Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
A DESCniPTION OF THE CELL OF POVERTX , FROM THE LATIN . BEFORE the simple infant world of old the hisof and gold
Had seen . re bright gems , The nymph PAUI'L IITA first * came down lo dwell , Con-ent and happv in a humble cell . Her looks were pale , thin , meagre , and severe , Uncouth her dress , and rustic was her air . Her food was mean , tho' wholesome , often scant [ with nam
, . Much pinch'd she was . but not oppress '*! On milt she iiv'd , on herbs , and r . ieilow fruit ,. Each wholesome lentil , and each juicy root : Or honev dropping from the hollow oak , She drank the stream untainted from the rock . How soon from Styx her brother M AMMON
sprung , [ diamonds hung , Round whom bright glilt ' ring gems and With plates of gold around his neck and waist , [ haste . The nymph abash'd , retir'd and fled m Unhappy now , indeed ! he seiz'dher fruits , Her milk and honey , leaving nought but roots . [ dwell ,
While jn rich pastures Mammon ' s children All in a fright her sister fakes a cell On a cold mountain's rugged , barren brow , Where only moss and some few sorrels grow . "With famine here and cold she pines away , Congeal'd by night , and thaw'd with tears by day : Nor does the cruel Mammon comfort yield , One drop of milk or honey from his field .
As once I mus'd too near the distant cell , Conceal' 6 below , I slipt , and in I fell ; She seiz'd me straight , as comfoit in her woe , For all my tears she would not let me go . Here I have liv'd this third revolving moon , 7 1 he air infectious touch'd my vitals soon , — ¦ y £ y eyes are sunk , my body spent within , Without I ' nothing but wrinkl'd skin
m . a , My spirits fade , I faint , I sink , I die , And darkness flies around my clouded eye ; Age loo , and sickness both , my vitals kill , All I can do is scribble with a quill . Why did I thus to muse and sophist bow ? Srom' this dark cell will they relieve me now ! VPI ., IX , J , 1
Will they assist to buy one single quilt , That I may muse and scribble at mv will ? No : here f lie , half buried in distress , No friend to grant me comfort or redress . I look for Death ' s pale—chilling hand , — and God , To bear me hence into some bless'd abode . While thus I wail'd fate in cold
demy spair , Oneoi the Nine thus whisper'd in my ear : ' Lei Hope , my friend S sustain thy drooping mind , [ kind , Tho' Fortune now is cross she may prove For after storm there still ensues a calm , And after war comes the triumphant palm , bear up against the gale : the learned train
Be still thy care , nor" will it be in vain : By chance , or by supreme decree you fell , ' And by the same you may escape the cell , it— , AN ELEGT TO THE MEMORY OF CHATTERTON , THEPOET . BY E . S . J . AUTHOll OF WILLIAM AND ELLEN-.
WHAT ! is he gone ! gone to his cold , cold grave!— [ bed ! Yes , he is gone ! gone to his cold death-0 list ! I hear the surly tempest rave , And sing remorseless round hislowly head . Where he is laid , In his death-bed , All under the willow tree !
The welkin scowls , sad emblem of thy fate ! For haggard was thy dreary view of life ; Despondency thy weary nightly mate , And O ! she was both mortal , fell , and rife—But thou art dead 1 Gone to thy death-bed , All under the willow tree ! What ' s yonder thy so
grows upon grave - . sweet ? [ soul . Sweet emblem of thy anxious , trembling Those violets nod in sorrow at thy feet , And shiver at the angry tempest's scowl . Buthe is dead ! Gone to his death-bed , All under the willow tree ! Such was his mind istveetSympatlryto thee
, O ! let me drop one piteous mournful tear ! Sink in his grave , and tell thou cam'st from me—For none was shed upon his timeless bier . And thcu art dead ! Gone to thy death-bed , AH-under tha willow .-ueel
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
A DESCniPTION OF THE CELL OF POVERTX , FROM THE LATIN . BEFORE the simple infant world of old the hisof and gold
Had seen . re bright gems , The nymph PAUI'L IITA first * came down lo dwell , Con-ent and happv in a humble cell . Her looks were pale , thin , meagre , and severe , Uncouth her dress , and rustic was her air . Her food was mean , tho' wholesome , often scant [ with nam
, . Much pinch'd she was . but not oppress '*! On milt she iiv'd , on herbs , and r . ieilow fruit ,. Each wholesome lentil , and each juicy root : Or honev dropping from the hollow oak , She drank the stream untainted from the rock . How soon from Styx her brother M AMMON
sprung , [ diamonds hung , Round whom bright glilt ' ring gems and With plates of gold around his neck and waist , [ haste . The nymph abash'd , retir'd and fled m Unhappy now , indeed ! he seiz'dher fruits , Her milk and honey , leaving nought but roots . [ dwell ,
While jn rich pastures Mammon ' s children All in a fright her sister fakes a cell On a cold mountain's rugged , barren brow , Where only moss and some few sorrels grow . "With famine here and cold she pines away , Congeal'd by night , and thaw'd with tears by day : Nor does the cruel Mammon comfort yield , One drop of milk or honey from his field .
As once I mus'd too near the distant cell , Conceal' 6 below , I slipt , and in I fell ; She seiz'd me straight , as comfoit in her woe , For all my tears she would not let me go . Here I have liv'd this third revolving moon , 7 1 he air infectious touch'd my vitals soon , — ¦ y £ y eyes are sunk , my body spent within , Without I ' nothing but wrinkl'd skin
m . a , My spirits fade , I faint , I sink , I die , And darkness flies around my clouded eye ; Age loo , and sickness both , my vitals kill , All I can do is scribble with a quill . Why did I thus to muse and sophist bow ? Srom' this dark cell will they relieve me now ! VPI ., IX , J , 1
Will they assist to buy one single quilt , That I may muse and scribble at mv will ? No : here f lie , half buried in distress , No friend to grant me comfort or redress . I look for Death ' s pale—chilling hand , — and God , To bear me hence into some bless'd abode . While thus I wail'd fate in cold
demy spair , Oneoi the Nine thus whisper'd in my ear : ' Lei Hope , my friend S sustain thy drooping mind , [ kind , Tho' Fortune now is cross she may prove For after storm there still ensues a calm , And after war comes the triumphant palm , bear up against the gale : the learned train
Be still thy care , nor" will it be in vain : By chance , or by supreme decree you fell , ' And by the same you may escape the cell , it— , AN ELEGT TO THE MEMORY OF CHATTERTON , THEPOET . BY E . S . J . AUTHOll OF WILLIAM AND ELLEN-.
WHAT ! is he gone ! gone to his cold , cold grave!— [ bed ! Yes , he is gone ! gone to his cold death-0 list ! I hear the surly tempest rave , And sing remorseless round hislowly head . Where he is laid , In his death-bed , All under the willow tree !
The welkin scowls , sad emblem of thy fate ! For haggard was thy dreary view of life ; Despondency thy weary nightly mate , And O ! she was both mortal , fell , and rife—But thou art dead 1 Gone to thy death-bed , All under the willow tree ! What ' s yonder thy so
grows upon grave - . sweet ? [ soul . Sweet emblem of thy anxious , trembling Those violets nod in sorrow at thy feet , And shiver at the angry tempest's scowl . Buthe is dead ! Gone to his death-bed , All under the willow tree ! Such was his mind istveetSympatlryto thee
, O ! let me drop one piteous mournful tear ! Sink in his grave , and tell thou cam'st from me—For none was shed upon his timeless bier . And thcu art dead ! Gone to thy death-bed , AH-under tha willow .-ueel