THE sun sets at night and the stars shun the day, But glory remains when their lights fade away; Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain, For the son of Alkmonoak shall never complain.

Remember his arrows he shot from his bow; Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low; Why so slow? do you wait 'till I shrink from my pain? Know, the son of Alkmonoak shall never complain.

Remember the wood, where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation a- way: When the flame rises fast! you'll exult in my pain; But the son of Alkmonoak shall never complain.

I go to the land where my father has gone, His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son; Death comes like a friend-he relieves me from pain; And thy son, O Almonoak, has scorn'd to complain.

I soon shall rejoice in the field of delight, Reserv'd for the brave, now expanding to sight; See the blood issues freely from every vein, But the son of Alkmonoak shall never complain.

With heroes united I'll traverse the woods, Or fly in the air and survey all the floods: O sharpen your spears! from your rage why refrain? For the son of Alkmonoak will never complain.

On a cloud lifted high, see my friends all in smiles, Are waiting for me at the end of my toils; Are you weary'd of tort'ring whilst yet I remain? Know, the son of Alkmonoak will never complain.

My body consumed, my limbs still support, While my spirit remains, and my heart is unhurt, Disdain and contempt in my breast shall remain, For thy son, O Alkmonoak! will never complain.

Now colle&t all your rage, ye tormentors, anon, Let your courage be try'd, let your utmost be done; I fry in the flames, and your insults sustain, But the son of Alkmonoak will never complain.

I come, O my father!-I come now to be By heroes caress'd, and applauded by thee; Mine eyes now I close, for no strength can remain, But the son of Alkmonoak still scorns to complain.

And now this young hero's tormented to death, In the midst of the flames he resign'd up his breath; And then to the land of delight he did go, And there he is a hunting with arrow and bow.

The bright God of Day.

THE bright god of day, drew westward away, And the evening was charming and clear; The swallow remains, nimbly sailing o'er the plains, And the shadows like giants appear.

In a gay summer bower, when the violet's in the flower, And zephyrs breathe odors around, Lov'd Celia she sat playing on her spinnet, And she charm'd all the grove with the sound.

The gay god of love flew over the grove, By zephyrs condu&ted along, As she touch'd on the string, he beat time with his wing, And the echo repeated the song.

Rosy bowers, she sung, while the harmony rung. And the birds they all flutt'ring arrive; Th' industrious bees, from the flowers on the trees, Gently humm'd, with their sweets, to the hive.

Ye mortals beware how you venture too near, Love doubly is armed to wound. Your fate you may shun, but you're surely undone, If you rashly approach near the sound.