The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 84

THE POOR MAN'S ADDRESS TO WINTER.

Oh stay a while--unfeeling Winter--grant A little respite to a hapless wretch; Who now, though doom'd to misery and want, On the bare ground his weary limbs can stretch.

He _now_, when bath'd in night's unhealthful dews, Can point his bosom to the solar ray; That friendly ray shall warmth and life infuse, And with its cheerful influence bless the day.

He _now_, at "stern necessity's command,"

Can roam in quest of his precarious food; Claim a small pittance from some generous hand, And for a moment feel each pang subdu'd.

But when thy snows and biting frosts descend, Where shall he lay his unprotected head?

What blazing hearth its welcome flames shall lend, What careful hand prepare the needful bed?

And how, when Famine shews his haggard face?

Shall these frail knees a.s.say the treacherous ice; How bear me safely to some distant place, Amid the cruel sports of youthful vice?

And oh! how oft shall anguish rend this breast, When luxury shall pa.s.s triumphant by, In all the pride of costly ermine drest, And cast on poverty a scornful eye.

But keener pangs, alas! this heart shall feel, When some poor partner in affliction's lot Shall scenes of equal misery reveal, And pour of deep despair the mournful note.

Oh then, how freely would this hand bestow A little aid to soothe a brother's grief, Wipe the moist traces from the cheek of woe, And send to every want a kind relief!

But e'en this comfort cruel fate denies, And nought but powerless pity can I give; Still doom'd to hear the wretch's piercing cries, To hear--and, oh distraction! not relieve.

Then yet a while, unfeeling Winter, rest Thy h.o.a.ry head on Zembla's frozen lap-- But hark! I hear from far thy voice unblest, And see thy thick'ning storms the heavens enwrap.

Oh! then, in dreadful pity aim thy blow: Let thy keen blasts congeal this vital dream, Then o'er these limbs thy snowy mantle throw, More useful far than Sol's refulgent beam.

Thus let me leave a world of care and strife, And wake to scenes of everlasting life.

MONIMIA.

ODE TO BACCHUS.

Sportive Bacchus, hail to thee, Wine's supreme divinity!

Bards mistaken oft have sung Thee, for ever blithe and young, Jovial, ruddy, gay and free, Always fraught with mirth and glee, Blest with power to impart Balm that heals the wounded heart!

Shall brain-wove fiction then alone inspire The enraptur'd poet's adulating lays?

If heav'n-born Truth attune her golden lyre, Where are his boasted honours, where his bays?

Like conscious guilt, which seeks the shades of night, They fly from truth's investigating light.

Now let the G.o.d himself appear, Midst all the sport of mingled dance: What sounds discordant strike mine ear, As Bacchus and his crew advance.

Behold! the G.o.d approaching nigh, His face with deadly paleness fraught, No pleasure sparkling in his eye; A thinking being void of thought.

And next his car, so! madd'ning rage, (Prepar'd on rape or murder to engage) High brandishes his angry arm, And spreads around the dire alarm.

While white-rob'd Virtue, child of Heav'n!

Whose pow'rs untainted joys obtain, By noise and dissipation driv'n, Fearfully flies the giddy train.

Reason, fair Virtue's bright compeer!

Beholds and joins her rapid flight, Intent to seek some happier sphere, Where mirth and innocence unite.

Still as they go, with pitying eye They view the Baccha.n.a.lian crew, For these they heave the parting sigh, And kindly look their last adieu.

Next dire diseases crowd his train, With inexhausted h.o.a.rds of woe; Fevers replete with burning pain, Lingering consumptions, sure tho' slow,

And last, to close the horrid scene, With haggard eye, and frightful mien, Lo! the grim tyrant Death appears; A ghastly smile his visage wears, Whilst in his hand exultingly he shews; Emblem of timeless fate! the wither'd half-blown rose.

If such th' attendants which belong To Bacchus, "roseate G.o.d of wine,"

O make me, rose-lipp'd Temp'rance, thine, And shield me from so dire a throng-- Till youth, with all its joys are flown, And age has mark'd me for his own.

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, November 30, 1796.+ [+No. 74.+

THE GOOD HUSBAND.

The good husband is one, who, wedded not by interest but by choice, is constant as well from inclination as from principle; he treats his wife with delicacy as a woman, with tenderness as a friend: he attributes her follies to her weakness, her imprudence to her inadvertency; he pa.s.ses them over therefore with good nature, and pardons them with indulgence: all his care and industry are employed for her welfare; all his strength and powers are exerted for her support and protection; he is more anxious to preserve his own character and reputation, because her's is blended with it: lastly, the good husband is pious and religious, that he may animate her faith by his practice, and enforce the precepts of Christianity by his own example: that as they join to promote each other's happiness in this world, they may unite together in one eternal joy and felicity in that which is to come.

THE GOOD WIFE.

The good wife is one, who, ever mindful of the solemn contract which she has entered into, is strictly and conscientiously virtuous, constant, and faithful to her husband; chaste, pure, and unblemished in every thought, word, and deed; she is humble and modest, from reason and conviction; submissive from choice, and obedient from inclination; what she acquires by love and tenderness, she preserves by prudence and discretion; she makes it her business to serve, and her pleasure to oblige her husband; as conscious that every thing which promotes his happiness, must in the end contribute to her own: her tenderness relieves his cares, her affection softens his distress, her good humour and complacency lessen and subdue his affliction; she openeth her mouth, as Solomon says, "with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness; she looketh well to the ways of her husband, and eateth not the bread of idleness: her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her." Lastly, as a good and pious Christian, she looks up with an eye of grat.i.tude to the great dispenser and disposer of all things, to the husband of the widow, and father of the fatherless, intreating his divine favour and a.s.sistance in this and every other moral and religious duty; well satisfied, that if she duly and punctually discharges her several offices and relations in this life, she shall be blessed and rewarded for it in another.

ANECDOTE OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

After Sir Philip Sidney was wounded near the walls of Zetphen, the horse he rode upon being rather furiously choleric than bravely proud, forced him to forsake the field, but not his back, as the n.o.blest and fittest bier to carry a martial commander to his grave. In this sad progress, pa.s.sing along by the rest of the army, where his uncle, Robert, earl of Leicester, the general, was, and being thirsty with excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought him. But, as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had been wounded at the same time, ghastly casting up his eyes at the bottle: sir Philip perceiving this, took it from his head, before drinking, and delivered it to the poor man, with these words: "THY NECESSITY IS YET GREATER THAN MINE."

This generous behaviour of the gallant knight ought not to pa.s.s without a penegyric. All his deeds of bravery, his politeness, his learning, his courtly accomplishments, do not reflect so much honour upon him, as this one disinterested and truly heroic action. It discovered so tender and benevolent a nature: a mind so fortified against pain; a heart so overflowing with generous sentiments to relieve, in opposition to the violent call of his own necessities, a poor man languishing in the same distress, before himself, that none can read it without the highest admiration. Bravery is often const.i.tutional: fame may be the motive to seats of arms; a statesman and a courtier may act from interest; but a sacrifice so generous as this, can be made by none but those who are good as well as great; who are n.o.ble minded, and gloriously compa.s.sionate, like Sidney.