Yet Emma, dear ungrateful maid, Though thou art fickle, I am not: Nor till I sink in death’s dark shade, Shall Emma’s image be forgot. CLARA. PEARL-STREET, _Sept. 1, 1796_. * * * * * _For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._ * * * LINES _On the Death of a young Lady who fell a victim to the effects of Lightning._ Charm’d by the vocal notes of plumag’d birds, Almyra to the grove one morn had stray’d: Nor thought to sleep in death where lowing herds And sportive lambs with pleasing freedom play’d. Beneath a lofty tree, whose shades composed, O’ercome by heat, Almyra sunk in sleep; When lo! the clouds with glowing rage opposed, And roaring thunders bid the heavens to weep. Amid these scenes the fair-one op’d her eyes, Her home afar was seen, to which she hied; To steal concealment from th’ inclement skies, But, by the lightning’s rage she fell--and died! How impious ’tis for man to ask why heav’n, Who rules aright amid the whirling storm, Should snatch away the object it had given, And let obnoxious worms destroy that form. Then let me pause--and think, alas! how soon The hand of that same God may sweep me down; Although with health I’m blest, but ere the noon, Some pitying Bard may say--“his spirit’s gone!” LUCIUS. PINE-STREET, _Sept. 7, 1796_. 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. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._ * * * * * * * * * * * * * * _UTILE DULCI._ THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE; or, Miscellaneous Repository. +Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, September 14, 1796.+ [+No. 63.+ A PEEP INTO THE DEN OF IDLENESS. Yonder! under those ragged rocks, where the baleful yews waving their sable branches of mournful cypress throws an awful gloom; a den dark and ghastly opens its horrid mouth! ’Tis there idleness is lodged, the great thief of time, and destroyer of innocence and human felicity. What a dreadful cave!----how it yawns amid the noisome lakes and shaggy bushes! Vice and sin breed here; like monsters they hiss with impudence, and howl with too late repentance. Security and Carelessness, Sloth and Ignorance, joined hand in hand, stalk around. Hark how their mingled yells echo, in the caverns of the rocks, and drive downy footed Silence far away! Prodigality and Wantonness hover aloft, and call their votaries to the scene of irrevocable loss, and to the prison of unavoidable destruction, which at a little distance opens before them: there crowds led on by Error, and intoxicated with Folly sport to ruin.