NDIFF'RENCE come! thy torpid juices thed On my keen fenfe: plunge deep my wounded heart, In thickelt apathy, till it congeal,
Or mix with thee incorp'rate, Come, thou foe To fharp fenfation, in thy cold embrace A death-like flumber shall a refpite give To my long reftlefs foul, toft on extreme, From blifs to pointed woe. Oh, gentle Pow'r, Dear fubftitute of Patience! thou canst ease The foldier's toil, the gloomy captive's chain, The lover's anguish, and the mifer's fear.
Proud Beauty will not own thee! her loud boat Is Virtue-while thy chilling breath alone Blows o'er her foul, bidding her paffions sleep. Mistaken caufe, the frozen fair denies Thy faving influence. Virtue never lives, But in the bofom, ftruggling with its wound: There she supports the conflict, there augments The pang of hopeless love, the fenfeless stab Of gaudy ign'rance, and more deeply drives The poifon'd dart, hurl?d by the long lov'd friend; Then pants with painful victory. Bear me hence, Thou antidote to pain! thy real worth
Mortals can never know. What's the vain boast Of Senfibility but to be wretched?
In her beft transports lives a latent fting,
Which wouuds as they expire. On her high heights Our fouls can never fit; the point so nice, We quick fly off-fecure, but in defcent. To Senfibility, what is not blifs
Is woe. No placid medium's ever held Beneath her torrid line, when ftraining high The fibres of the foul. Of pain, or joy,
She gives too large a fhare; but thou, more kind, Wrapp' up the heart from both, and.bidd'st it rest In ever-wish'd-for cafe. By all the pow'rs
Which move within the mind for diff'rent ends, I'd rather lofe myself with thee, and flare Thine happy indolence, for one short hour, Then live of Senfibility the tool
For endless ages. Oh! her points have pierc'd My foul, till, like a fponge, it drinks up woe. Then leave me, Senfibility! be gone, Thou chequer'd angel! Seek the foul refin'd: I hate thee! and thy long progreffive brood, Of joys and mis'ries. Soft Indiff'rence, come!
In this low cottage thou shalt be my guest, Till death fhuts out the hour: here down I'll fink With thee upon my couch of homely rush, Which fading forms of friendship, love, or hope, Mut ne'er approach. Ah! quickly hide, thou pow'r, Thofe dear intruding images! Oh, feal The lids of mental fight, left I abjure My freezing fupplication.-All is ftill. Idea, fmother'd leaves my mind a waste, Where Senfibility muft lofe her prey.
The STORY of FOSCARI.
[From the Second Book of POLWHELE's English Orater,]
Where light the gaudy gondolas glance o'er The fubject gulf of Adria-Mercy there Sheds agonizing tears, as terror points To young ingenious Fofcari; whose fad fate Told in Venetian story, hath afpers'd Its page. Donato, a Venetian lord, Near his piazz'd dome, at twilight eve, Fell by a hand unknown; when, fudden, paft A flave of noble Fofcari-who, ere morn,
Had fled from Venice. Hence the fenate deem'd The eloping menial but an instrument
Of Fofcari's fancied villainy. O loft- Too early loft to all thy country's hopes,
Much injur'd youth! What tho' thy purer fame, Thy undifguis'd demeanor, and thy looks Of open candor, mingled every charm Which might have feal'd the eye, that never felt The clofing lid-Sufpicion's reftlefs orb- The guilty stain!-No figh from Virtue's foul Avail'd to foothe the fenatorial voice, That bade thee fly Venetia's rage, and hide 'Mid Candia's cliffs, an exile-Candia, once The glorious feat of legislative fame, The nurfe of antient Minosthe retreat
Of heaven's bright race; where each ambrofial vale Embower'd a god! Ah funk amid the ifles, A den for flavery, whilst Oblivion's breath Spreads o'er its hundred cities, as the dews Of its own Lethe !-Yet its groves, ftill rich With fruits and foliage, wave-its yellow fields, With various grain; and its purpureal hills Still fwelling with the clustering grape, announce The promis'd vintage!--but in vain they wave,
In vain they blush, to the poor exile's eye Which wildly wanders o'er the reftlefs furge; And ftraining from the lone beach to the mists That dim the horizon, afks if fome white fail Might, haply, gain upon the fight-fome bark Streaming the well-known pendant. Many a year Heavily linger'd, while "thro' hope deferr'd Sicken'd his heart"-tho', oft, her golden light Gleam'd, flectingly-when, near, Venetian Tails Seem'd o'er his freshen'd fpirit, as they came, To waft the fweetnefs of his native air! Alas! his friends, tho' pitying, fill declin'd The mediatorial taík. To Milan's duke (Now his last hopeless refuge) he entrusts His prayers for friendly refcue-with a flave, Who, faithlefs, tó Venetia's lords betrays The tale of woe. Incens'd the nobles hear- And (as their law condemns the wretch who flies To foreign potentates) remand him home Doom'd to feverer anguish. His wan limbs Now ftretch'd along the wheel of torture, hangs Upon his bloodlefs lips the faultering voice:
May heaven forgive my perfecuting foes- My heart forgives them! yet, a moment, Yet, but a moment, pity! while I tell That him who bore my meffage I believ'd In treachery not unpractis'd; nor misdeem'd He would betray the truft! thus, o'er the feas Hurried to meet my judges, I yet hop'd Once more to vifit the delightful fpot
That gave me birth-to fhare, thro' racking pain- Tho' death repay'd, a friend's laft lingering looks; And bathe my bofom in parental tears,
And die in peace!'-He fpoke, and look'd around In vain, for Mercy, thro' the prifon-gloom- She beam'd not, there. Instead of Mercy's voice, The fentence echoed; That, to Candia's ifle Returning, he should lie, for one long year, Chain'd to the defolated dungeon; thence, (The term expir'd) to wander o'er its rocks Thro' life an out-caft. Yet, one little space The defpot's pity granted, for the throbs Of filial duty from its fondeft joys For ever torn. His age-bent parents came- The venerable father-on whose brow Hoar Time had scatter'd many a filver hair Distinctly trac'd, and who full thirty years Had worn the purple-the pale mother, wild Thro' grief- My fon (exclaim'd the fire) 'tis thine To bear thy fate with firmnefs!' 'Tis a fate,
(Anfwer'd the finking Fofcari) which I dread • Beyond the extremer agonies that rend
The struggling frame! O by this bursting heart ♦ Which ever own'd affection's pureft glow, • Warm for a parent's welfare-by the tears Of innocence, that afk a father's love To give it yet unfullied to the world— • O, by the mercies of a Saviour, fhield Thy fon-nor let each folitary groan • Beat-the flow knell of his departing foul!' Alas! my Fofcari! my power were vain- • Submit thee to thy country's laws'-the doge Replies; and hurrying from his fon's embrace, Shiver'd thro' mifery's keener pangs too sharp To fuffer, 'till the chillness that benumbs The fainting, ic'd his aged bofom o'er Yet left life's feeble fpirit!-but to paint The mother's form-O ye, whofe hearts have felt The fond maternal yearnings-ye, whose eye Hath caught the laft fir'd glances of your child Juft finking into death's cold dews-'tis yours- Severe preheminence! to paint that form. At length, the dire disastrous story ran Thro' Venice: and the accumulated woe Touch'd the relenting fenate; while Remorse That strove to borrow the benignant air Of Mercy, the poor exile's pardon feal'd. Strait flew the mandate of recall: (for long In Candia's pris'n immur'd, the youth had mourn'd His country loft-) But ah! too late the ray Of Mercy glimmer'd. Lo the hapless youth, Amidst his difmal durance as he breath'd
The folitary groan, on the drear wall
Had etch'd his tale of mis'ry and expir'd.
MON A. An ODE. By the fame Author, [An Original Communication.]
HROUD-in the billowy mift's deep-bofom fhroud
"My ravish'd ifle!"the voice was vain!
Mona! mark yon' kindling cloud
That feems to fire the main :
As flashing to the incumbent skies, Broad the hoftile flames arise From the reverential wood; Red its central gloom with blood! Many a white-rob'd Druid hoar Totters in the stream of gore; Meets the falchion's furious blow; Sinking, execrates the foe!
HILE Charlotte confcious that he loves,
W Would hide the crimfon's tranfient hues
She veils the blush, which only proves A heart to love and Corin true, In erring maids that fondly ftray
A tinge as bright as thine we fee; Yet clouded looks its fource betray Unknown to innocence and thee.
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