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And shall the Muse, that marks the solemn

scene, “ As busy fancy lifts the veil between," Refuse to mingle in the awful train, Nor breathe with glowing zeal the yotive strain? From public fame shall admiration fire The boldest mumbers of her raptur'd lyre To hymn a stranger ?-And with ardent lay Lead the wild mourner round her Cook's morai, While Andrè fades upon his dreary bier, And *Julia's only tribute is her tear ? Dear, lovely youth! whose gentle virtues stole Thro'friendship’s softning medium on her soul! Ah no!-with every strong resistless plea, Rise the recorded days she pass’d with thee; While each dim shadow of o’erwhelming years, With eagle-glance reverted, memory clears.

* Julia.—The name by which Mr. Andrè addressed the Author in his correspondence with her.

Belov'd companion of the fairest hours That rose for her in joy's resplendent bow'rs, llow gaily shone on thy bright morn of youth The Star of Pleasure, and the Sun of Truth! Full from their source descended on thy mind Each gen’rous virtue, and each taste refin’d. Young Genius led thee to his varied fane, Bade thee ask tall his gifts, nor ask in vain; Hence novel thoughts, in ev'ry lustre drest Of pointed wit, that diamond of the breast; Hence glow'd thy fancy with poetic ray, Ilence music warbled in thy sprightly lay ; And hence thy pencil, with his colours warm, Caught ev'ry grace, and copied ev'ry charm,

All his gifts. Mr. Andrè had conspicuous talents for Poetry, Music, and Painting. The news-papers mentioned a satiric poem of his upon the Americans, which was supposed to have stimulated their barbarity towards him.-Of his wit and vivacity, the letters subjoined to this work afford ample proof.-They were addressed to the Author by Mr. Andrè when he was a youth of eighteen.

Whose transient glories beam on beauty'scheek,
And bid the glowing ivory breathe and speak.
Blest pencil ! by kind fate ordained to save
Honora's semblance from her *early grave,
Oh! while on +Julia's arm it sweetly smiles,
And each lorn thought, each long regret be-

[spell, Fondly she weeps the hand, which form’d the Now shroudless mould’ring in its earthy cell !

But sure the youth, whose ill-starr'd passion With all the pangs of inauspicious love, [strove

* Early grate.-Miss Honora S, to whom Mr. Andrè's attachment was of such singular constancy, died in a consumption a few months before he suffered death at Tappan. She had married another gentleman four years after her engagement with Mr. Andrè had been dissolved by parental authority.

+ Julia's arm.--Mr. Andrè drew two miniature pictures of Miss Hopora S- on his first acquaintance with her at Buxton, in the year 1769, one for himself, the other for the author of this poem.

Full oft deplor'd the fatal art that stole
The jocund freedom of its master's soul.

While with nice hand he mark'd the living

grace, And matchless sweetness of Honora's face, Th' enamour'd youth the faithful traces blest, That barb’d the dart of beauty in his breast; Around his neck th' enchanting Portrait hung, While a warm vow burst ardent from his tongue, That from his bosom no succeeding day, No chance should bear that talisman away.

*'Twas thus Apelles bask'd in beauty's blaze, And felt the mischief of the stedfast gaze; Trac'd with disordered hand Campaspe's charms, And as their beams the kindling canvas warms,

* 'Twas thus Apelles.---Prior is very elegant upon this circumstance in an Ode to his friend, Mr. How- . ard, the Painter.

Triumphant love, with still superior art, Engraves their wonders on the Painter's heart.

Dear lost companion ! ever constant youth ! That Fate had smil'd propitious on thy truth! Nor bound th' ensanguin'd laurel on that brow Where Love ordain'd his brightest wreath to

glow! Then Peace had led thee to her softest bow'rs, And Hymen strew'd thy path with all his flow'rs, Drawn to thy roof, by friendship’s silver cord, Each social joy had brighten’d at thy board ; Science and soft Affection’s blended rays Had shone unclouded on thy lengthen’d days; From hour to hour, thy taste, with conscious pride, Had mark'd new talents in thy lovely bride ; Till thou hadst own’d the magic of her face Thy fair Honora's least engaging grace. Dear lost Honora! o'er thy early bier Sorrowing the Muse still sheds her sacred tear!

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