The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 193

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._ _From the 11th to the 17th inst._

THERMOMETOR observed at 6, _A.M._ 3, _P.M._ Prevailing winds.

OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.

100 100 June 11 66 80 nw. do. clear h. wd. do. do.

12 64 81 w. sw. clear lt wd. do. do.

13 70 76 sw. se. rn lt. wd. do. do. t. lg.

14 64 78 nw. do. clear lt. wd. do. do.

15 66 85 sw. w. clear lt. wd. do. do.

16 60 77 e. do. r. t. lg. cl. lt. w. do. do.

17 66 77 w. n. r. t. lg. cr. l. w. do. do. r. hl.

ODE TO TRAGEDY.

Hail, sister of the sable stole!

'Tis thine to meliorate the soul, To draw the tender tear from pity's eye, While suff'ring virtue heaves the length'ning sigh, And groans beneath oppression's rod; Or filial duty weeps a parent's woe; Pale constancy hangs o'er her urn, Distracted love laments, from all his wishes torn.

Oh, wise vicissitudes of fate below!

To humble haughty man, and lift the soul to G.o.d.

The frantic eye, the hurrying pace, Th' impressive horrors of thy face, For me have more sublime delights Than all thy laughing sisters airy flights: When Shakespeare bears the soul along In all the native majesty of song, Now fires with rage, now chills with fear, Now melts the icy breast with pity's tear: Alike in all, oh, bard sublime!

Above the rankling rage of death and time.

But ah! what hideous forms around thee throng!

Can these instill the moral song?

See Virtue sinks beneath the villain's hand!

Successful Murder hails his b.l.o.o.d.y band!

Lo! wild Despair's relentless knife High rais'd against his sacred life!

Blind Jealousy the poisoned drug prepares!

'Till horror's starting eye-ball glares, And squallid Terror flies before, While reckless Fury rushes on, His poniard red with reeking gore, Warm from the heart in which he liv'd alone!

'Tis past; still virtue claims thy care, The fev'rish reign of vice soon melts in air.

For, lo! another train succeeds, Avengers of atrocious deeds!

See purple Guilt, with look aghast, By torturing pa.s.sions vexed sore, Possess'd his soul with haggard fear, As conscience still to virtue dear Holds up a gloomy picture of the past, And keen remorse still bids him "sleep no more,"

Till tears of forc'd contrition ceaseless flow, And furies hurl him to the shades below.

Oh G.o.ddess of the tear-swoln eye!

Be sacred Justice ever nigh, In all her grizly horrors clad!

To tell the tyrant trembling on his throne He lives not for himself alone.

In vain he 'scapes from human law; Her airy ministers still haunt the bad, Sink deep into his soul, and keep him still in awe.

Sweet Muse! thy lessons teach the soul The wayward pa.s.sions to controul; By heaven implanted they for n.o.blest ends, When reason's sober lamp attends, Afar from error's dark and devious way, To guide our steps to truth's effulgent day.

Ah foolish man! why quit her cheering ray?

The tranquil pleasure's her's that never cloy With her alone dwells virtue, happiness, and joy.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

Bright eye of pensive eve! resplendent orb That o'er the misty mountains shinest clear; Like a rich gem, Upon an aethiop's brow!

Thy lamp serene, my now benighted steps Directs, to that blest spot where dwells my fair, Twin rivals who can boast More pure, more bright than thee.

For not thy lovely light, that kindly cheers The sullen frown of unpropitious night; Is half so sweet as truth, That beams in beauty's eyes.

Not all the little waking elves, that rise From out their rosy bow'rs of velvet buds, Where they had slept the day, To dance thy rays beneath,

Feel such delight as does this breast, when thou With radiant l.u.s.tre shew'st the happy hour, That leads from scenes of care To still domestic bliss.

SONNET ON EARLY IMPRESSIONS.

Warm'd with the gen'rous flame that spreads a glow O'er youth's gay breast, with boundless joy we view, The objects to our ravish'd senses new, And hail the sun, whose glorious rays bestow

Such vary'd beauties on Creation's form: So when we wond'ring see a mighty mind, Sent to delight, instruct, and guide mankind, Our b.r.e.a.s.t.s with rapt'rous praises, kindling warm--

Sudden we see its shade,--and backward start, Checking the loud applause;--in measur'd pace, Comes cold Discretion with her doubting face, And claps her frigid hand upon the heart;

Ah! when shall man his praise unbounded pay?-- When G.o.d shall be the theme--and heav'n's own light the day.

EPIGRAM Hint To A Poor Author.

_Q._ Why this verbose redundant style, Think you the more the better?

_A._ Undoubtedly--for know my friend.

I sell it by the LETTER.

_NEW-YORK: +Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co.+ +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Book-Store of Mr. J. FELLOWS, Pine-Street._

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