ADVERTISEMENT.

THE energy and native genius of these Fragments, must be the only apology which the Editor can make for thus intruding them on the Public Notice. The FIRST I found with no title, and have left it so. It is intimately connected with the dearest interests of universal happiness; and much as we may deplore the fatal and enthusiastic tendency which the ideas of this poor female had acquired, we cannot fail to pay the tribute of unequivocal regret to the departed memory of genius, which, had it been rightly organized, would have made that intellect, which has since become the victim of phrenzy and despair, a most brilliant ornament to society.

In case the sale of these Fragments evinces that the Public have any curiosity to be presented with a more copious collection of my unfortunate Aunt's Poems, I have other papers in my possession, which shall, in that case, be subjected to their notice. It may be supposed they require much arrangement; but I send the following to the press in the same state in which they came into my possession.

J. F.

VOL. IV.

Ꮓ

POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS.

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AMBITION, power, and avarice, now have hurl'd
Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleeding world.
See! on yon heath what countless victims lie,
Hark! what loud shrieks ascend thro' yonder sky;
Tell then the cause, 'tis sure the avenger's rage
Has swept these myriads from life's crowded stage:
Hark to that groan, an anguish'd hero dies,
He shudders in death's latest agonies;
Yet does a fleeting hectic flush his cheek,
Yet does his parting breath essay to speak-

"Oh God! my wife, my children-Monarch thou "For whose support this fainting frame lies low; "For whose support in distant lands I bleed, "Let his friends' welfare be the warrior's meed. "He hears me not-ah! no-kings cannot hear, "For passion's voice has dull'd their listless ear. "To thee, then, mighty God, I lift my moan, "Thou wilt not scorn a suppliant's anguish'd groan. "Oh! now I die-but still is death's fierce pain"God hears my prayer-we meet, we meet again." He spake, reclin'd him on death's bloody bed, And with a parting groan his spirit fled.

Oppressors of mankind to you we owe

The baleful streams from whence these miseries flow;

For you how many a mother weeps her son,

Snatch'd from life's course ere half his race was run!. For you how many a widow drops a tear,

In silent anguish, on her husband's bier!

'Is it then thine, Almighty Power," she cries, Whence tears of endless sorrow dim these eyes?

Is this the system which thy powerful sway, "Which else in shapeless chaos sleeping lay, "Form'd and approv'd?-it cannot be--but oh! "Forgive me Heaven, my brain is warp'd by woe."

'Tis not he never bade the war-note swell,

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He never triumph'd in the work of hell-
Monarchs of earth! thine is the baleful deed,

Thine are the crimes for which thy subjects bleed.
Ah! when will come the sacred fated time,

When man unsullied by his leaders' crime,
Despising wealth, ambition, pomp, and pride,
Will stretch him fearless by his foemen's side?
Ah! when will come the time, when o'er the plain
No more shall death and desolation reign?
When will the sun smile on the bloodless field,
And the stern warrior's arm the sickle wield?
Not whilst some King, in cold ambition's dreams,
Plans for the field of death his plodding schemes;
Not whilst for private pique the public fall,
And one frail mortal's mandate governs all.
Swell'd with command and mad with dizzying sway;
Who sees unmov'd his myriads fade away.
Careless who lives or dies-so that he gains.
Some trivial point for which he took the pains.
What then are Kings?-I see the trembling crowd,
I hear their fulsome clamours echoed loud;

Their stern oppressor pleas'd appears awhile,