For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat :
These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain,
These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain;
With these celestial Wisdom calıs the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.

MRS. GREVILLE.

BORN 17-, DIED 17.,

PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE.

Ort I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary: For once I'll seek my wish to gain

Of Oberon the fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

Who liv'st in woods unseen; And oft by Cynthia's silver light

Trip’st gaily o’er the green.

If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd

As ancient stories tell;
And for th’ Athenian maid who lov'd,

Thou sought'st a wond'rous spell.

O! deign once more t'exert thy power!

Haply some herb or tree,
Sovereign as juice from western flower,

Conceals a balm for me.

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I ask no kind return in love,

No tempting charm to please ;
Far from the heart such gifts remove,

That sighs for peace and ease!

Nor ease, nor peace, that heart can know,

That like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But, turning, trembles too.

Far as distress the soul can wound,

'Tis pain in each degree;
'Tis bliss but to a certain bound

Beyond—is agony !

Then take this treacherous sense of mine,

Which dooms me still to smart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,

To pain new pangs impart.

O! haste to shed the sovereign balm,

My shatter'd nerves new string;
And for my guest, serenely calm,

The nymph Indifference bring!

At her approach, see Hope, see Fear,

See Expectation fly!
And Disappointment in the rear,

That blasts the purpos'd joy.

The tears, which Pity taught to flow,

My eyes shall then disown;
The heart, that throbb'd at other's woe,

Shall then scarce feel its own.

The wounds, which now each moment bleed,

Each moment then shall close; And tranquil days shall still succeed

To nights of sweet repose.

O fairy-elf! but grant me this,

This one kind comfort send ! And so may never-fading bliss

Thy flowery paths attend !

So may the glow-worm's glimmering light

Thy tiny footsteps lead
To some new region of delight,

Unknown to mortal tread !

And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrosial dew,
From sweetest, freshest flowers distillid,

That shed fresh sweets for you.

T, DAVISON, LOMBARD-STREET, WHITEFRIARS, LONDON.