WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade
  The hand of Death, and your dear daughter laid
  In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow,
  And racks your bosom with incessant woe,
  Let Recollection take a tender part,
  Assuage the raging tortures of your heart,
  Still the wild tempest of tumultuous grief,
  And pour the heav’nly nectar of relief:
  Suspend the sigh, dear Sir, and check the groan,
  Divinely bright your daughter’s Virtues shone:
  How free from scornful pride her gentle mind,
  Which ne’er its aid to indigence declin’d!
  Expanding free, it sought the means to prove
  Unfailing charity, unbounded love!
    She unreluctant flies to see no more
  Her dear-lov’d parents on earth’s dusky shore:
  Impatient heav’n’s resplendent goal to gain,
  She with swift progress cuts the azure plain,
  Where grief subsides, where changes are no more,
  And life’s tumultuous billows cease to roar;
  She leaves her earthly mansion for the skies,
  Where new creations feast her wond’ring eyes.
    To heav’n’s high mandate cheerfully resign’d
  She mounts, and leaves the rolling globe behind;
  She, who late wish’d that Leonard might return,
  Has ceas’d to languish, and forgot to mourn;
  To the same high empyreal mansions come,
  She joins her spouse, and smiles upon the tomb:
  And thus I hear her from the realms above:
  “Lo! this the kingdom of celestial love!
  “Could ye, fond parents, see our present bliss,
  “How soon would you each sigh, each fear dismiss?
  “Amidst unutter’d pleasures whilst I play
  “In the fair sunshine of celestial day,
  “As far as grief affects an happy soul
  “So far doth grief my better mind controul,
  “To see on earth my aged parents mourn,
  “And secret wish for T——-! to return:
  “Let brighter scenes your ev’ning-hours employ:
  “Converse with heav’n, and taste the promis’d joy”

  APOLLO’s wrath to man the dreadful spring
  Of ills innum’rous, tuneful goddess, sing!
  Thou who did’st first th’ ideal pencil give,
  And taught’st the painter in his works to live,
  Inspire with glowing energy of thought,
  What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote.
  Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain,
  Tho’ last and meanest of the rhyming train!
  O guide my pen in lofty strains to show
  The Phrygian queen, all beautiful in woe.
    ’Twas where Maeonia spreads her wide domain
  Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign:
  See in her hand the regal sceptre shine,
  The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine,
  He most distinguish’d by Dodonean Jove,
  To approach the tables of the gods above:
  Her grandsire Atlas, who with mighty pains
  Th’ ethereal axis on his neck sustains:
  Her other grandsire on the throne on high
  Rolls the loud-pealing thunder thro’ the sky.
    Her spouse, Amphion, who from Jove too springs,
  Divinely taught to sweep the sounding strings.
    Seven sprightly sons the royal bed adorn,
  Seven daughters beauteous as the op’ning morn,
  As when Aurora fills the ravish’d sight,
  And decks the orient realms with rosy light
  From their bright eyes the living splendors play,
  Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray.
    Wherever, Niobe, thou turn’st thine eyes,
  New beauties kindle, and new joys arise!
  But thou had’st far the happier mother prov’d,
  If this fair offspring had been less belov’d:
  What if their charms exceed Aurora’s teint.
  No words could tell them, and no pencil paint,
  Thy love too vehement hastens to destroy
  Each blooming maid, and each celestial boy.
    Now Manto comes, endu’d with mighty skill,
  The past to explore, the future to reveal.
  Thro’ Thebes’ wide streets Tiresia’s daughter came,
  Divine Latona’s mandate to proclaim:
  The Theban maids to hear the orders ran,
  When thus Maeonia’s prophetess began:
    “Go, Thebans! great Latona’s will obey,
  “And pious tribute at her altars pay:
  “With rights divine, the goddess be implor’d,
  “Nor be her sacred offspring unador’d.”
   Thus Manto spoke.  The Theban maids obey,
  And pious tribute to the goddess pay.
  The rich perfumes ascend in waving spires,
  And altars blaze with consecrated fires;
  The fair assembly moves with graceful air,
  And leaves of laurel bind the flowing hair.
    Niobe comes with all her royal race,
  With charms unnumber’d, and superior grace:
  Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue,
  Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view,
  Beyond description beautiful she moves
  Like heav’nly Venus, ‘midst her smiles and loves:
  She views around the supplicating train,
  And shakes her graceful head with stern disdain,
  Proudly she turns around her lofty eyes,
  And thus reviles celestial deities:
  “What madness drives the Theban ladies fair
  “To give their incense to surrounding air?
  “Say why this new sprung deity preferr’d?
  “Why vainly fancy your petitions heard?
  “Or say why Caeus offspring is obey’d,
  “While to my goddesship no tribute’s paid?
  “For me no altars blaze with living fires,
  “No bullock bleeds, no frankincense transpires,
  “Tho’ Cadmus’ palace, not unknown to fame,
  “And Phrygian nations all revere my name.
  “Where’er I turn my eyes vast wealth I find,
  “Lo! here an empress with a goddess join’d.
  “What, shall a Titaness be deify’d,
  “To whom the spacious earth a couch deny’d!
  “Nor heav’n, nor earth, nor sea receiv’d your queen,
  “Till pitying Delos took the wand’rer in.
  “Round me what a large progeny is spread!
  “No frowns of fortune has my soul to dread.
  “What if indignant she decrease my train
  “More than Latona’s number will remain;
  “Then hence, ye Theban dames, hence haste away,
  “Nor longer off’rings to Latona pay;
  “Regard the orders of Amphion’s spouse,
  “And take the leaves of laurel from your brows.”
   Niobe spoke.  The Theban maids obey’d,
  Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid.
    The angry goddess heard, then silence broke
  On Cynthus’ summit, and indignant spoke;
  “Phoebus! behold, thy mother in disgrace,
  “Who to no goddess yields the prior place
  “Except to Juno’s self, who reigns above,
  “The spouse and sister of the thund’ring Jove.
  “Niobe, sprung from Tantalus, inspires
  “Each Theban bosom with rebellious fires;
  “No reason her imperious temper quells,
  “But all her father in her tongue rebels;
  “Wrap her own sons for her blaspheming breath,
  “Apollo! wrap them in the shades of death.”
   Latona ceas’d, and ardent thus replies
  The God, whose glory decks th’ expanded skies.
    “Cease thy complaints, mine be the task assign’d
  “To punish pride, and scourge the rebel mind.”
   This Phoebe join’d.—They wing their instant flight;
  Thebes trembled as th’ immortal pow’rs alight.
    With clouds incompass’d glorious Phoebus stands;
  The feather’d vengeance quiv’ring in his hands.
       Near Cadmus’ walls a plain extended lay,
  Where Thebes’ young princes pass’d in sport the day:
  There the bold coursers bounded o’er the plains,
  While their great masters held the golden reins.
  Ismenus first the racing pastime led,
  And rul’d the fury of his flying steed.
  “Ah me,” he sudden cries, with shrieking breath,
  While in his breast he feels the shaft of death;
  He drops the bridle on his courser’s mane,
  Before his eyes in shadows swims the plain,
  He, the first-born of great Amphion’s bed,
  Was struck the first, first mingled with the dead.
    Then didst thou, Sipylus, the language hear
  Of fate portentous whistling in the air:
  As when th’ impending storm the sailor sees
  He spreads his canvas to the fav’ring breeze,
  So to thine horse thou gav’st the golden reins,
  Gav’st him to rush impetuous o’er the plains:
  But ah! a fatal shaft from Phoebus’ hand
  Smites thro’ thy neck, and sinks thee on the sand.
    Two other brothers were at wrestling found,
  And in their pastime claspt each other round:
  A shaft that instant from Apollo’s hand
  Transfixt them both, and stretcht them on the sand:
  Together they their cruel fate bemoan’d,
  Together languish’d, and together groan’d:
  Together too th’ unbodied spirits fled,
  And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead.
  Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view,
  Beat his torn breast, that chang’d its snowy hue.
  He flies to raise them in a kind embrace;
  A brother’s fondness triumphs in his face:
  Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed,
  A dart dispatch’d him (so the fates decreed:)
  Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound,
  His issuing entrails smoak’d upon the ground.
    What woes on blooming Damasichon wait!
  His sighs portend his near impending fate.
  Just where the well-made leg begins to be,
  And the soft sinews form the supple knee,
  The youth sore wounded by the Delian god
  Attempts t’ extract the crime-avenging rod,
  But, whilst he strives the will of fate t’ avert,
  Divine Apollo sends a second dart;
  Swift thro’ his throat the feather’d mischief flies,
  Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies.
    Young Ilioneus, the last, directs his pray’r,
  And cries, “My life, ye gods celestial! spare.”
   Apollo heard, and pity touch’d his heart,
  But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart:
  Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doom’d to fall,
  The fates refuse that arrow to recal.
    On the swift wings of ever flying Fame
  To Cadmus’ palace soon the tidings came:
  Niobe heard, and with indignant eyes
  She thus express’d her anger and surprise:
  “Why is such privilege to them allow’d?
  “Why thus insulted by the Delian god?
  “Dwells there such mischief in the pow’rs above?
  “Why sleeps the vengeance of immortal Jove?”
   For now Amphion too, with grief oppress’d,
  Had plung’d the deadly dagger in his breast.
  Niobe now, less haughty than before,
  With lofty head directs her steps no more
  She, who late told her pedigree divine,
  And drove the Thebans from Latona’s shrine,
  How strangely chang’d!—yet beautiful in woe,
  She weeps, nor weeps unpity’d by the foe.
  On each pale corse the wretched mother spread
  Lay overwhelm’d with grief, and kiss’d her dead,
  Then rais’d her arms, and thus, in accents slow,
  “Be sated cruel Goddess! with my woe;
  “If I’ve offended, let these streaming eyes,
  “And let this sev’nfold funeral suffice:
  “Ah! take this wretched life you deign’d to save,
  “With them I too am carried to the grave.
  “Rejoice triumphant, my victorious foe,
  “But show the cause from whence your triumphs flow?
  “Tho’ I unhappy mourn these children slain,
  “Yet greater numbers to my lot remain.”
   She ceas’d, the bow string twang’d with awful sound,
  Which struck with terror all th’ assembly round,
  Except the queen, who stood unmov’d alone,
  By her distresses more presumptuous grown.
  Near the pale corses stood their sisters fair
  In sable vestures and dishevell’d hair;
  One, while she draws the fatal shaft away,
  Faints, falls, and sickens at the light of day.
  To sooth her mother, lo! another flies,
  And blames the fury of inclement skies,
  And, while her words a filial pity show,
  Struck dumb—indignant seeks the shades below.
  Now from the fatal place another flies,
  Falls in her flight, and languishes, and dies.
  Another on her sister drops in death;
  A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath;
  While the sixth seeks some gloomy cave in vain,
  Struck with the rest, and mingled with the slain.
    One only daughter lives, and she the least;
  The queen close clasp’d the daughter to her breast:
  “Ye heav’nly pow’rs, ah spare me one,” she cry’d,
  “Ah! spare me one,” the vocal hills reply’d:
  In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny,
  In her embrace she sees her daughter die.
    * “The queen of all her family bereft,
  “Without or husband, son, or daughter left,
  “Grew stupid at the shock.  The passing air
  “Made no impression on her stiff’ning hair.

       * This Verse To The End Is The Work Of Another Hand.
  “The blood forsook her face: amidst the flood
  “Pour’d from her cheeks, quite fix’d her eye-balls
    “stood.
  “Her tongue, her palate both obdurate grew,
  “Her curdled veins no longer motion knew;
  “The use of neck, and arms, and feet was gone,
  “And ev’n her bowels hard’ned into stone:
  “A marble statue now the queen appears,
  “But from the marble steal the silent tears.”

  TO show the lab’ring bosom’s deep intent,
  And thought in living characters to paint,
  When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
  And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
  How did those prospects give my soul delight,
  A new creation rushing on my sight?
  Still, wond’rous youth! each noble path pursue,
  On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
  Still may the painter’s and the poet’s fire
  To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!
  And may the charms of each seraphic theme
  Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame!
  High to the blissful wonders of the skies
  Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes.
  Thrice happy, when exalted to survey
  That splendid city, crown’d with endless day,
  Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring:
  Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring.
    Calm and serene thy moments glide along,
  And may the muse inspire each future song!
  Still, with the sweets of contemplation bless’d,
  May peace with balmy wings your soul invest!
  But when these shades of time are chas’d away,
  And darkness ends in everlasting day,
  On what seraphic pinions shall we move,
  And view the landscapes in the realms above?
  There shall thy tongue in heav’nly murmurs flow,
  And there my muse with heav’nly transport glow:
  No more to tell of Damon’s tender sighs,
  Or rising radiance of Aurora’s eyes,
  For nobler themes demand a nobler strain,
  And purer language on th’ ethereal plain.
  Cease, gentle muse! the solemn gloom of night
  Now seals the fair creation from my sight.

  ALL-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow’r,
  Hope’s tow’ring plumage falls to rise no more!
  Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
  Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
  Who ere escap’d thee, but the saint * of old
  Beyond the flood in sacred annals told,
  And the great sage, + whom fiery coursers drew
  To heav’n’s bright portals from Elisha’s view;
  Wond’ring he gaz’d at the refulgent car,
  Then snatch’d the mantle floating on the air.
  From Death these only could exemption boast,
  And without dying gain’d th’ immortal coast.
  Not falling millions sate the tyrant’s mind,
  Nor can the victor’s progress be confin’d.
  But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease:
  He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace;

         * Enoch.        + Elijah.

  His to conduct to the immortal plains,
  Where heav’n’s Supreme in bliss and glory reigns.
    There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse;
  A gem-blaz’d circle beaming on her brows.
  Hail’d with acclaim among the heav’nly choirs,
  Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires,
  To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings,
  While heav’n’s high concave with the music rings.
  Virtue’s rewards can mortal pencil paint?
  No—all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint;
  Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse
  To heav’nly tidings from the Afric muse.
    As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate,
  As the saint miss the glories I relate;
  Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,
  Which wip’d the trick’ling tear from Misry’s eye.
  Whene’er the adverse winds were known to blow,
  When loss to loss * ensu’d, and woe to woe,
  Calm and serene beneath her father’s hand
  She sat resign’d to the divine command.
    No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,
  And let us hear the mournful sigh no more,
  Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye,
  Be all thy future moments crown’d with joy!
  Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin’d,
  But soaring high pursue th’ unbodied mind.
  Forgive the muse, forgive th’ advent’rous lays,
  That fain thy soul to heav’nly scenes would raise.

                 I.

  ADIEU, New-England’s smiling meads,
      Adieu, the flow’ry plain:
  I leave thine op’ning charms, O spring,
      And tempt the roaring main.

                 II.

  In vain for me the flow’rets rise,
      And boast their gaudy pride,
  While here beneath the northern skies
      I mourn for health deny’d.

                 III.

  Celestial maid of rosy hue,
      O let me feel thy reign!
  I languish till thy face I view,
      Thy vanish’d joys regain.

                 IV.

  Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
      To see the crystal show’r,
  Or mark the tender falling tear
      At sad departure’s hour;

                 V.

  Not unregarding can I see
      Her soul with grief opprest:
  But let no sighs, no groans for me,
      Steal from her pensive breast.

                 VI.

  In vain the feather’d warblers sing,
      In vain the garden blooms,
  And on the bosom of the spring
      Breathes out her sweet perfumes.

                 VII.

  While for Britannia’s distant shore
      We sweep the liquid plain,
  And with astonish’d eyes explore
      The wide-extended main.

                 VIII.

  Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
      Complacent and serene,
  With Hebe’s mantle o’er her Frame,
      With soul-delighting mein.

                 IX.

  To mark the vale where London lies
      With misty vapours crown’d,
  Which cloud Aurora’s thousand dyes,
      And veil her charms around.

                 X.

  Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
      So slow thy rising ray?
  Give us the famous town to view,
      Thou glorious king of day!

                 XI.

  For thee, Britannia, I resign
      New-England’s smiling fields;
  To view again her charms divine,
      What joy the prospect yields!

                 XII.

  But thou!  Temptation hence away,
      With all thy fatal train,
  Nor once seduce my soul away,
      By thine enchanting strain.

                 XIII.

  Thrice happy they, whose heav’nly shield
      Secures their souls from harms,
  And fell Temptation on the field
      Of all its pow’r disarms!

    Boston, May 7, 1773.

                 I.

  A BIRD delicious to the taste,
  On which an army once did feast,
    Sent by an hand unseen;
  A creature of the horned race,
  Which Britain’s royal standards grace;
    A gem of vivid green;

                 II.

  A town of gaiety and sport,
  Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort,
    And gallantry doth reign;
  A Dardan hero fam’d of old
  For youth and beauty, as we’re told,
    And by a monarch slain;

                 III.

  A peer of popular applause,
  Who doth our violated laws,
    And grievances proclaim.
  Th’ initials show a vanquish’d town,
  That adds fresh glory and renown
    To old Britannia’s fame.

  THE poet asks, and Phillis can’t refuse
  To show th’ obedience of the Infant muse.
  She knows the Quail of most inviting taste
  Fed Israel’s army in the dreary waste;
  And what’s on Britain’s royal standard borne,
  But the tall, graceful, rampant Unicorn?
  The Emerald with a vivid verdure glows
  Among the gems which regal crowns compose;
  Boston’s a town, polite and debonair,
  To which the beaux and beauteous nymphs repair,
  Each Helen strikes the mind with sweet surprise,
  While living lightning flashes from her eyes,
  See young Euphorbus of the Dardan line
  By Manelaus’ hand to death resign:
  The well known peer of popular applause
  Is C——m zealous to support our laws.
  Quebec now vanquish’d must obey,
  She too much annual tribute pay
  To Britain of immortal fame.
  And add new glory to her name.

      F I N I S.