MATILDA with a mother's joy, O much deceiv'd and hapless fair, For stepping forth from off the deck, Amazement-chain'd! her haggard eye Her bofom heav'd no confcious figh, To fnatch the child from inftant death, And to recall his fleeting breath Try'd ev'ry art in vain. But But when the corfe first met her view, And pierc'd th' oppofing band. With treffes difcompos'd and rude, Now throwing round a troubled glance, And, breaking from her filent trance, 'Heard ye the helpless infant fcream? 'The billows o'er him roll'd. < But foft, a while -fee there he lies, • Embalm'd in infant fleep : Why fall the dew-drops from your eyes, • What cause is here to weep? • Yes, Yes, yes his little life is fled, His heavelefs breaft is cold: "What tears will not thy mother shed, When thy fad tale is told Those lips where late the rofes blew, 6 All, all my fon declare. Strange thrilling horrors chill each vein→→ A voice in accents wild • Thunders to this distracted brain " MATILDA flew her child. She added not-but funk opprefs'd- THE |