To the Bemory of NICHOLAS ROWE, ESQ. Who died in 1715, aged 45; And of CHARLOTTA, his only Daughter

WIFE OF HENRY EARLE, ESQ.

Who, imitating her Father's spirit,
And amiable in her own innocence and beauty,

Died in the 22nd year of her age,
1739.

THY relics, Rowe! to this sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakespeare place thy honour'd bust
Oh! next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear;
For never heart felt passion more sincere :
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdain'd a slave;
Peace to thy gentle shade and endless rest;
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And blest that timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.

To these so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life!
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribe this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes, and expects her own.

Pope.

ALL cold, beneath this narrow heap
Wr-n's angel charms in silent sleep; .
And here the ties of virtue end,
The tender mother, wife, and friend.

For her each gentle bosom grieves;
'Tis not the turf alone that heaves!
Pity and love her loss deplore;
Their fav'rite child can feel no more.

And see, the woodbine loves to stray,
Around the sod that clasps her clay;
The primrose with the vi'let vies,
To deck the grave where beauty lies.

Here Melancholy, lonely maid,
Shall oft the live-long night be laid;
And when the morning beam appears,
Revive the verdure-with her tears.

Poetical Effusions

DAVID'S LAMENTATION

Over Saul and Jonathan.

ON yonder hills that kiss the sky,

The flow'r of Israel droops her head; Her sweets are lost, her beauties die,

And all her vernal charms are fled. On yonder hills that kiss the sky,

Pathetic lute, with sorrow swell,.
In battle slain the heroes lie:
O Jacob, how thy mighty fell!

Forbear, O fame, with haughty strains, In Gath to tell the gloomy tale; Forbear, on Ascalonia's plains,

To bid the fatal theme prevail; Lest Palestina's maids rejoice,

And strike the gay triumphal shell; Lest heathen maids with choral voice Sing loudly how the mighty fell.

No more, ye hills, may genial dews Your soil with liberal bounty crown; more may heaven its boons diffuse, And shower the ripe oblation down:

No

For there the joys of Israel fled,

Your crimson rills proclaim too well; For there the chiefs and heroes bled, Th' anointed king, the mighty fell.

With valour heav'd the princes breast;

An arm of fate the monarch rear'd; They smil❜d, and Israel's sons were blest They frown'd, and all Philistia fear'd. As eagles fleet, as lions keen,

They glow'd the martial soul to quell ; The bow was bent, the sword was seen, The warrior bled, the mighty fell.

When peace her downy wing display'd,
And plenty erown'd the joyful year,
In all their mien the graces play'd,

And all their words were kind and dear Their virtues blest a laughing land;

With joy, ye sons of Israel, tell: O tell with tears, how hand in hand The royal pair, the mighty fell.

O now, ye maids of Israel sing

The sweet, the sad, the tender lay; Bewail your lord, bewail your king, And weep your pearly eyes away:

Who bade you scarlet robes to wear,

Who gave your charms the winning spell, Who clad in gold-my lute forbear!

On yonder heights the mighty fell.

And, oh! my second self, my friend,

For thee mine eyes with sorrow flow: To mournful lays, dear shade, attend,

And hear me touch the lute of woe.
Sweet was thy soul, thy love supreme
Did every female love excel:
In vain I wake the pleasing theme;
On yonder heights the mighty fell.

On yonder hills, that kiss the sky,
The flower of Israel droops her head;
Her sweets are lost, her beauties die,

And all her vernal charms are fled.
On yonder hills, that kiss the sky,

Pathetic lute, with sorrow swell,
In battle slain the heroes lie;
O Jacob, how thy mighty fell.

Translation from Farrer's Hebrew Poems.

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