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Three tedious moons, with cheerless ray,
Had vainly gilt the face of night ; Nor yet the hero took his way,
To bless his drooping fight !
At length thro' Rena's fav’rite grove,
When now the fourth her radiance shed; He came-and vi&t'ry's wreath was wovem
But, ah !--around a lifeless head !
Distracted at the blasting sight,
To yonder tall cliffs bending brow, With beating breasts, she urg'd her Alight,
And would have fought the waves below!
But while, with steady gaze, she view'd
The foaming billows, void of fear, Religion at her right hand stood,
And whisper'd to her soul “ forbear !"
And now the storm of grief was o'er ;
Yet melancholy's weeping eye Distillid the flow and filent show'r, Nor ceas'd—till life's own springs were dry !
For For this, around
grave The myrtle and the laurel bloom ; There Neep the lovely, and the brave ;
Oh! Thed a tear upon their tomb.
The Conviet's Petition.
T length emerg'd from yon opprobria
ous cell, This shameful front hath met the public
eye At length ye fleeting scenes of life farewell !
And close on-a wretch prepar'd to die.
What tho' the tide of complicated woe,
below, My grief-rent heart hath never ceas'd to
What though reflection hath a gloom o'er
spread, Oft as it trac'd unnumber'd follies past, What though my bonds have to repentance
And arm’d myielf resignant soul at last.
Compunction for a wife, the friend of truth, Whose steady heart from virtue never
fwery'd And sad remorse for my poor childrens
youth, My firmness have disarm’d, my soul un
that throng and press to see my fall, My latest pangs and penitence to scan, O Night not now misfortunes latest call,
Nor shut your eyes against a dying man.
Though terror armed justice lifts on high
Her angry rod, and executive sword ; Tho' thoughts of death have rais'd a fre
quent figh, And oft in silence I've my fate deplor'd.
Oh spare my orphan babes and guiltless wife, Suppress the tale of. calumny and shame
; And let the day that robs their fire of life,
From mem’ry's tablet wipe my guilty
To fcreen from famine's too oppressive pow'r, The infant cluster that exclaim'd for
bread; I wrought a deed, O most disastrous hour,
When at affections' summons virtue fled !
With-hold not then compassion's cheering
store, I ask not for myself the precious boon, For those, alas ! I plead who need it more, For death shall close on me and misery
Yet, yct, ye messengers of death forbear, One sentence more my justice would un
fold; A truth which well impatient youth might
hear, Nor less a lesson to the grave and old.
Drop not the reins of caution from your grasp,
But early queil each bold advance to vice, Left your imprudence like the 'venom’d asp,
Into the fatal snare your steps entice.
Heaven grant my words, the clouds of giult
difpel, My fate instruct mankind this rock to fly, And now, ye feeting scenes of life, fare
well! Come, close upon a wretch prepard to die.