"Tis our Jehovah fills the heav'ns; as long
As he shall reign Almighty we are strong.
We, by devotion, borrow from his throne,
And almost make Omnipotence our own :
We force the gates of heav'n by fervent pray'r,
And call forth triumph out of man's defpair.

Our lovely mourner, kneeling, lifts her eyes,
And bleeding heart, in filence, to the skies;
Devoutly fad-then, bright'ning, like the day,
When fudden winds fweep fcatter'd clouds away,
Shining in majefty, till now unknown,
And breathing life and spirit scarce her own,
She, rifing, fpeaks: If these the terms'

Here Guilford, cruel Guilford! (barb'rous man!
Is this thy love!) as fwift as lightning ran,
O'erwhelm'd her, with tempeftuous forrow fraught,
And ftifled in it's birth, the mighty thought.
Then, bursting fresh into a flood of tears,
Fierce, refolute, delirious with his fears,
His fears for her alone, he beat his breast,
And thus the fervour of his foul exprefs'd:

• Oh! let thy thought o'er our past converse rove, • And fhew one moment uninflam'd with love!

• Oh! if thy kindness can no longer last,

In pity to thyself forget the paft!

Elfe wilt thou never, void of fhame and fear, • Pronounce his doom whom thou haft held fo dear. Thou, who haft took me to thy arms, and swore • Empires were vile, and Fate could give no more; • That to continue was it's utmost pow'r,

• And makehe future like the present hour: Now call a ruffian, bid his cruel fword

Lay wide the bofom of thy worthlefs lord;

• Transfix his heart (fince you it's love disclaim) And ftain his honour with a traitor's name.

This might perhaps be borne without remorse, • But fure a father's pangs will have their force! Shall his good age, fo near it's journey's end, • Thro' cruel torment to the grave defcend?

His fhallow blood all iffue at a wound,

Wash a flave's feet, and smoke upon the ground?

But he to you has ever been severe ;

Then take your vengeance

Suffolk now drew near,

Bending beneath the burden of his care,

His robes neglected, and his head was bare.
Decrepit Winter, in the yearly ring,

Thus flowly creeps to meet the blooming Spring:
Downward he caft a melancholy look,

Thrice turn'd to hide his grief, then faintly spoke.
• Now deep in years, and forward in decay,

• That axe can only rob me of a day:

;

For thee, my foul's defire! I can't refrain
And shall my tears, my laft tears, flow in vain ?
• When you fhall know a mother's tender name,

My heart's distress no longer will you blame!'
At this, afar his burfting groans, were heard ;
The tears ran trickling down his filver beard:
He fnatch'd her hand, which to his lips he prefs'd,
And bid her plant a dagger in his breast;
Then, finking, call'd her piety unjust,
And foil'd his hoary temples in the duft.

Hard-hearted men! will you no mercy know?
Has the queen brib'd you to distress her foe?
O, weak deferters to Misfortune's part,
By false affection thus to pierce her heart!
When she had foar'd, to let your arrows fly,
And fetch her bleeding from the middle sky.
And can her virtue, fpringing from the ground,
Her flight recover, and disdain the wound;
When cleaving love, and human int'reft, bind
The broken force of her afpiring mind?

As round the gen'rous eagle, which in vain
Exerts her strength, the ferpent wreaths his train,
Her ftruggling wings entangles, curling plies
His pois'nous tail, and ftings her as the flies.

While yet the blow's first dreadful weight the feels,
And with it's force her refolution reels;

Large doors, unfolding with a mournful found,
To view difcover, welt'ring on the ground,

Three headless trunks of thofe whofe arms maintain'd,
And in her wars immortal glory gain'd:

The lifted axe affur'd her ready doom,
And filent mourners fadden'd all the room.
Shall I proceed, or here break off my tale,
Nor truths, to ftagger human faith, reveal?
She met this utmoft malice of her fate
With Chriftian dignity and pious state;
The beating ftorm's propitious rage she blefs'd,
And all the martyr triumph'd in her breast.
Her lord and father, for a moment's space,
She ftrictly folded in her foft embrace!
Then thus fhe spoke, while angels heard on high,
And fudden gladnefs fmil'd along the sky.

• Your over-fondness has not mov'd my hate;
I am well pleas'd you make my death fo great:
I joy I cannot fave you; and have giv'n
Two lives, much dearer than my own, to Heav'n,
If fo the queen decrees *.-But I have cause
To hope my blood will fatisfy the laws;
And there is mercy ftill, for you in store.
• With me, the bitterness of death is o'er ;
He fhot his fting in that farewel embrace,
And all that is to come is joy and peace.
Then let mistaken forrow be fupprefs'd,
Nor feem to envy my approaching reft!'

Here the embraces them.

Then,

Then, turning to the ministers of Fate,
She, fmiling, fays, My victory's compleat ;
And tell your queen I thank her for the blow,
And grieve, my gratitude I cannot show.

A poor return I leave in England's crown, • For everlasting pleasure and renown :

Her guilt alone allays this happy hour;

• Her guilt the only vengeance in her pow'r !'
Not Rome, untouch'd with forrow, heard her fate;
And fierce Maria pity'd her too late.

EFFUSIONS

T

OF MELANCHOLY.

BY MISS ROBERTS.

HE filent tear, that fteals adown the cheek;

The heart-felt figh, that heaves and is suppress'd:

These figns the anguifh of the mind befpeak,

And fhew the forrow lab'ring in my breast.

At times, before my fad deluded eye

Some dancing gleams of flatt'ring hope appear;

But foon the airy vifions diftant fly,

Thofe tranfient phantoms, chac'd by black Despair!

That gloomy tyrant now resumes his feat,

O'er my fad foul extends his racking sway; Obedient to his will my pulfes beat,

And meet with rifing grief each new-born day.

Fictitious fmiles, that dimple o'er my face,

(Light covering of a heart with woe replete !) How oft the starting tears your charms deface! And fighs, half fmother'd, tell the vain deceit.

Oh! could my feeling foul, from earth refin❜d,

Reach the bright manfions of eternal reft; To Heaven each fublunary with refign'd;

No more fhould paffions fwell this beating break!

Thefe eyes, from whence the briny ftreams have flow'd,
Oft for my own, and oft for others ill;
Their ftock exhaufted, fpent their wat❜ry load,
Crumbled in dust, no more should tears distill !

Efk, murm'ring thro' the dusky pines,
Reflects the moon's mist-mantled beam;

And Fancy chills, where'er it fhines,

To fee pale ghofts obfcurely gleam.

Not