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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
The foaming billows, void of fear,
Religion at her right hand ftood,

And whisper'd to her foul "forbear !"

And now the ftorm of grief was o'er ;
Yet melancholy's weeping eye

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
The myrtle and the laurel bloom;
There fleep the lovely, and the brave;
Oh! fhed a tear upon their tomb.

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.

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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

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