Endure that from a bosom, once so dear,
Convulsive pangs the trembling life should tear?
Oh! should'st thou, certain of the cruel truth,
Behold, in Fancy's eye, the slaughter'd youth,
Could'st thou that lov'd, that lovely form survey,
And see it faded to insensate clay?

Eternal darkness on those eye-lids hung?
Eternal silence stiffen on that tongue ?

No! wildly, from the bare surmise, I start,
And treble fondness rushes through my heart;
Live!-live, Eugenio!-free from fierce alarms,
Blest, if thou canst, e'en in my rival's arms!

O! safe, through lengthen'd years, may'st thou remain
From all the varied forms of deathful pain!
From injured honour's unrelenting ire,
The blast of accident, the fever's fire!
Soft may those dangerous graces melt away,
And gently sink in scarce perceived decay!

For this my breast its cureless woes shall hide, Nor sting fraternal love, nor generous pride.

Yes, dear Lorenzo! thou shalt still believe,

Though much the thought thy gentle breast will grieve, Louisa, lost to tenderness, and truth,

In the vain levity of thoughtless youth,

Proved to Eugenio's love a cold ingrate,
And lightly splenetic deserved her fate.

Cruel Remembrance! how shall I assuage The yearning pangs of thy incessant rage? What balmy comfort can the heart pervade, When bitter tears his broken faith upbraid, Whose hand, we fondly hoped, should wipe away Their flowing sorrows through each future day? Since in Reflection's grasp each blessing dies, When the forced struggling spirit must despise Him who, encircled with perfection's zone, Long in our sight scarce less than angel shone. For if Credulity her warmth impart, With veils of light she screens the selfish heart; But barbarous Perfidy's severe extreme,

In shades eternal, shrouds each gorgeous beam.

On the arch'd windows thus, that proudly grace An high majestic temple's awful face,

When pours the setting sun its darting rays,
An hundred solar orbs appear to blaze;

But when th' incumbent shades of lowering night
Curtain the source of this illusive light,

Its evanescent fires no more remain,

But horrors gather round the darken'd fane;

The lofty turrets, desolately grand,

In dreary state, and lonely silence stand;
Though the dim aisles pale spectres seem to fleet,
And hollow groans the whispering walls repeat.

So, round Eugenio's form, that rises yet, 'Mid Pride's cold frown, and Passion's warm regret, Deprived of all the lustre it retain❜d,

When gay belief with sunny hue remain'd,
Incessant now the fiends of avarice glide,
With dark Ambition scowling at their side.

Detested impotence of flatter'd charms,
That could not bind my wanderer to my arms!
Ah! what avail'd your beauties, but to lure
That fleeting love, ye knew not to secure!

Like opening flow'rs, that deck the desert glade, Fair to no purpose, flatter'd graces fade!One healing draught—and all shall yet be well! Peace is the pale-ey'd sister of the cell,' The cell of DEATH-where Misery only knows. The soft exemption,-and the long repose.

Ah no!-
Stay thee, Louisa, yet a little stay!

—a guardian spirit seems to say,

Awake not righteous Heaven's avenging hate,
By rashly plunging in the waves of fate!

Though time, for woes like thine, admits no cure, Yet learn its hardest lesson, to endure!

• Not long shall life her torturing sense impart Of the barb'd shaft, that rankles in thy heart. • Thou shalt not need to stain thy spotless soul, • Nor want th' ensanguin'd knife, th' envenom'd bowl; • Thy soul's beloved, by vain ambition fired, Deaf, as the grave, to all that once inspired, To Love's soft voice,-to honour's awful plea, 'Lives to another!-and is lost to thee!'

Eugenio married!-Oh! yon village-bell, That flings on the cold gale its mournful knell ! The solemn pause, the loud repeated toll, Calling the pale corse to its darksome goal, Not plainer there the tale of death relate, Than these detested words pronounce my fate! Eugenio married, seals Louisa's doom,

Her sure, though lingering passport to the tomb!

And thou, soft mourner o'er my bosom's smart!
Friend of my soul, and sister of my heart!
A fallen blossom while thy tears embalm,
Regrets that fondness prompts, let fondness calm ;

Since though this mortal frame, affection's slave,
Wastes by th' envenom'd wound that falsehood gave,
I still possess, thus withering in my youth,
The peace of innocence, the pride of truth;
My soul is conscious of its heavenly sire,
The cherub Faith has lent her wings of fire;
Man, the base object of my scorn, it leaves,
To join that gracious power, that ne'er deceives.*

This interesting poem, in the original, consists of four epistles. These extracts have been made from the first: the second is from Eugenio, in exculpation of his seeming perfidy.

END.