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HUNTING

BRIGHT rays of purple fire the sky,
And gild the shivering stream,
Beyond the western mist on high,
While the gay woodlands gleam.

Hark! how the voice of hounds and horn
Floats in the fragrant gale;
Along the rustling thicket born,
And down the shadowy vale.

They pass; nor Fancy's modest ear
The shouting train pursues ;
No screams of bloody triumph chear
The solitary muse.

Ye, whose victorious arts beguile
The sufferer of its breath,
Who watch, with fierce unthinking smile,
The languid throbs of death ;

Haste, let your harmless captives bleed,
Ye too must fall as they ;
Death, on a swift, though noiseless steed,
Pursues you as his prey.

Nor yet prolong the victim's wo
In lingering terror driven :
Kill, do not torture ; mercy show,
And mercy hope from Heaven.

CANTILENA.

October, 1785. DURITER heu ! fati nimium mandata severa Amplexu optatæ cogunt procul esse puellæ ; Per deserta vagor terræ incomitatus et exspes : At quanto potius mallem succumbere morti ! Hei mihi! deliciis animi cum distrahar, unquam Collini absentis reputabit Delia nomen? Hei mihi ! tum lacrymas reputans deflebit ; acerbo Exulis angorem

meditabitur illa dolore?

Fare age, non terrore animum torquebere, cum jam
Undarum accumulant montana cacumina venti,
Cum rutilo immicuit fulgur splendore vibratum,
Et fremit horridior tonitru reboante procella?
Deficiet certe tibi mens formidine, certe
Tum miseri tandem sortem plorabis amantis,
Cum memor in mentem revocaveris omnia nostra
Irrita vota, omnemque ubi non felicis amorem.

Tum tibi mens fallax juvenem depinget amatum Attonitum, extremaque labantem in margine vitæ ;

SONG. By

SET BY MR. JACKSON.

Far from the arms of her I love,
By fate too cruel doom'd to sigh,
To desert climes forlorn I rove :
How lighter far the task, to die!
When from my soul's soft treasure torn,
Will Delia think on Colin's name?
In fancy hear the exile mourn,
In fancy see his sorrows stream?

Say, will not fear a pang inspire,
When winds the mountain billows form,
When lightnings flash their forky fire,
And awful thunder swells the storm?
A dread will surely then prevail,
Thy soul a kind compassion move,
When memory tells the tender tale
Of all my woes, and hapless love.

Then will thy fancy paint the swain
Aghast, on life's extremest verge,

Horrisonis jam nunc luctantem fluctibus et jam
Exanimum corpus, pelago mersumque profundo.
Attamen haud adeo sinas simulacra malorum
Molle tuum tanto pectus turbare pavore:
Nam capiti nostro cælum arcet damna benignum,
Ne tibi tam placidus vultus mærore madescat.

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