Alas! Alas! the fated night Of cold October twenty third, In seventeen hundred ninety-nine; What cries, what lamentation heard, The hour nine, when from yon pile, Where fair porcelain takes her form, Where energy with genius joins, To robe her in those matchless charms, A wearied band of artists rose, Males and females, old and young, Their toil suspend, to seek repose, Their homes to gain, they bent along. Sabrina’s stream was near to pass, And she her frowning waves upraised, Her mist condensed to darksome haze Which mocked the light; no star appeared. Yon boat, which o’er her bosom rides, Enveloped in the heavy gloom, Convulsive stretch’d along her sides, To snatch the victims to their doom. Soon e’er on board their faltering feet A monster fell who grasped the helm, Hove from the shore the distressed crew, And so the dreadful overwhelm, Swift horror’s wings o’er spread the tides, They sink! they rise! they shriek! they cling! Again they sink; alarm soon flies, Along their shores dread clamours rise, But Oh, the bleakest night preventing Every means to save their breath, Helpless, hopeless, life despairing Twenty-eight sunk down in death. Alas small time for Heaven’s implorings, Quick sealed their everlasting state, Or, in misery, or in glory, The last tribunal will relate, Here fold, O muse thy feeble wings, Hope where thou canst, but not decide, Dare not approach those hidden things, With mercy, justice, these abide. Return with sympathetic breath, See yon distracted mother stands, Three daughters lost, to heaven she lifts Her streaming eyes and wringing hands, Hark! from those dells how deep the wailings, Fathers, Mothers, join their moans, Widows, orphans, friends and lovers, Swell the air with poignant groans; Recluse in grief, those worthy masters Silent drop the mournful tear. Distress pervades surrounding hamlets, Sorrow weeps to every ear, Sleepless sighings hail the morning, Morning brings no soothing ray. The author of these verses, Mr. Dyas, was a very clever carver on stone and on wood. He engraved the blocks for a work printed by Mr. Edmonds at Madeley, entitled “Alexander’s Expedition down the Hydaspes and the Indus to the Indian Ocean.” He was the author too of an invention world-wide in its benefits, that of the printers’ roller; an invention second only to the art of printing itself, and infinitely superior to thousands of others out of which vast fortunes have been made.