The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 67

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._ _From the 16th to the 22d inst._

_Thermometor observed at 6, A.M. 3, P.M._ _Prevailing winds._ _OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER._

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

100 100 Oct. 16 60 62 50 s. do. cloudy high wd. rn. small do.

17 49 56 75 nw do. clear, high wind do. lht. wd.

18 41 50 49 n. do. clear, light wind do. do.

19 44 50 55 75 sw. do. foggy calm cloudy lt. wd.

20 49 57 ne. do. cloudy light wind do. do.

21 50 54 50 ne. se. cloudy light wind do. do.

22 54 57 e. se. cloudy lt wd. rn. cly. lt wd.

CONTENTED IN THE VALE.

While envy and ambition fire, The wealthy and the proud, I to my humble cot retire, To shun the selfish croud.

Secure, I envy not a king, While o'er my nut brown ale, I merrily and jocund sing, Contented in the vale.

Let senators and statesmen great Together disagree, While I remain in humble state Both unconcerned and free.

No duns to interrupt my joy, Nor troubles to a.s.sail, I'd live retir'd from care and noise, Contented in the vale.

The stately oak that proudly held Dominion o'er the plains, Is by the furious tempest fell'd, The humble reed remains.

Then may I envy not the hill, Nor at my fortune rail, But unconstrain'd continue still, Contented in the vale.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

TO CLARA.

'Twas near the cool Aonian fount reclin'd, Courting dull melancholy's devious shade; While misery and grief usurp'd my mind, And dark despair my every thought pourtray'd.

The neighbouring dells responsive to each moan, Vibrate each sigh and echo'd groan for groan: Wrapt in affliction, stranger to repose, In solitude's dark cell wept o'er my woes; 'Till lovely Clara's heaven-born lyre With melting softness and Apollo's fire Expell'd the ebon shades of darken'd night, And heavenly glories burst upon my sight: When she strikes the trembling strings, When through tepid air it rings, When it vibrates through the gale, When it does our ears a.s.sail, When, borne upon the ambient breeze along, Entranc'd we listen to the magic song; Forget our cares and lull our griefs to sleep, While fancy learns of sacred truth to weep: Serene amid the angry storm, She checks the frenzied pa.s.sion's scope; And radiant as an angel form, Smiles on the death carv'd urn of hope: As when Favonius joins the solar blaze, And each fair fabric of the frost decays.

And shall we then again be friendship's guests, Again with Clara's smiles shall I be blest; Again together hail each raptur'd scene, Where happiness' bright rays shall on us beam; Again wipe the big drop from misery's eye, And shed the soften'd tear of sympathy.

Like the bright Ledean stars together roam, And Clara and her Emma be but one; And when bright Cynthia's lucid light Breaks through the opaque clouds of night, And throws a fulgent radiance round, At death's cold tomb will we be found: And o'er our relative's sad bier, Together shed the sacred tear: Through night's dark vista thus pour out our soul, While sorrow's magic power our minds controul; And when the sun's returning light Drives each humid cloud away, We together will unite, And bless them with the new-born day: And with soft cadence through the solemn glade, Perform a requiem to their lifeless shade.

Yes, lovely maid, thy Emma's heart Friendship's soft sympathy 'll impart; Will catch the tear's effulgent glow, Repress the bosom's swelling flow.

In dark oblivion's grave her woes confine, And bow fore'er at friendship's hallow'd shrine: For her she'll seek the flow'ret's bloom, The woodbine's delicate perfume; The jasmine breathing sweets divine, And the rubic eglantine.

Then quickly fly, swift as old winged time, And round her temples the fair wreathe entwine.

And didst thou think thy Emma could refuse The gift sent by thy heavenly muse; So valued--with so kind a view, To thy poor friend--alas! not due; Who if to thy soft soothing lay The trembling wire she did essay; To strike--perchance one casual note, Upon the liquid air to float: Inspir'd by thy sweet muse supreme, Of happiness might dart a gleam.

To thy mellifluous harp the sounds belong, For thou alone attun'd the friendly song: As the pale moon that does illume the night From heaven's bright radiant orb receives her light,

EMMA.

NEW-YORK Oct. 17, 1796.

TO THE EDITOR.

If you think the inclosed ELEGY, the production of a _Boy_, deserving a place in your Magazine, you are welcome to publish it. I believe few, if any, in this city have seen it.

MATILDA.

ON THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF MISS POLLY MARTIN, WHO DIED IN THE 18th YEAR OF HER AGE.

Forgive a youth, although the effort's vain, Who dares to raise the sympathetic lay; Though lost with Shenstone in th' elegiac strain, And loose unstrung reclines the lyre of Gray.

Yet when fair virtue animates the line, Say, shall the muse withhold her wonted fire; When cherubs drooping o'er the urn recline, Shall she unwilling strike the golden lyre.

Here lies the maid who late the village charm'd From whose remains the virgin lily springs, Emblem of her who envy's pow'r disarm'd, While round her turf the mournful robin sings.

Chaunt your sweet vespers through the ambient air, Ye wild companions of the tufted grove; Sing how your Polly once was heavenly fair, Form'd of compa.s.sion, tenderness and love.

Yet what avails the muse's plaintive song, Can she to life these loved remains restore, These mouldering relics to the earth belong, The young, the lovely Polly is no more.

Her placid eye, bright as the orient day, Too finely wrought for such a world as this, Was clos'd by saints, who bore her form away, Serenely gliding through the realms of bliss.

By fancy form'd I view her from above, Bending from clouds her parents to implore, Breathing rich fragrance of seraphic love, And soft p.r.o.nouncing, "mourn for me no more.

"Look on religion's wide-extended page, "Where faith triumphant shews th' uplifted cross; "Let hope of future bliss thy grief a.s.suage, "Think Polly lives, no more deplore thy loss."

SALEM, July 10, 1794,

Washington County, State of N.Y.

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_UTILE DULCI._