The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 19

14 Days it rained. A very large quant.i.ty of rain has fallen this month.

13 do. it was clear at 8 1 and 6 o'clock.

5 do. it was cloudy at do. do.

22 do. the wind was to the westward of north and south.

7 Times it thundered and lightned in this month.

ADVERSITY.

Adversity is virtue's school To those who right discern: Let me observe each painful rule, And each hard lesson learn.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

THE VELVET LARKSPUR AND THE EGLANTINE.

A Fable of Flora.

Amidst the flowers that lov'd to pour Their sweets on every breath of May, Along a green luxuriant sh.o.r.e Where h.o.a.ry HUDSON winds his way.

There high upon a slender stem A _Larkspur_ bloom'd in scarlet pride, And glittering with an evening gem, She view'd her beauties in the tide.

Hard by, beneath a cedar's shade, An _Eglantine_ of softest hues, Her blushing buds and flowers display'd, And shed her odours with the dews.

The _setting_ SUN shot back a ray, Once more the lovely plant to warm, While warbling from a neighbouring spray, A _Thrush_ proclaim'd her power to charm.

The _Larkspur_ turn'd her velvet head To view the subject of the song; "Come, minstrel of the wood," she said, "For me thy tuneful notes prolong.

"See how the waters, as they pa.s.s To bathe the verdure of my feet, Brighten before my glowing face, And raptured roll in murmurs sweet.

"No flower that blossoms in the wild Can boast a bloom so rich as mine; No leaf that Flora's hand can gild, May like my polish'd foliage shine.

"Why therefore waste thy tender lay, On yonder _Eglantine_ so frail, Whose faded tinges speak decay, Soon as they open on the gale.

"And if some hermit ere hath found, And sought her simple sweets to taste, With pois'nous thorns encompa.s.s'd round, He mourn'd too late his witless haste."

"Vain weed, the scented brier replied, While my perfumes enrich the air, And bless the dale on every side, Wilt thou, indeed, with me compare?

"And shall thy boasted tints that glare A moment on the astonish'd sight, With my lov'd buds a chaplet share, Which even when faded yield delight?

"Thy verdant foliage, though it shine, Emits a faint and sickly smell, While every leaf and thorn of mine Soft and delicious sweets exhale.

"And even those thorns thy folly blames, They shield me from the spoiler's power, Whose n.i.g.g.ard with an object claims, He knows must perish in an hour.

"Yes, and the bard by _love_ imprest, Or sacred _grief_, hath sought my shade; And there the anguish of his breast In mournful poesy display'd.

"Henceforth then, herb, to me give place, Long shall my charms be sung by fame, While all thy tawdry, worthless race Bloom and expire without a name."

A HERMIT from his rocky cell, With pity the contention heard, And thrice did tears his eye-lids fill, And thrice he shook his silv'ry beard.

For in the vivid blooms he saw What he in former times had been, When pa.s.sion was his only law, And pride led on each various scene.

But prosperous days full soon withdrew, _Wealth_ vanish'd like a fairy dream, And _Friendship_ from his moanings flew, And _Love_ forgot his wonted theme.

Then turn'd he from his devious path, (A path with many a thorn bestrew'd) From pa.s.sions wild, and cares that scath, And sought this silent solitude.

"Frail flowers (he cried) forbear your strife, Why should the charms that nature gave, To bless your _fleeting s.p.a.ce_ of life, That s.p.a.ce, of mild content bereave?

"Let neither to the palm aspire, To each a share of praise is due, Rich is the odour of the _Brier_, And beauteous is the _Larkspur's_ hue.

"But ah, since fate with stinted hand Allots to each her little day, Let PEACE its morning beam command, And gild serene its evening ray.

"For on the wing of _Speed_ draws near, Old DEATH, too faithful to his trust, And soon the _unlovely_ and the _fair_ Alike shall crumble into dust."

ANNA.

New-York, July 29, 1796,

THE KISS. INSCRIBED TO OLYNDA.

Those balmy lips outvie the rose, A thousand sweets at once disclose; Each kiss is heaven itself confess'd, And nature made them to be press'd.

As feasts the bee on Flora's plain, I'd sip, and sip, and sip again; At every taste new joy I'd prove, And die of aromatic love.

Then, charmer, ne'er deny the bliss That flows from thy delicious kiss; And if there be a joy intense In gratifying human sense, Be love, and love alone, your plan, And me alone the happy man.

NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCh.e.l.l, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._

_UTILE DULCI._

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE; or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, August 10, 1796.+ [+No. 58.+