he join the bards, whofe hallow'd aim, Sought from the drofs of earth the foul to raise; Difdain'd the meed of perishable fame,

And funk the poet's in the Chriftian's praise. There, 'mid empyreal light fhall hail his GRAY; There MILTON thron'd in peerless glory fee; The wreath that flames on THOMSON's brow furvey, The brighter crown that, CowPER, waits for thee!

TH

SONG,

FROM THE IRISH.

HOU dear feducer of my heart!
Fond cause of every ftruggling figh!

No more can I conceal love's fmart,
No more reftrain the ardent eye.
What, though this tongue did never move
To tell thee all its master's pain;
My eyes, my looks have fpoke my love,
My charmer! fhall they fpeak in vain?

My fond imagination warm,

Prefents thee at the noon-tide beam;
And fleep gives back thy angel form,
To clafp thee in the midnight dream.

* See the Secular Ode on the Anniversary of the Revolution.

Elvina, tho' no splendid store,
1 boaft a venal heart to move,
Yet, charmer! I am far from poor,
For I am more than rich in LOVE.
Pulfe of my beating heart! fhall all
My hopes of thee and peace be fled?
Unheeded wilt thou hear my fall?
Unpitied wilt thou see me dead?
I'll make a cradle of my breast,
Thy image all its child fhall be;
My throbbing heart fhall rock to rest

Those cares which waste thy life and me.

A.

SONNET

TO THE MOON.

THOU bright orb, with borrowed light so fair,
Now rifing o'er a flumbering world again,

With what a kind and unremitting care,
Thou lookeft down upon the fons of men.
How oft with Delia have I feen thee rife,
Tow'ring fublimely thro' the boundless skies;
And heard the fong of Philomel-but when
Together shall we more behold thy ray,
And hear the lover-foothing warbler fing,

Oh! never!-she is mouldering fast to clay:

And very foon these eyes shall lose thy light,
Nor longer fee the ruddy morning bring,

The dazzling monarch of the gladsome day;
For fun and moon fhall fink in everlasting Night!
August sft.

ORLANDO.

Literary

で

Literary Review.

The Life of Catharine II. Empress of Ruffia; with Seven Portraits, elegantly engraved and a correct Map of the Ruffian Empire. In Three Volumes. The Second Edition, with confiderable Improvements. Longman and Rees.

THIS

HIS female fovereign has long attracted the attention of Europe, and now the is removed to the regions of the dead, her character may be fully inveftigated. This task is performed by the author of this work, who fhews that he is well acquainted with the fubject.

It cannot be expected that we enter into the detail of the history of this extraordinary woman-her talents for government are well known-fhe was poffeffed of all that art and cunning necessary to keep a large multitude in fubjection. Means, however, were occafionally employed which no honeft mind would have adopted.

We fhall lay before our readers an extract or two, by which they will be able to judge of the manner in which the work is executed. It is a performance of merit, with the perufal of which we were much entertained. The afcenfion of Catharine to the throne, was attended with the murder of her husband, Peter III. an account of which is in the first volume largely detailed. The Emprefs was deemed acceffary to the business, though an hypocritical proclamation was fent forth on the occafion.

In the fecond volume we meet with the following curious account of CATHARINE:

"An