Part 4 (1/2)

The conqu'ror crown'd his conquest with repose, And own'd the laws affection dar'd impose.

With war and with Octavia shar'd his life, Augustus rivalled and ador'd his wife.

What did I say--That Rome which saw thee yield, Was not to shew me a sufficient field, Thou would'st, thy soul's supreme content to prove, Teach all mankind thy happiness and love; T'admire Octavia ev'ry eye must join, And render her more fair and dear to thine.

O days of splendour pa.s.s'd on Athen's plains, Where all things seem'd but to cement our chains, That race by Mars and Pallas jointly crown'd, Who arts diffuse to all the world around.

Witness'd my happiness so pure serene, And press'd each day to ornament the scene.

Mild in my arms repos'd the warrior's art, Thy face expressive of thy tranquil heart; No more proclaim'd a victor's pride you knew, And peaceful virtue gain'd your valour's due; That Athens, Rome, with envy view'd before, A Roman countenance embellish'd more.

(_To be concluded in our next._)

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

PITY.

Come, gentle pity, sooth my breast, Pity, thou attribute divine, Come softly lull my heart to rest, And with my tears O mingle thine.

How sweet is sympathising grief, How grateful to the breast of woe, From sorrow's pangs we find relief In tears that from sweet pity flow.

Thus sighing to the pa.s.sing gale, Or wand'ring o'er the rugged steep, Oft have I told my mournful tale, And wept my sorrows in the deep.

Few are my days, yet full of pain I sorrowing tread life's devious way, No hopes my weary steps sustain, My grief, alas! finds no allay.

See yonder rose that withering lies, Lost are the beauties of its form, Torn from its fost'ring stem it dies, A victim to the ruthless storm.

How fair it shone at early morn, How lovely deck'd in verdant pride, It blush'd luxuriant on the thorn, And shed its sweets on ev'ry side.

How fair the morning of my day, Now chang'd, alas! to horrid gloom, My joys are fled, far, far away, And buried lie in Anna's tomb.

C. S. Q.

New-York, June 28, 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. MITCh.e.l.l, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._

_UTILE DULCI._

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE; or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, July 13, 1796.+ [+No. 54.+

_+Description+ of the famous SALT MINES at +Williska+ in +Poland+._

(Concluded from page 1.)