The Right Hon. the Countess of Uxbridge. The Right Hon. Lord Viscount Duncannon. Mrs. Alves, Edinburgh. Mrs. Buckley. Mr. Drury, Shields. Mrs. Haswell, Tinmouth. Mrs. Huddleston, Shields. Mrs. Hudson, Whitby. Robert Trotman, Esq. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. An American Tale. Sonnet to Mrs. Bates. Sonnet to Twilight. To Sensibility. A Song. An Ode on the Peace. Edwin and Eltruda, a Legendary Tale. A Hymn. Paraphrases from Scripture. AN AMERICAN TALE. "Ah! pity all the pangs I feel, If pity e'er ye knew;-- An aged father's wounds to heal, Thro' scenes of death I flew. Perhaps my hast'ning steps are vain, Perhaps the warrior dies!-- Yet let me sooth each parting pain-- Yet lead me where he lies." Thus to the list'ning band she calls, Nor fruitless her desire, They lead her, panting, to the walls That hold her captive sire. "And is a daughter come to bless These aged eyes once more? Thy father's pains will now be less-- His pains will now be o'er!" "My father! by this waining lamp Thy form I faintly trace:-- Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp, And pale thy honour'd face. In vain thy wretched child is come, She comes too late to save! And only now can share thy doom, And share thy peaceful grave!" Soft, as amid the lunar beams, The falling shadows bend, Upon the bosom of the streams, So soft her tears descend, "Those tears a father ill can bear, He lives, my child, for thee! A gentle youth, with pitying care, Has lent his aid to me. Born in the western world, his hand Maintains its hostile cause, And fierce against Britannia's band His erring sword he draws; Yet feels the captive Briton's woe; For his ennobled mind, Forgets the name of Britain's foe, In love of human kind. Yet know, my child, a dearer tie Has link'd his heart to mine; He mourns with Friendship's holy sigh, The youth belov'd of thine! But hark! his welcome feet are near-- Thy rising grief suppress-- By darkness veil'd, he hastens here To comfort, and to bless."-- "Stranger! for that dear father's sake She cry'd, in accents mild, Who lives by thy kind pity, take The blessings of his child! Oh, if in heaven, my Edward's breast This deed of mercy knew, That gives my tortur'd bosom rest, He sure would bless thee too! Oh tell me where my lover fell! The fatal scene recall, His last, dear accents, stranger, tell, Oh haste and tell me all! Say, if he gave to love the sigh, That set his spirit free; Say, did he raise his closing eye, As if it sought for me." "Ask not, her father cry'd, to know What known were added pain; Nor think, my child, the tale of woe Thy softness can sustain." "Tho' every joy with Edward fled, When Edward's friend is near, It sooths my breaking heart, she said, To tell those joys were dear. The western ocean roll'd in vain Its parting waves between, My Edward brav'd the dang'rous main, And bless'd our native scene.