Yet think not, partial friend, thy Clara vain, Ah! well she knows, she wants the muses fire, Some abler hand should strike the sounding lyre, And with my Emma’s praises swell the strain: Yet though my lay be wild and rude, By friendship’s partial eye when view’d, Emma may smile--no more I ask, I will repay the pleasing task: More than the applauding world her smile I prize, Than the morn the mildness of her eyes. CLARA NEW-YORK Oct. 3, 1796. * * * * * SOLILOQUY TO LOVE. O thou, or fiend, or angel, by what name Shall I address thee? how express thy powers? Strange compound of extremes! of heat and cold, Of hope and fear, of pleasure and of pain! Nought can escape thy prying scrutiny; Wretched, should aught but thwart thine ardent wish; And oh! how ravish’d if thou mark’st one glance, Which tells the latent longings of the soul! In that high fever, the delirious brain Coins gaudy phantoms of celestial bliss, Of bliss that never comes--for now, e’en now From airy joys he wakes to solid pain. Quick to his sight up springs, in long array, A tribe of horrid ills--the cold reply; The unanswer’d question; the assenting nod Of dull Civility; the careless look Of blank Indifference; the chilling frown That freezes at the heart; the stony eye Of fixt Disdain; or more tormenting gaze Bent on another. These, with all the train Of fears and jealousies that wait on Love, Are no imagin’d griefs; no fancied ills These; or, if fancied, worse than real woes Such art thou, Love; then who, that once has known Thy countless rocks and sands that lurk beneath, Would ever tempt thy smiling surface more? Long toss’d on stormy seas of hopes and fears, How willingly at last my wearied soul Would seek a shelter in forgetfulness! Oh! bland Forgetfulness, Love’s sweetest balm, Through all my veins thy pow’rs infuse; close up Each avenue to Love; purge off the lime That clogs his spirit, which fain would wing its flight To Sense, to Reason, Liberty and Peace. 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, October 19, 1796.+ [+No. 68.+ REFLECTIONS ON THE HARMONY OF SENSIBILITY AND REASON. SINCERITY. A little judgment, with less sensibility, makes a man cunning; a little more feeling, with even less reason, would make him sincere.