Now around the blazing fire,
Social seated, raptures steal;
Dame and daughter, son and sire,
Each relate by turns the tale.
Laugh, and sprightly song go round,
Prattling children speak their fears;
Now ghosts stalking forth profound,
Wrought by fancy pale appears.
But from fictious stories free,
Free from such opinions vain,
No wan spectre sire can see,
Thus he breaks their idle strain.
“No, my children, conscious guile,
Only can make these arise;
The abandon’d and the vile,
Well may dread--but not the wise.
Tread my youthful children dear,
In those paths mark’d by our Lord;
So shall phantoms ne’er give fear--
God’s your guardian, ye his ward.”
* * * * *
+To Miss S---- T------.+
When morn returns with blushing pride,
I long to range the mountains side,
To hail with joy returning day,
And catch the woodlark’s melting lay.
When Eve descends with balmy breath,
And whispering breezes fan the heath,
I fly to hear, on yonder plain,
The bird of Evening’s dulcet strain:
Thy notes, dear S------, to mine ear,
Are sweeter, than the woodlark’s air.
And the FIRST SONGSTRESS of the choir,
Is discord to thy melting lyre.
NEW-YORK: _+Printed by THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co. No. 115,
Cherry-street.+-- +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per
quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Circulating
Library of Mr. J. FELLOWS, No. 60, +Wall-Street+._
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
_UTILE DULCI._
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, March 22, 1797.+ [+No. 90.+