то

R U
U

I N.

I

ALL hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word,
The mightieft empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The minifters of Grief and Pain,

A fullen welcome, all!

With

1

With ftern-refolv'd, defpairing eye,

I fee each aimed dart;

For one has cut my dearest tye,

And quivers in my heart.

Then low'ring, and pouring,

The Storm no more I dread;

Tho' thick'ning and black'ning,

Round my devoted head

II.

And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd,

While Life a pleasure can afford,
Oh hear a wretch's pray'r!
No more I fhrink appal'd, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care!

When shall my foul, in filent peace,

Refign Life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbings cease,

Cold mould'ring in the clay;

No

No fear more, no tear more,

To ftain my lifeless face, Enclafped, and grasped Within thy cold embrace!

то

ΤΟ

MISS L—.

With BEATTIE'S POEMS for a New-year's Gift. Jan. 1. 1787.

AGAIN the filent wheels of time

Their annual round have driv'n,
And you, tho' fcarce in maiden prime,
Are fo much nearer Heav'n.

No gifts have I from Indian coafts

The infant year to hail ;

I fend you more than India boasts

In Edwin's fimple tale.

Our fex with guile and faithlefs love
Is charg'd, perhaps too true;
But may, dear Maid, each Lover prove

An Edwin ftill to you.