Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half weaned his heart from God; But how had all his fortune felt a wreck, Thus heaven instructs thy mind: This trial o'er, Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more. On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, The sage stood wond'ring as the seraph flew. Thus looked Elisha, when to mount on high, His master took the chariot of the sky; The fiery pomp ascending left the view; THE SUPERANNUATED LOVER. DEAD to the soft delights of love, Spare me, O! spare me, cruel boy; Of old, thy faithful hardy swain, (When smit with fair Pastora's charms) I served thee many a long campaign, And wide I spread thy conquering arms. Now mighty god, dismiss thy slave, Adieu, fond hopes, fantastic cares, But why, my Cloe, tell me why? Why trickles down this silent tear? Why do these blushes rise and die? Why stand I mute when thou art here? Ev'n sleep affords my soul no rest, Triumphant god of gay desires! THE PAINS OF MEMORY. A POEM. BY ROBERT MERRY, A. M. Oh, memory! thou fond deceiver, Thou'rt like the world, the opprest oppressing, Thy smiles increase the wretch's wo, And he who wants each other blessing, In thee must ever find a foe. GOLDSMITH. TO THE PUBLIC. A very excellent poem, called 'THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY,' was some time since published in London, written by Mr. Samuel Rogers, a banker of eminence, and a gentleman of great talents, taste, and learning. In repeated conversations with him on the subject, I however maintained the opinion, that REMEMBRANCE, more frequently occasioned uneasiness than delight, that it was rather the source of regret than satisfaction. To connect, therefore, the arguments I had urged, and the instances had stated, the following little work was undertaken, and, as it was not unfavourably received in England, I now venture to reprint it in this country, with some few alterations and additions. PHILADELPHIA, DEC. 13, 1796. S R. M. |