"Ah, luckless train! ah, fate-devoted race; “The dreadful tale, experience tells, believe; "Dark heavy mifts obfcure the morning's face, "But blood and death fhall close the dreary eve. "This day, fell man, whofe unrelenting hate "I, who so oft have 'fcap'd th'impending fnare, She faid; when lo! the pointer winds his prey, In vain the mother wings her whirring flight, H. P. THE THE SCULL'S ADDRESS, ON BEING LOOKED ON. WHY start! this case will yours be very foon, In fome few years, perhaps the coming moon, And worlds were ranfack'd but for me to fhare. Already Already fure lefs terrible I seem, And like me, shall own that life's a dream. you, Farewell! remember! nor my words despise, "The only happy are the early wife.” INCOG. THE EASY CHAIR. COME, thou indulgent friend to foft repose, Whether with crimfon, green, or yellow lin'd; Come with thy downy lap, and let's embrace When man can't faunter thro' the filent grove, Indulge in folitude his weary hours ; When chilling damps, or winter's nipping froft, Denies access to filent hawthorn bow'rs: Oh grant him heav'n! grant him your next best gift, The soft, reclining, gentle, eafy chair: Mother Mother of meditation, and the nurse Here now accept a vot'ry at thy fhrine, C. B. [The following well-imagined and affecting elegy, was written by a young gentleman of fashion, upon the lofs of a most amiable wife.] AN ELEGY. In every varied pofture, place, and hour, IN YOUNG. N Burton's favourite groves, alas, how chang'd By Charlotte's death! oft let me devious rove Indulging grief; where glad fome once I rang'd, In fweet fociety with peace and love. Oft Oft in the filent evening, all alone, When folemn twilight fhades the face of day, The plaintive mufe fhall hither waft her moan; With tendereft paffion here infpire my lay. Thefe hours, allotted to that mufe's hand, And in luxurious forrow prompt the tear. Recall, foft fame of gentleness and love! That blooming texture by the graces wove : One more-and then-farewell! one lingering view Tore my fond foul from all it held fo dear: 'Twas o'er!-farewell-my joys: fweet hope, adieu ! -Adieu, my love!-we part for ever here: No! in the ftill of night, my reftless thought Pursues thy image thro' its change unknown; Steals oft unnotic'd to the dreary vault, And in that vale of forrow pours my own: For, |