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Rude spoiler of the ruin'd year!
Come, vainly pour thy vengeance here-
Shake from it's stalk the blossom vernal-
Thou ne'er shalt blight the flower eternal,
TRUTH's blooming flower; whose fragrant rose
In MARY's breast undying glows.

Stern WINTER, let thy rage approve
The fadeless flower of Truth and Love!

Come, Genius of the rushing storm!
The darken'd face of Heaven deform-
Come, veil from mourning mortals' sight
The Sun of Day, the Star of Night.
What, what to me the clouded sky?
My sun, my star, is MARY's eye.
Nor darkness, nor the storm shall move
The heart secure in MARY'S love.

Yes, WINTER, thou to me shalt bring
The bliss of AUTUMN, SUMMER, SPRING:
Yes, MARY'S converse shall beguile
Thy frown, and bid it wear her smile:
Yes, let the tempest's rage encrease,
When all within is joy and peace:
Yes, yes, not all thy wrath shall move
The heart secure in MARY's love.

Still as returns DECEMBER'S cloud,
Still as the bleak winds whistle loud,
Shall we to home's calm scene retire,
Serenely trim our social fire;
While Love, amid the Winter's gloom,
A Rose-bud in the wild shall bloom:
Say, ruthless tyrant, canst thou move
The heart secure in MARY's love?

Then Memory shall the past endear;
Hope fondly hail the future year,
And as the Seasons' silent pace

Steals from that cheek one fading grace,
VIRTUE shall give the charm sublime,
That lives beyond the Death of Time:
Nor Time, nor Winter's blast shall move
The heart secure in MARY'S LOVE!
JANUARY 1, 1804.

SONG.

THE blushes that glow on my cheek,
The sorrows that swell in my eye,

Say, whence are their source, and why thus do I heave
The frequent, the half-represt sigh?

Why thus from society fled,

Does reflection such pleasures impart,

And why do I welcome the pang that it brings,

As the dearest delight of my heart?

O! 'tis there that an image appears,
Which can silence or solitude cheer,

Which sooths the keen anguish, which prompts the

soft sigh,

And turns into rapture the tear.

A. N.

DISDAIN.

A RHAPSODY.

YE, whom stern Fate has doom'd to prove
The hard vicissitudes of Love,
Does Memory retain ;

Or has opposing Reason found
In all the passions' hostile round,
A rebel like DISDAIN?

Sure, not the pain which Beauty gives,
When hopeless Truth the wound receives,
And Fancy aids the spell,

Can make the slighted heart so pine-
Whose pangs, O Tityus! rival thine,

Though thine were fram'd in hell.

For who can bear th' averted look,
Or who with gentleness can brook
The haughty-gleaming eye?-
If Love with blear illusion sees,
Why is he not stark blind to these--
O Nature! tell me why?

Or if the kindly-proffer'd hand
Is with indignant warmth disdain'd,
Or touch'd with torpid pride-
Duller than Lethe's stream his blood,
Colder than Cydnus' icy flood,

That feels no feverish tide.

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Too fierce, alas, I feel the flame,
Too quick it rushes through my frame,
Impell'd by Cælia's scorn;-

And though I drag a galling chain,
Yet, to relieve me from the pain,
I cannot, cannot fawn!

T. PARK.

SONG.

THOSE days of delusion were days of delight,
How blest was each morn, and how tranquil each night,
For Friendship a garland I hung on each tree,
And Love in return dropp'd his myrtle for me.

If time shew'd the flatt'ring falsehood too plain,
If faithless the Friend, and if perjur'd the Swain,
I have mourn'd; but shall Sorrow for ever engage,
And benumb with its frost till the winter of Age.

The cold breast of Caution let Apathy steel,
And Feeling refine till it ceases to feel,
With a warmth more exalted my bosom shall burn,
And Friendship and Love shall yet meet their return.

A. N.

ON THE

CLAMOURS OF MODERN REVOLUTIONISTS.

THEY who for Freedom idly rave,
And set no bounds to what they crave,
But still for Freedom brawl;
Ne'er think that Liberty's excess
Borders on wild Licentiousness,

And would but more enthral.

Distracted Gallia's lengthen'd sighs
Have shown what real ills may rise
From speculative good;
And prove by reason unconfin'd,
Each anarch passion of the mind
Begets a monstrous brood.

So, from the pregnant womb of Nile,
The Ethiop hopes his arid soil

With liquid wealth may flow;
But if too far it leaves his shores,
The unresisted deluge pours

Fecundity of woe.

T: PARK

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