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F pride and mad ambition we complain,
Destructive war and violence, in vain ;

Ill temper's baneful influence o'er the mind
More pain creates than all thofe ills combin'd ;
Bids focial love in every bofom cease,

And clouds the beauteous beams of fmiling peace;
Blafts every joy that blooms to sweeten life,
Embitters happiness and lengthens ftrife.
To calm the troubled breast, to foften woe,
To ftop the tear misfortune taught to flow,
He, that furveys our griefs with pitying eyes,
Sent down the nymph Good-humour from the skies;
Her beauteous prefence beams perpetual day,
The Loves and Graces in her person play;

The op'ning flow'rs bloom sweeter where she treads,
The faded bloffoms lift anew their heads ;
The lovely feraph waves her purple wing,
Diffufing all the balmy fweets of spring;
Beftows fresh beauties on the blooming vale,
And pours fresh fragrance on the spicy gale.
Obferve the manfion where Good-humour dwells;
What heart-felt joy each blifsful bofom fwells!
The cheerful, happy father fmiles to fee
His playful offspring prattle round his knee;
Whilft the fond partner of his heart bestows
That joy which only from Good-humour flows.
MISS M. FALCONAR.

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THE charms of fair Benevolence I fing,

For her the muse shall wake the hallow'd lyre;
Soft as the dews of heaven, and mild as spring,
Bright emanation of her heavenly Sire.

Far from the pomp of courts she loves to dwell :-
Offspring of Pity, whither art thou fled?
To the dark dungeon, or the gloomy cell,

To raise fome hapless mortal's drooping head!

For thou canft wipe the tear from sorrow's eye,
The joys of bright profperity renew;
To thee, angelic maid, the ftruggling figh,
Warm from the breast of gratitude, is due.

Ah! did the wealthy vicious few but feel

The blifs refulting from one well-spent hour; Did they but know the tender tafk to heal

The foul juft finking 'neath affliction's fhow'r !

But thou, Benevolence, waft form'd to fave,

To thee the art of fuccouring want was giv'n ;, Thy hand can fnatch her from the yawning grave,. And pluck the thorns that bar her way to heaven. MISS M. FALCONAR.

SECT.

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ONTENTMENT, fource of ev'ry earthly joy, Without thee, what are riches, what is pow'r? In vain shall grandeur, luxury, employ

Their pow'rs to please beyond the present hour.

'Tis not in courts that thou delight'ft to dwell; Contentment scorns the gilded roof of state ; But in the honeft peasant's lowly cell

She lives retir'd, nor fears the storms of fate.

Parent of blooming health and gentle peace,

Thou foft companion of the guiltless breast,
When thou art abfent, all our pleasures cease,
And each low care can interrupt our rest.

To thee, fair goddess, I devote these lays,
The free effufions of a youthful heart,
That fcorns diffimulation's courtly praise,
The tongue of falfehood, and the

pen

of art.

MISS H. FALCONAR.

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IN PRAISE OF FRIENDSHIP.

FRIENDSHIP, fweet balm toev'ry bleeding wound, Sweet focial pow'r, on earth but feldom found,

From

From heaven, like fome phænomenon, appears,
To footh pale Grief, and ftem her gufhing tears.

Yet flays not here, but, like refreshing fhow'rs,
Where'er fhe goes, the healing balfam pours;
And teaches the foft infant's lifping tongue
To blefs the donor as he goes along.

Yet Flattery oft affumes fair Friendship's name,
And dwells full oft with folly, wealth, and fame;
But, when diftrefs appears, the phantom flies,
And from the ruin'd mansion turns her eyes.

When fortune frowns, if Friendfhip ftill remains,
She fooths our woes, and mitigates our pains;
Her bounty wafts us to fome friendly shore,
Where pleasure reigns, and mifery is no more.

MISS H. FALCONAR.

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"TIS

ON NOON.

IS fultry noon, and now the lab'ring fwains, Fatigu'd with heat, forfake the fun-burnt plains, To take their cool repaft beneath a shade, Of ancient oaks and spreading elm-trees made. The panting flocks lie ftretch'd upon the mead, The lowing herds, grown faint, refufe to feed; For Sol's bright luftre burns the verdant fields, And ev'ry herb beneath his influence yields.

The

The blooming flow'rs, beneath his fervid ray,
All droop their heads and ficken at the day:
The furrow'd fields resign their golden load,
And weighty teams o'erfpread the dufty road:
The fattening poultry fill the ftubbled land,
The feather'd tribe their flutt'ring wings expand;
O'erjoy'd they fly to cull the fcatter'd grain
By nature yielded to the ruffet plain.

MISS H. FALCONAR.

SE C T.

CXLII.

ON MIDNIGHT.

TOW Midnight o'er the earth her mantle throws The bufy world is hush'd in foft repose. Through parting trees the moon's pale luftre beams, Or faintly glimmers o'er the crystal streams. Beneath the poplar's fhade, the nightingale Tunes to the night her melancholy tale, Till the fhrill sky-lark, meffenger of day, Trills through the dufky clouds his matin lay. 'Neath their thatch'd roofs the peaceful peasants reft; No anxious care disturbs each guiltless breast. In this still hour the wretch, o'erwhelm'd with woe, From whofe fad eyes unceafing torrents flow, Pours his afflictions to the midnight gloom, And weeps, and wishes for the filent tomb.

MISS H. FALCONAR.

SECT.

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