Three tedious moons, with cheerlefs ray, Had vainly gilt the face of night; Nor yet the hero took his way, To blefs his drooping fight! At length thro' Rena's fav'rite grove, ; When now the fourth her radiance shed He came and vict'ry's wreath was wove→ But, ah!-around a lifelefs head! Distracted at the blasting fight, To yonder tall cliffs bending brow, With beating breafts, fhe urg'd her flight, And would have fought the waves below! But while, with fteady gaze, fhe view'd And whisper'd to her foul "forbear !" And now the ftorm of grief was o'er ; Diftill'd the flow and filent fhow'r, Nor ceas'd-'till life's own fprings were dry ! H 2 For For this, around yon hallow'd grave B. The Convict's Petition. AT length emerg'd from yon opprobri ous cell, This fhameful front hath met the public eye At length ye fleeting fcenes of life farewell! And clofe on-a wretch prepar'd to die. What tho' the tide of complicated woe, Hath fince the barriers firm of vice o'er born; What though pent up from all that's dear, below, My grief-rent heart hath never ceas'd to mourn. What What though reflection hath a gloom o'er fpread, Oft as it trac'd unnumber'd follies paft, What though my bonds have to repentance led, And arm'd myself refignant foul at laft. Compunction for a wife, the friend of truth, Whofe fteady heart from virtue never fwerv'd And fad remorfe for my poor childrens youth, Oh My firmness have difarm'd, my foul unnerv'd. ye that throng and prefs to fee my fall, My lateft pangs and penitence to scan, O flight not now misfortunes latest call, Nor fhut your eyes against a dying man. Though terror armed justice lifts on high Her angry rod, and executive fword; Tho' thoughts of death have rais'd a frequent figh, And oft' in filence I've my fate deplor'd. Oh spare my orphan babes and guiltless wife, Supprefs the tale of calumny and shame And let the day that robs their fire of life, From mem'ry's tablet wipe my guilty name. To fcreen from famine's too oppreffive pow'r, The infant clufter that exclaim'd for bread; I wrought a deed, O moft difaftrous hour, When at affections' fummons virtue fled ! With-hold not then compaffion's cheering ftcre, I afk not for myself the precious boon, For thofe, alas! I plead who need it more, For death fhall clofe on me and mifery foon. Yet, yet, ye meffengers of death forbear, One fentence more my justice would un fold; A truth which well impatient youth might hear, Nor lefs a leffon to the grave and old. Drop Drop not the reins of caution from your grafp, But early queil each bold advance to vice, Left your imprudence like the 'venom'd afp, Into the fatal fiare your steps entice. Heaven grant my words, the clouds of giult difpel, My fate inftru&t mankind this rock to fly, And now, ye fleeting fcenes of life, farewell! Come, close upon a wretch prepar'd to die. C. A. The |