Dufom. (Returning to the bower, and fighing.) How, alas, have my defires been obftructed !-Could I do lefs than kifs the lips of my charmer, though her modeft cheeks were half averted; lips, whofe fweetness had enchanted me, even when they pronounced a denial?-Whither now can I go?-I will remain a while in this arbour of creepers, which my darling's prefence has illuminated. (Looking round.)—Yes; this is her feat on the rock, spread with bloffoms, which have been preffed by her delicate limbs.-Here lies her exquifite love letter on the leaf of a water lily; here lay her bracelet of tender filaments, which had fallen from her fweet wrift.-Though the bower of twining Vétafas be now defolate, fince my charmer has left it, yet, while my eyes are fixed on all thefe delightful memorials of her, I am unable to de

part- (Mufing.)-Ah! how imperfectly has this affair been conducted by a lover, like me, who, with his darling by his fide, has let the occafion flip.Should Sacontalá vifit once more this calm retreat, the opportunity fhall not pafs again unimproved: the pleasures of youth are by nature tranfitory.Thus my foolish heart forms refolutions, while it is distracted by the fudden interruption of its happiness. Why did it ever allow me to quit without effect the prefence of my beloved?

Bebind the fcenes. O king, while we are beginning our evening facrifice, the figures of blood-thirfly demons, embrowned by clouds collected at the departure of day, glide over the facred hearth, and fpread confternation around.

Dufem. Fear not, holy men.-Your king will protect you. (He goes out.

ORIGINAL.

Who deeply feels, in nice defcription

fails,

And breathes his forrows to the heedless gales.

The poet writes from rules of cautious art, And feeling feigns to catch the reader's heart.

But I, alas, can feign no feeling here; And all my art is Pity's fimple tear. And yet, 'twere ill the story thus to clofe,

Though friendfhip bids her ruin'd name repofe;

For haply here, by friendlier planet blefs'd,

Some artlefs Fair, alike by Vice carefs'd, In happy hour her mournful fate fhall learn,

And through the vifor fmooth the villain's face difcern.

Then briefly know what friendship

fain would hide,

Nor fpurn the wretch, though frowning prudes deride.

A time fle fhone in glare of guilty ftate,

A fplendid offering to the pamper' Great;

An idle toy to court curft Fashion's fmile,

And tell the town a Lordling whored in style.,

With feign'd endearments, and with mimick fire,

To roufe a drivelling lecher's coarse defire;

With nauseous dalliance fill his vacant

hour,

And hang dependent on a hated power; In forry fmiles to dress an aching heart, And bafely truckle in the wanton's

art;

To drudge through life a mere convenient tool,

And huckster fin to ferve a loathfome fool;

This was her fordid task! her wondrous gain

For yielded virtue and for trufted fame! Oft tow'rds her home fhe turn'd a wiftful eye,

And oft in flence heav'd a stolen figh: But paft thofe fimple fcenes of former days,

The morn's fresh task, the evening's fweeter plays;

Mute too the pipe the lov'd fo well to hear,

When thought was peace, and all her breaft was clear:

Naught now was her's but noife and empty fhow,

The fmooth profeffion and the secret foe,

The tedious pomp, that cumbers awkward state,

The midnight revel and the noify fête ; But what where thefe, with all their boaft to please,

To one calm hour beneath her village

fient ray day, light,

In fudden ftorm withdrew its facred

Methinks I view, in wavy tatters hung, With forrow, ficknefs, and repentance ftung,

A lean and loathfome band-Seduc tion's fpoil.

Bight:

toil!

But, oh, how hard to fathom deepest ills,

And drain the cup that wayward Fortune fills!

Bankrupts in fame, and bare to every blast,

Wedded to wo, and worn with meagre fast,

Outcasts from heaven, and long estrang'd on earth,

Hopeless in life, and curs'd with timeless birth;

At death's dim hour when tyrant conscience wakes,

And cruel Memory counts her poifon'd fnakes,

Oh, hear their maniack prayer, in mercy hear,

And o'er their wanderings drop a pardoning tear!

ODE.

ΟΥΤΙΣ,

The following ODE was written by a young Lady in the North of England, who for many years had been oppressed with a hofieless consumption.

NOT to the rofy maid, whom former hours

Beheld me fondly covet, tune I now The melancholy lyre; No more I feek Thy aid, Hygeia! fought fo long in vain,

But 'tis to thee, O Sickness ! 'tis to thee
I wake the filent ftrings; accept the lay.
Thou art no tyrant waving the fierce
fcourge

O'er unrefifting victims-but a nymph
Of mild though mournful mien, upon
whofe brow
Patience fits fimiling, and whose heavy

eye,

With tears of extafy-fuch tears perhaps As Angels love to fhed.

Thefe are thy gifts, O Sickness! these to

me

Thou haft vouchfaf'd, and taught me how to prize.

Shall my foul fhrink from aught thou haft ordained?

Shall I e'er envy the luxurious train Around whofe path Profperity has ftrew'd

Her gilded toys? Ah, let them still pur. fue

The fhining trifles; never fhall they know

Such pure and holy pleasures as await, The heart refin'd by sufferings.—Not to them

Does Fancy fing her wild romantick fong,

"Tis not for them her glowing hand undraws

The facred veil, that hides the angelick world.

They hear not in the musick of the

wind

THE Historical Society of Massachusetts deserves every praise and every encouragement. It is honourably fulfilling the design of its founders, and realizing the expectations of its friends. As the principal object is the elucidation of the antiquities and history of America, without disregarding collateral topicks of inferiour consideration, we can assure the publick that these intentions have been partly accomplished with no ordinary success during the vigorous youth of the Society, and will certainly be completed in the bursting and bony manhood of its existence. The nine volumes of Collections already published give evidence of this honest applause. We do not indeed find, and perhaps we have no right to expect, the elegant disquisitions of French antiquarians nor the laborious archeology of German academicians; but the philosopher is always compensated by the discovery of facts, by naked truth, by real existence, by essential evidence, and these were the substantial nutriment, by which alone the mighty minds of Bacon, Newton, Euler, and the

The volume opens with the act of incorporation, the laws and regulations of the Society, and circular letter of the late learned Belknap on its objects and wishes. An Appendix follows of ten numbers on the articles, on which the Society want information; pamphlets and tracts wanted; directions for preserving animals; Dr. Cutler's method of preserv. ing the skins of birds; method of preserving animals, collected by Mr. Peck from various authors; method of preserving birds and other animals, from the Philosophical transactions; method of collecting and preserving vegetables, by Dr. Lettsom; Mr. Peck's method of taking impressions of vegetable leaves, by means of smoke; method of preserving marine productions, by Dr. Lettsom; directions for the collecting of mineral and fossil substances, by the same. whole of this appendix is useful and ingenious, and is very properly published for general circulation in this work, for by it we best know what communications are most wanted; and the botanist, the huntsman, and mariner are instructed how to preserve delicate foliage, the truth of nature, and all the varieties of ex

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