_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._
AN EPISTLE FROM OCTAVIA TO ANTONY.
+From the French.+
_BY MATILDA._
(Concluded from page 8.)
Too fleeting moments! now succeed your flight, Ambitious rivals rise in hostile fight; Thou fly"st me--fast thy rapid vessel flies, s.n.a.t.c.h"d from my eager, my expiring eyes; From that dread moment, sad presage and care, Brood in my heart, my fort.i.tude impair; My fear of Cleopatra"s pow"r renews, Thy former pa.s.sion, trembling mem"ry views; O rise ye winds! and in the deeps below, Plunge ev"ry bark t"avenge a lover"s woe; Th"ingrate whose crimes no more deserve the light, Death, and the furious pangs of love requite!
Or ah! at least the fatal fleet detain, From the curs"d region of my rival"s reign The winds, (ye G.o.ds, I fruitlessly implore!) Already land thee on that hateful sh.o.r.e; The haughty fair I see, with smiles approve The pow"rful influence of her captive love; I see thee adulate her treach"rous charms, And boast my suff"rings, cruel, in her arms; And when enfeebling transports long controul, To languid indolence resigns thy soul; She comes in all her secret arts array"d, Augments her charms by grief"s deceitful aid; Affects the tenderness of pensive thought, A mind with doubt and apprehension fraught; And with her treach"rous sighs and feign"d distress, Revives the pa.s.sion lost in calm success; "Tis thus, that mingling caprices and tears, Her form still new, still unimpair"d appears; Thou court"st the error that obscures thy mind, And think"st thou"rt happy, when thou art but blind.
What strange excess of folly could delight, When a base triumph dignified thy flight?
A Roman chief a.s.suming Bacchus" name, Thro" Alexandria, publishes his shame; In these low arts can I that hero view, Who once in Rome far different triumphs knew.
Ah! fruitless pains, requited with disdain, The charms of Egypt all thy soul detain; In her gay garden, of umbrageous grove, The Field of War and Fame no more can move.
On flowers reclining in luxurious state, Rest Caesar"s friend, the avenger of his fate; While to Octavia sunk in hapless grief, No spouse, no t.i.tles, yield a kind relief: Rome views my hapless fate with pitying eye, Fain from her sight, from all mankind I"d fly: Despair consumes me--and with calm delight, Thy hate forbids thy palace to my flight.
To all Marcellus" tears and mine proclaim, Even to Augustus mingled grief and shame; That infant feels my tears, with fond desire To sooth my sorrows, prattles of his sire; Thy cruel mandates all have seen obey"d, A trophy to thy guilty flame I"m made; In our misfortunes dost thou pleasure find, Can grief and joy at once possess thy mind; But if thy worthless heart more outrage give, I ought to warn thee, long thou wilt not live: I speak as wife, I speak as Roman too, Rome daily loses her respect for you; The child, she says, that own"d my fost"ring care, Thus with a foreigner his life to share, And give the sun to see amidst our arms A stranger Queen display her haughty charms; Our veteran"s to her dastard courts confin"d, Our standards wave, to love-devices join"d; Shall these dishonours vile be calmly borne, Till all the universe regards with scorn; No: when a Roman proves unworthy breath, Abridge his shame, or give him instant death.
The people warm, the senate join applause, Thy crime due vengeance even to Syria draws; Augustus" rage, the just intent pursues, T" avenge a sister, and a rival lose.
Ah! yet regard the impending danger near, Hear glory"s call, that glory once so dear; Return to crown Octavia"s constant love, No fierce reproaches thou from her shalt prove; Though beauty"s transient charms no more you see, Those charms, lamented husband, fled with thee; The kindness of the wanderer I deplore, Will to this form each banish"d grace restore: Could I whom only I desire, retain, Even Cleopatra"s eyes I"d wish to gain.
Thou sigh"st, I triumph----thy relenting soul For glory form"d, and virtue"s blest controul, Wilt for Marcellus take a father"s part, For him sole solace of his mother"s heart.
----What do I say--when you, perhaps, even now In Cleopatra"s arms my ruin vow; Would to the G.o.ds! ah! would the Fates decree That barbarous fair the lot ordain"d for me; O may she fall betray"d, and as she dies, View joy exulting in her lover"s eyes; On her who poison"d all my bliss of life, A cruel death avenge an injur"d wife.
So perish all who boast such dangerous arms, Whom Nature ornaments with guilty charms; To banish faith, conceal a vicious heart, Or elevate caprice and fraud to art, The despicable beauties, whose controul, Destroys the seeds of honour in the soul; Who glorying o"er ill.u.s.trious slaves to reign, Contrive each day to swell the inglorious train; The blaze of beauty wrap in viewless gloom, And dress with flow"rs their pa.s.sage to the tomb.
Forgive this transport; yes, the keenest dart Should pierce, had I the pow"r, that barb"rous heart.
For thee, dear Anthony, live ever blest, No hostile vows from me thy peace molest.
May Rome behold thee, is my warmest pray"r, Augustus" rank and the world"s empire share: While I descending to the realms beneath, Not even the pang of one remorse bequeath.
NEW-YORK June 26, 1796.
[[Sources:
The French original _may_ be Nicolas Renouard, "Epitre (or Lettre) d"Octavie a Marc-Antoine".]]
FRAGMENT.
Pow"r, wealth, and beauty are a short-liv"d trust; "Tis virtue only blossoms in the dust.
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 20, 1796.+ [+No. 55.+
[[For sources, see the end of the e-text.]]
_+Remarks+ on the +Wonderful Construction+ of the EYE._
The eye infinitely surpa.s.ses all the works of the industry of man. Its formation is the most astonishing thing the human understanding has been able to acquire a perfect knowledge of. The most skilful artist could imagine no machine of that kind which would not be much inferior to what we observe in the eye. Whatever sagacity or industry he might have, he could execute nothing which would not have the imperfections necessarily belonging to all the works of man. We cannot, it is true, perceive clearly the whole art of divine wisdom in the formation of this fine organ; but the little we do know is sufficient to convince us of the infinite wisdom, goodness, and power of our Creator. The most essential point is for us to make use of this knowledge, weak as it is, to magnify the name of the Most High.
In the first place, the disposition of the external parts of the eye is admirable. With what intrenchment, what defence, the Creator has provided our eyes! They are placed in the head at a certain depth, and surrounded with hard and solid bones, that they may not easily be hurt.
The eye-brows contribute also very much to the safety and preservation of this organ. Those hairs which form an arch over the eyes, prevent drops of sweat, dust, or such things, falling from the forehead into them. The eye-lids are another security; and also, by closing in our sleep, they prevent the light from disturbing our rest. The eye-lashes still add to the perfection of the eyes. They save us from a too strong light, which might offend us; and they guard us from the smallest dust, which might otherwise hurt the sight. The internal make of the eye is still more admirable. The whole eye is composed of coats, of humours, of muscles, and veins. The tunica, or exterior membrane, which is called _cornea_, is transparent, and so hard, that it can resist the roughest shocks. Behind that there is another within, which they call _uvea_, and which is circular and coloured. In the middle of it there is an opening, which is called the _pupil_, and which appears black. Behind this opening is the _crystal_, which is perfectly transparent, of a lenticular figure, and composed of several little flakes very thin, and arranged one over another. Underneath the crystal there is a moist and transparent substance, which they call the _gla.s.sy humour_, because it resembles melted gla.s.s. The cavity, or the hinder chamber, between the cornea and the crystal, contains a moist humour, and liquid as water, for that reason called the _watery humour_. It can recruit itself when it has run out from a wound of the cornea. Six muscles, admirably well placed, move the eye on all sides, raise it, lower it, turn it to the right or left, obliquely, or round about, as occasion requires. What is most admirable is the _retina_, a membrane which lines the inside bottom of the eye. It is nothing but a web of little fibres extremely fine, fastened to a nerve or sinew, which comes from the brain, and is called the _optic nerve_. It is in the retina, that the vision is formed, because the objects paint themselves at the bottom of the eye on that tunica: and, though the images of exterior objects are painted upside down on the retina, they are still seen in their true position. Now, in order to form an idea of the extreme minuteness of this picture, we need only consider, that the s.p.a.ce of half a mile, that is to say, of more than eleven hundred yards, when it is represented in the bottom of the eye, makes but the tenth part of an inch.
I return thee thanks, O Lord G.o.d, for having formed my eye in so wonderful a manner. My soul acknowledges thy infinite power, goodness, and wisdom. Hitherto I had not considered my eyes as I should have done, that is, as a master-piece of thy hands, and as a demonstrative proof, that even the most minute parts of my body are not the work of chance, and that thou hast formed them for most useful purposes.---_Surely I am a faint image and likeness of THYSELF._
MAXIM.
The same energy of mind which urges to the n.o.blest heights of benevolence, and a.s.sists towards the sublimest attainments of genius, may also, if not properly directed, hurry us on to the wildest extravagances of pa.s.sion, and betray into impetuosity and folly.
THE FATAL EFFECTS OF INDULGING THE Pa.s.sIONS, Exemplified in the History of M. De La Paliniere.
_Translated from the French._
(Continued from page 11.)
G.o.d of mercies! cried I, into what a frightful abyss have my pa.s.sions plunged me. Had I subdued jealousy, had I overcome my natural impetuosity, my idleness and inclination for play, I should have enjoyed a considerable fortune; should not have borne the inward and dreadful reproach of effecting the death of a worthy young man, nor of being the primary cause of the sacrifice which his unhappy mistress will make to-morrow; I should have been the delight of a benefactor, an Uncle, who at present justly thinks me ungrateful and incorrigible; and should not cowardly, at five-and-twenty, have renounced the duty of serving my King and country. Far from being an object of contempt and public censure, I should have been universally beloved, and, in possession of the gentlest, most charming, and most virtuous of women, should have had the most faithful and amiable of friends, and moreover should have been a father! Wretch, of what inestimable treasures had thou deprived thyself!
Now thou mayest wander, for ever, lonely and desolate over the peopled earth! So saying, I cast my despairing eyes around, terrified as it were at my own comfortless and solitary situation.
Buried in these reflections, my attention was rouzed by the sound of hasty footsteps upon the stairs. My door suddenly opened, a man appeared and ran towards me; I rose instinctively, advanced, and in an instant found myself in the arms of Sinclair!
While he pressed me to his bosom I could not restrain my tears; his flowed plentifully. A thousand contending emotions were struggling in my heart; but excessive confusion and shame were most prevalent, and kept me silent.
I was at the farther part of Poitou, my friend, said Sinclair, and knew not till lately, how necessary the consolations of friendship were become; besides, I wanted six months for my own affairs, that I might afterward devote myself to you. I am just come from Fontainbleau, have obtained leave of absence, and you may now dispose of me as you please.
Oh Sinclair! cried I, unworthy the t.i.tle of your friend, I no longer deserve, no more can enjoy the precious consolations which friendship so pure thus generously offers: I am past help, past hope.