The British album: A collection of poems. [Three lines of anonymous verse]

About this Item

Title
The British album: A collection of poems. [Three lines of anonymous verse]
Publication
[Boston] :: Printed at the Apollo Press, in Boston, by Belknap and Hall. Sold at their office State Street, and at the several bookstores,
MDCCXCIII. [1793]
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/004830824.0001.000
Cite this Item
"The British album: A collection of poems. [Three lines of anonymous verse]." In the digital collection Eighteenth Century Collections Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/004830824.0001.000. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 6, 2025.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

PARTING ADDRESS TO DELLA CRUSCA.

Et vix sustinuit dicere lingua, vale! Ovid.
AH, tuneful BARD! whose loss the world must grieve, A last farewel, from one unknown, receive; Could but my pen with magic force prevail, Never should DELLA CRUSCA spread the sail; Ne'er seek in foreign climes repose to find, Nor leave the Fair MATILDA's form behind: But should'st thou, driv'n by adverse fortune, go, Be thine the pleasure, ours alone the woe: May'st thou be favour'd with some faithful friend, May roseate Health on all thy steps attend; Safely conduct thee to thy couch at eve, And in the morn thy first salute receive; And if sweet peace of mind can ever dwell Where Love, Almighty LOVE, has fix'd his spell,

Page 253

Be peace of mind, and every joy thy guest, While none buxt Love's soft transports warm thy breast. And sure, if DELLA CRUSCA should once more, By prosperous gales be borne to ALBION's shore, His muse again will tune the vocal lay, And gently steal the list'ning soul away:— Again will sweetly charm th' attentive throng, With all the elegance of Classic Song! Cold were th' unfeeling breast which could refuse A parting tribute to so sweet a muse; Envious the hand that would attempt to tear The laurel chaplet from thy flowing hair; Not such his wish, who now attempts the lyre— Warm'd by a Spark of thy celestial fire, Inspir'd by thee, his Muse has dar'd the flight, Pays homage to thy lays—then sinks in endless night.

THEODOSIUS.

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