^^^^^^B ^^^^^^■1 A A = A- C/) m — =^ JD 3 = 3 ^ O 1 — 9 = ■~~" 1 — = CD ™" -J3 6 - 1 ^ O 5 = i~ ^"^ — ( ^ ^^^ ^^= -C 7 ,.y.*J.M*. V*. ^\* .H'-r, •■:^-^'i&\ U fefc;*> ■**>/' k: ^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 5#" \; •^ . ^ >' ¥ - --^' tH NV' Oi^f- ^%^ Q(i:c<^7y^'^i' Character of the fair Sex The Jewess and her Son . The Wedding Day . To a young Ass The Lion . The Happy Retreat Ronald and Dorna . Celadon and Amelia Crazy Kate Sonnet . . . . The Country Ball . The Country Fair The Captive Trumpeter To a Kiss A3 Ledi/ard. , Peter Pindar. . , /////. ■5". T. Coleridge, Collins. Hill. . Idem. Thomson. Cowper. Roscoe. . Py6. Idem. . Somerville. Peter Pindar. •Paec CONTENTS. 31. 34. 35. .J ( . 40. 42. 43. 46. 48. 49. 50. 53. 55. 58. 61. G2. 66. (i9. 70. 73. 74. 16. 77. 7». The Disabled Soldier The Gypsies The Indian Philosopher Palenion and Anna The Power of Innocence To an amiable Girl Ode to Wisdom The Storm . The Petit-maitre & the Man } ^^.^^^ ^ .^^^^^, on the Wheel . . ) The Pili^rims and the Peas . . Jdc7ii, . Anon. Coc/per. Watts. . Falconer. . Anon. Charlotte Smith. Miss Carter. . Hurdis. Damon and Musidora Thomson. A Razor-Seller and Country > d , r>- , • } Pdcr Pindar. s Bum kin The Post Boy . The Forest Boy . Ode to the Glow-worm The T'ell'd Grove A true Story of an Apparition . TheGypsi^y .... A Botany Bu}- Eclogue Ode in Imitation of Horace Superannuated Horse , Canzomt , . . . Sonnet The Press Warrant . The Way to be Wise . Three Black Crows. Cou'pcr. Charlotte Smith. Peter Pindar. Coxfper. . Gay. Bray. Southey. W. Hastings, Anon. Hurdis. Anon. . Idem. , Idem. Byrom. Page CONTENTS. 79. Bad Company; or, tlie Magpye Anon. 82. The good Preacher . . . Cowper. 83. The Contrast Idem. 84. Pig & Magpje . . . P, Pindar, 85. The Peasant of Auburn . ._ Coombe. 91. The Student .... Gneme. 94. Alonzo the Brave and Fair ) ^ p ^^^, .^^ ^^^ Imogene . . . ^ 97. Verses ^vritten near Con- > ^^^ Montague. stantinople . . J 100. The Poet and Spider . . Anon. 101. The Parish Poor-house . . . Crahbe. 102. The Unfortunate Fair . . Soufhey. 103. On viewing the Ruins of an Abbey Scott. 104. The young Author . . Johnson, 105. The Hamlet . . . . T. Warton. 107. The Hermit Beattic. 108. Address to Happiness . . Ilurdis. 109. Ode to Content . . Mrs. Barbaidd. 111. The Welchman and the Pullet P. Pindar. 113. Edwin and Angelina . Goldsmith. 117. Ode to Innocence . . . P.Pindar. 119. To a Spring, in a beautiful ) ^ j. Coleridge. Village . . . ) "" 121. Birth of Man .... Dryden. Verses from Peru, a Poem Miss IFilliams. 123. The Sailor, an Elegy . . Rogers. The Country Apothecary . . Crabbe. Page CONTENTS. 125. The Three Warnings . . Mrs. Pioxxi. 128. The African 15oy . . . Cowper. 129. Description of a Smith . . . Hurdis. 131. Azid P.Pindar. 132. Distinction of Ages . . . Hill. 133. A Fragment, on the Death of the) ^ Scotch Poet Burns , . S 134. The Philosopher .... Idem. 136. The Lass of Fair Wone . From Burgher. 141. The Queen of France to her Chil- ) p „. , dren, just before her Execution ' 112. Good Friday Idem. 143. Laura Mrs. Opie. The long \'acation .... ybwn. 146 Pleasures of Memory . S. Rogers, Esq. 148. On a Bee, stifled in Honey . . Anon. 149. On a Tuft of early Violets W. GiJTord, Esq. 150. A Wish .... S.Rogers, Esq. 151. The Dog and the Water Lily . Co-sper. 152. Elegy to Pity . - . . Anon. 154. The Lady's Looking-glass . . Prior. 155. The Thief Anon, 157. The Bo\vlincr-(rrcen . . . Somerville. 162. On Aurelia's Blushing . . . Anon. 163. The young l-'lyand tlie old 'is\n(lev P.Pindar. 164. To Henry Eliza. 166. From Pleasures of Memory . . Rogers. 167. The Sigh . . . S.T.CokridgQ. ruge IG8. 169. 173. 176. 177. ITS. 180. 181. 185. 186. 188. 190. 192. 193. 194. 196. 197. 199. 200. 201. 202. 203. 205. 206. 207. CONTENTS. TJie Thresher .... Cowper. Verses from Italy .... Addison. Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton > College. ... ^ Ode on the Death of a favorite Cat Idem. Gray. Little Mouths Anna ; or, the Complaint Epitaph . The fair Pilgrim . Address to Life On Partridge Shooting The Toper and the Flies Sheep-Shearing Elegy to a young Nobleman A Court Audience Epigram .... The Garland Verses from Copenhagen Virtue an Ornament Duncan's Warning . The Maniac On Spectacles The Kiss Anon. Mrs. Moodjj. . P. Pindar. Dafyd ap Guilym. . Anon. Idem. . P. Pindar. Dyer. Mason. Anon, . Idem. Prior. Philips. Anon. . AiMn. . C. Lloyd, . Anon. S. T. Coleridge. Epitaph on a poor, but honest Man Anon, L' Amour Ide7n. The Gentleman and his Wife . P. Pindar. To a Coquette .... Anon. Grongar-HHl .... IdcTU. Pag, CONTENTS. 211. The Butterfly and Bee . Whitehead. The Rose .... Philips. 212. Elegy on the Death of a mad Dog Goldsmith. 213. The poor Curate . . Deari Suift. To a young Man . . . Duncan. 215. The Miser's Wonder . . . Anon. 217. Elegy on the Deatli of Burns . . Roscoe. 221. Eveninji; Contemplations in a > ^ /, College ... 3 225. Ode to the Devil . . P.Pindar. 230. The Fatal Sisters .... Gray. 232. The Man of Ross . . . Pope. 233. The Revenge of America . . Warton. 234. Ode to Leven Water . . . Smcllet. 235. Ode on Solitude .... Pope. 236. The Female Prattler . . . Anon. On the Death of Lady Coventry . Afaso?i. 240. The Parson's Case . . . Dean Stcift. 241. Jemmy Dawson .... Shcnstone, 244. The Soldier and the Virgin Mary P. Pindar. 246. Invitation to the Feathered Race . Greaves. 248. On Beauty .... Shakespeare. Description of London . . Anon. 249. Elegy written on the Plains of \ . M t'll Fontenoy ... 5 251. The Winter's Day . . . Anon. 253. From Edwin and Eltruda Miss Williams. 257. Ode to Melancholy . . . Ogilvie, 260. 2G1. 262. 265. 270. 271. 273. 274. 275. 276. 277. 2S1. 282. 285. 586. 287. 289. 295. 297. 299. 300. 301. 303. 304. 306. 309. CONTENTS. Elegy, in Imitation of Tibullus Smollet. The Happy Life . . W. Tiiovipson. The Milk Maid . . . Idem. Elegy on a Pile of Ruins Cunningham, The Picture .... Idem. The Tears of Scotland . . . Smollet. The Lover and Friend . . Moore. Epitaph on an Infant . . . Anon. Orra Moor .... Steele. True Benevolence . . . Anon. Dinah ; or my Lady's House- ) p p^^^^^^^ keeper ... * Religion at Sea The double Transformation . To a Lady, with a Ring . The Prostitute My Native Home The African Lovers To the May-Fly Poor Marguerite The Haunted Beach . Sonnet .... The Thorn ... To the Sun . . The Faithful Friend . The JLackdaw Goody Blake & Harry Gill To the NishtirKsrale . . Idem. Goldsmith. Anon. . Anon. Airs. Robinson. Anon. Oberon. MrSi Robinson. Idem. S. WeUs. • Burns. Anon. Cowper> Idem. Anon. P. Pindar. Page CONTEXTS. :3io. 312. 313. 314. 316. 318. 322. 334. 340. 341. 343. 344. 346. 347. 348. Susan and the Spider A Comparison Rona, imitated from Ossian Harvest Home The Wintry Day November The Deserted Village Idem. , Cou-per. Grteme. Mrs. Robinson. Idcnt. Dr. Perfect. Dr Goldsmith. Grai/. An Elegy, written in a Country ) Church Yard . . 5 The Universal Prayer . . . Pop':-. Verses . . , R. B. Sheridan, Esq. Blue Ey'd Mary .... ^7ion. Poor Lisette ! . , . ]\Irs. Robinson. Sonnet ...... Idem. On the Incertitude of Life . . Anon. The Peasant of the Alps Charloile Smith. Corin's Profession . . P. Pindar. An Epitaph on a fallen Beauty . Idem. 3Beautie6 OF BRITISH POETRY. THE TRAVELLER. By Dr. Goldsmith. REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wand'ring Po ; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, A weary waste, expanded to the skies ; Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see. My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags, at each remove, a length'ning chain. Eternal ])lessings crown my earliest friend. And i-ound his dwelling guardian saints attend ; 1 jlest be that spot, where choeruil guests retire, 'I o j)ause from toil, and trim tlieir evening lire ; 2 IMcst that abode, wlicrc want and pain rejiair. And ev'ry stranger finds a ready chair; Blest be those feasts, where mirth and peace abound, A\ liere all the ruddy family around J.auf;h at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale. Or press the bashful stranger to his food. And learn the luxury of doinlill : Thus to mv breast alternate passions rise, Pleas'd with each good that Jieav'u to man supplies; ^'et oft a sigli prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the sum ot human bliss so small ; And oft I wish, amid the scene, to tind Some spot to real happiness consign'd. Where my worn soul, each wand' ring hope at rest. May gather bliss, to see my fellows blest. Yet, where to find that happiest spot below Who can direct, when all pretend i\) know ? The shutld'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own. Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease ; The naked savage, panting at the line. Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gav< Kor less the patriot's boast, where'er we roam. His first, best country ever is — at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare. And estimate the blessings which they share ; Though patriots ilatter, still siiall wisdom liad An equal portion dealt to all mankind. As dilferent good, by Art or Nature giv'n To dilferent nations, makes their blessings ev'n. Nature, a mother kind alike to all. Still "rants her bliss at Labour's earnest call ; With food as well the peasant is supply'd On Idra's ciit'f as Arno's sheivy side; And though the rocky crested summits frown. These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. From Art more various are the blessings sent ; Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content : Yet these each other's pow'r so strong contest. That either seems destructive of thp rest. B 2 ITenre ov'ry state, to one lov'd hlossinc prone, Lont'orms and models life to that alone. Each to the favVite happiness attends, And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; Till, carried to excess in each tlomain. This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. But let us view these tniths with closer eyes. And trace them through tiie prospect as it lies? Here, for a while, m\ proper cares resigned, Here let me sit in sorrow tor mankind ; Like yon neglected shrub, at random cast, That shades the stei-p, and sighs at everv blast. Far to the right, where Appennine ascends, Bright as the summer, Italy extends: Her uplands, sloping, deck the mountain's side, ^\ oods over woods in gay theatric pride ; M hile oft some temple's mould'ring top bet\\een, A\ ith venerable grandeur marks tlie scene. C0VI.D Nature's bounty satisfy the breast. The sons of Italy were surely blest, \\ hatever fruits in ditlerent climes are found, '1 hat proudly rise or humbly court the ground ; \N hatever blooms in lorrid tracts appear, ^\ hose bright succession decks the varied year ; \\ hatever sweets salute the northern sky \N ith vernal lives, that blossom but to die; These, here disporting, own the kindn-d soil. Nor ask luxuriance iVom the planter's toil ; While sea-born gales their gelul wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. Rut small the bliss that =ense alone bestows; And sensual bliss is all this nation knows. In liorid beauty groves and (iekis appear, Man seems the onl\ growth that dwiudles here. Contrasted iaults through all Jiis manners reign. Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain ; Though grave, yet trilling; zealous, yet untrue ; And, e'en in penance, planning sins aiicw. All evils here contaminate the mind, That opulence departed leaves behind ; For wealth was tlieirs; nor far reniov'd the date. When Commerce proudly tlourish'd thro' the state : At her command the palace learnt to rise, Again the long-faH'n column sought the skies ; The canvas glow'd, beyond e'en nature, warm ; The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form. But, more unsteady than the southern gale. Soon Commerce turn'd on otiier shores her sail ; While nought remain'd of all that riches gave. But towns unniann'd, and lords without a slave. Yet, still the loss of wealth is here siipph'd By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind An easy compensation seems to tind. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp arrSy'd, The pasteboard triumph and llie cavalcade ; Processions form'd for piety and love ; A mistress or a saint in ev'ry grove. By sports like these are all their cares begnil'd. The sports of children satisfy the child; Each nobler aim, represt by long control. Now sinks at last, or feebly mans tlie soul ; AVhile low delights, succeeding fast behind. In happier meanness occupy tiie mind : As in those domes, where Ciesars once bore sway, Defac'd by time, and lott'ring in decay. Amidst the ruin, heedless of the dead, 1 he shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed. And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile. Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. My soul, turn from them ; turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display ; AVhere the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread. And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. No jjroduct here the barren hills alford. But man and steel, the soldier and his sword No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array. But winter, ling'ring, chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. Yet still, e'en here. Content can spread a charm, Kedress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 'I'hough poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 'I o shade the meanness of his humble shed ; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal. To make him loathe his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil. Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose. Breathes the keen air, and carrols as he goes ; With patient angle trolls the finny deep. Or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep ; Or seeks the den, where snow-tracks mark the way. And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, ev'ry labor sped. He sits him down, the monarch of a shed ; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard. Displays the cleanly platter on the board : And haply too some pilgrim, thither led. With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus every good his native wilds impart Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; And e'en those hills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss ftis scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms. And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; And, as a babe, when scaring sounds molest. Clings close and closer to (lie mother's breast. So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar. But bind him to his native mountains more. Such are the charms to barren states assign'd ; '1 heir wants are few, their w islies all confin'd. Yet let them only share the praises due. If few their wants, tlieir pleasures are but few ; For ev'ry want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. Hence, irom such lands each pleasing science flies. That first excites desire, and then supplies ; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy. To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; Unknown those pow'rs that raise the soul to flame. Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrate through the frame. Their level life is but a mould'ring fire. Nor quench'd by want, nor fann'd by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year. In wild excess the vulgar breast takes|rire, 'Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow ; Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low : For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Unalter'd, unimproved, their manners run ; And love's and friendship's iinely pointed dart Falls blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons, cow'ring on the nest ; But all the gentler morals, such as play Through life's more cullur'd walks, and charm our way, These, far dispers'd, on tim'rous pinions fly. To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please. How often have I led thy sportive choir, \\'ith tuneless pipe, beside the murm'ring Loire ! Where shading elms along the margin grew. And, Ireshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew ; And haply, thougli my harsh touch, falt'ring still. But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill; Yet would the village praise my wond'rous pow'r. And dance, Ibrgetful of the noon-tide hour. 8 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient dajs Ilavi- led their children through the mirthful maze; And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore. Has frisk'd beneath the burden ot threescore. So blest a life these thoughtless realms display- ; Thus, idly busy, rolls their world away : Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honor forms the social temper here. Honor, that praise which real merit gains. Or cv'n imaginary worth obtains, Here passes rurrent; paid from hand to hand. It shifts in splendid Iraihc round the land : From courts to camps, to cottages it strays. And all are taught an avarice of praise ; Thev please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, 'Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. But, while this softer art their bliss supplies, • It gives their follies also room to rise; For praise too dearly lov'd or warmly sought Enfeebles all internal strength of thought : And the weak soul, within itself unblest. Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence Ostentation here, with tawchy art. Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart ; Here X'anity assumes her pert grimace. And trims lier robe of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar Pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year ; The mind still turns where shifting; lashion draws, "Nor weighs the solid worth of seli'-applause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, F.mbosom'd in the deep, wiiere Holland lies ; Mi'thinks her patient sons before me stand, Where tht: broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide. Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 1 he linn connected bulwark seems to go ; 9 Spreads its long arms amid the wal'ry roar, Scoops out ail empire, and usurps tiie shore: While the pent Ocean, rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 'l"he slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail. The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, A new creation rescu'd from his reign. Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil, Inclustrious habits in each bosom reign. And Industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the good from opulence that springs. With all those ills superfluous treasure brings. Are here display'd. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, Ev'n liberty itself is barter'd here : At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, 'I'he needy sell it, and the ricli man buys ; A land of tyrants and a den of slaves. Here wretches seek dishonorable graves. And calmy bent, to servitude conform. Dull as their lakes that slumber. in the storm. Heav'ns ! how unlike their Belgic sires of oldj Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! P'ir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing. And Hies where Britain courts the western spring ; \N here lawns extend, that scorn Arcadian pride. And brig'hter streams than fam'd Hyflaspes glide. There all around the gentlest breezes strav. There gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms an; there combin'd. Extremes are only in the master's mind: Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state. With daring aims, irre'^ularlv "reat. 10 Pride in their port, defiance in tlicir eve, I see the lords of human kind pass hy. Intent on high designs, a thoughliulband, By forms imfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand ; Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to iniagin'd right, above control ; While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns lo venerate himself as man. Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd hcr«. Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy ; But, foster'd e'en by freedom, ills annov ;' That independence Britons prize too high Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tic; The self-(lep(Mident lordlings stand alone. All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown; Flere, by the bonds of nature leebly lield, Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd. Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, P.eprest ambition struggles round her shore. Till, over-wrought, the gen'ral system feels Its motion stop, or phrcnzy fire the wheels. Nor this tlie worst. As Nature's ties decay. As duly, love, and honor fail to sway. Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law. Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. Hence all obedience bows to these alone. And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 'J ill time may come, when, stript of all her charms. The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, \\'here noble stems transmit the patriot flame, A\'hcre kings liave toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarice shall lie. And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die. Yet think not, thus when freedom's ills I state, I mean to Hatter kinn;s, or court the great : Ye pow'rs of truth, that bid my soul as|)ire. Far from nn bosom drive the low desire! J- II f\nd thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feci The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel ; Thou transitory flovv'r ! alike undone By proud contempt, or favor's fost'ring sun. Still may thy blooms tlie changeful clime endure, I only would repress them to secure ; For just experience tells, in ev'ry soil. That those who think must govern those that toil ; And all that freedom's highest aims can reach Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each : Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow. Its double weight must ruin all below. O, then, how blind to all that truth requires. Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms. Except when fast approaching danger warms: But, when contending chiefs blockade the throne. Contracting legal pow'r to stretch their own ; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw. Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law; The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home ; Fear, pity, justice, indignation start. Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; 'Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour. When first ambition struck at regal power; And, thus polluting honor in its source. Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore. Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? Seen ail her triumphs but destruction haste. Like tlaring tapers bright'ning as they waste? Seen opulence, her grandeur t^maintain, Lead stern depopulation in her train. And, over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose. In barren solitary pomp repose ? 12. Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordlv call, The smiling long-frequented village fall? IJehekl tlu- duteous son, the sire decay'd, 'I'Jie inodust matron, aad the blushing maid, Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes beyond tiie ^vestern main ; AVherL' wild Oswego sj)reads her swamps around. And Niagara stuns witli thund'ring sound? E'en now, pcrhajjs, as there stime pilgrim stravs Through tangled fort'sts, and through dang'rous ways; Where beasts with man divided empii-e claim, And the brown Indian takes a murd'rous aim; U'here, -while above the giddy tempest flies. And all around dislressful yells arise, ']"he pensive exile, bending with his woe. To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathii:e witij mine. "N'ain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind : AMiy have I stray'd from pleasure and repose. To seek a good each government bestows? In cv'rv government, thougli terror reign. Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure. That ])art which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves, in every place consign'd. Our own felicity we make or find ; With secret course, which no loud storms annov, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 'l\w lifted ax, the agoni/ing wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damien's l)ed of steel. To men remote from )K)w'r l)ut rarelv known. Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our ow n. I.i POOR MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN". Soutkey. TirrHO is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fix'd Seem a heart overcharg'd to express ? — She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; She never complains — but her silence implies The composure of settled distress. No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek, C'old and hunger awake not lier care; Thro' the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak On iier ])oor willier'd bosom, half bare, and her check Has the deadly pale hue of despair. Yet cheerful and happy (nor distant the day) Poor Mary the maniac has been ; 'i'he trav'llcr remembers, who jom-ney'd this way, IS'o damsel so lovely, no damsel sri gay. As Mary, the maid of the inn. Her cheerful address fiM'd the guests with delight. As she welconi'd them in with a smile ; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, -vnd Mary woulti walk by the ablie\' at night, \^'heu the wind whistled down the dark aisle. u She lov'd — and yoiins; Richard liad settled the day — And s!ie h()j)'cl to be lia;)i)\' for life: But Richard was idle and worthless ; and they M ho knew him would pity poor Mar}', and sav> That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in Autumn, and stormy and daric was tlie night. And fast wei'c the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the iire that burnt bright. And smokinu in silence, witli trantiuil delight. They listen'd to hear the wind roar. " 'Tis pleasant," cry'd one, " seated by the fire-side, " To hear tin- wind whistle without." " A tine night for tiie abbey," his comrade reply'd : " Methinks a man's courage would now be well'try'd, " \\'ho should wander the ruins about. " 1 myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear " "1 he hoarse ivy shake over my head ; " And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, " Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, " I'or this wind mi^ht awaken tiie dead." ^ " I'll wager a dinner," the other one cry'd, " I'hat Mary would venture there now:" " Then wager, and lose !" with a sneer he reply'd, " i'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost l)y her side, " And faint if she saw a white cow." " Will Mary this charge on her courage allow.'" His companion cxclaim'd, with a smile; " i shall win, for I know slie will venture tliere now, " And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough " I''rom the alder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humour did Mary comply, :\nd her way to the abbev siie bent ; Tiie night it was gloomy , the wind it was high, .\nd, as liollowlv howling it swei)t through the sky, .Slie shiver'd with cold as she went. 15 O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid. Where the abbey rose dim on the sight ; Through the gateway she enter'd, she felt not afraid. Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Howl'd dismally round the old pile; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd. And arriv'd at the innermost ruin at last, _ Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. WMl pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near. And hastily gather'd the bough ; When the sound of^a voice seem'd to rise on her ear — She paus'd, and she listen'd, all eager to hear. And her heart panted fearfully now. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head ; — She listen'd ; — nought else could she iiear. The wind ceas'd, herheart sunk in her bosom wilhdrcad. For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Gf footsteps approaching her near. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear. She crept, to conceal herself there: That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear. And she saw in the moon-light two ruffians appear. And between them a corpse did they bear. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdled cold ! Again the rough wind hurried by — It blew off the hat of the one, and behold ! Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roU'd: She fell — and expected to die. Curse the hat !" — he exclaims — " nay, come on, and " first hide " The dead body," his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supply'd. And fast through the abbey she tlies. B 2 16 She ran with wild speed, she nish'd in at the door, She cast lior eyes horribly round ; Her limbs could support their laint burden no more ; lint, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor. Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view; Her eves from that object convulsively start, I'or, oh God ! what cold horror tlirillM thro' her heart When the name ot" her Riciiard she knew ! A\'iiere the old abbey stands, on the common hard by. His gibbet is now to be seen ; "Not far from tlie inn it engaocs the eye, 'J he liav'ller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn. TO A FLY, TAKEN OUT OF A BOWL OF PUXCH, Peter Pindar. AH ! poor intoxicated little knave ! Now, senseless, lloating on the fragrant wave, W hy not c-onlent tht- cakes'^alone to mvnich ? Dearlv thou pav'st for buzzing round the bowl ; Lost to the world, thou busv sweet-lipp'd soul ! — Thus Death, as well as I'leasure, dwells with punch. Now let me take thee out, and moralise.— ■JIuis 'tis with mortals, as it is with flies, 1 or ever hank'ring after pleasure's cup : '^iu)U^h fate, with ail his legions, be at hand, 'i lu' lieasts the draught of Circe can't withstand, Lktt in goes every nose— they jtiml, icill sup. 17 Mad are the passions as a colt untamM: When prudence mounts their backs, to ride them mild, They fiing, they snort, they foam, they rise intlam'd. Insisting on their own sole will so wild. Gadsbud ! my sprawling friend, thou art not dead! The fates, so kind, have not yet snipp'd thy thread; By heav'ns, thou mov'st a leg,' and now its brother. And kicking, lo, again thou mov'st another ! And now thv little drunken eyes unclose; And now thou feelest for thy little nee, And, finding it, thou rubbest thy two hands. Much as to say, " I'm glad I'm here again." And well mav'st tliou rejoice, 'tis very plain. That near "wert thou to death's unsocial lands. And now tliou rollcst on thy back about, Happy to lind thyself alive, no doubt ; Now turnest — on the table making rings ; Now crawling, forming a wet track, Now shaking^the rich liquor from thy back. Now fiutt'ring nectar from thy silken wings : Now standing <)n thy head, thy strength to hnd. And poking out ihy small, long legs i)ehind ; And now thy ])inio"ns dost thou briskly ply ; Preparing now to leave me — farewell, fly ! Go, join thy brothers on yon suimy board, And rapture to thy family afford. There wilt thou'meet a mistress, or a wife, That saw thee, drunk, drop senseless in the stream ; Who gave, perhaps, the wide-resounding scream, And now sits groaning for thy precious iile. Yes, go and carry comfort to thy friends. And wisely tell tiiem thy imprudence ends. Let buns and sugar for the future charm ; These will delight, anri feed, and work no liarm — Whilst puncii, the grinning merry imp of sin. Invites th' unwary wand'rer to a kiss, Smili's in his facej as though he m.eant him bliss, Then, like an alligator, drags him in. c 3 18 CHARACTER OF THE FAIR SEX. Ledyard. THROUGH many a land and clime a ranger. With toilsome'steps, I've lield my way ; A lonelv, unprotected stranger, To stranger's ills a constant prey. While steering thus my course precarious, Mv fortune ever was to find Mens' hearts and dispositions various. But women grateful, true, and kvnd ; Alive to ev'rv tender feeling, To deecfs of mercy always prone, The wounds of pain aiid sorrow healing, ^\ ith soft compassion's sweetest tone. No proud delay, no dark suspicion, Taints the" free Iiounty of their heart ; Thcv turn not from the sad petition, 'But cheerful aid at once impart. Form'd in benevolence of nature, Obliging, modest, gay, and mild. Woman's the same endearing creature. In courtly town, or savage wild. When parch'd with thirst, with hunger wasted. Her friendly hand refri^hment gave. How sweet the coarsest food has tasted ! How cordial was the simple wave ! Her courteous looks, her words caressing, Shed comfort on the fainting soul ;— Woman's the stranger's gen'ral blessing, From sultry India to the pole. 19 THE JEWESS AND HER SON. Peter Pindar. POOR Mistress Levi had a luckless son. Who, rushing to obtain a foremost seat, In imitation of th' ambitious great. High from the gall'ry, ere the play begun. He fell all plump into the pit, Dead in a minute as a nit : In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck ; Indeed, and very dreadful was the wreck ! The mother was distracted, raving, wild ; Shriek'd, tore her hair, embrac'd and kiss'd her child; Afflicted ev'ry heart with grief around : Soon as the show'r of tears was somewhat pas,t, And moderately calm th' hysteric blast, She cast about her eyes, in thought profound; And being with a saving knowledge bless'd, She thus the play-house manager atldress'd: " Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad, " Dat meet niisfartin here so bad " Sher, I mus haf de shilling back, you know, " Ass Moshes haf not see de show." THE WEDDING DAY. Hill. 5np\VAS one May morning, when the clouds im- iL drawn, Expos'd, in naked charms, the waking dawn ; _ When night-fall'n dews, by day's warm courtship won From reeking roses, climb'd to kiss the sun ; Nature, new blossom'd, shed her odours round, The dew-bent primrose kiss'd the breeze-swept ground. 20 The watchful cock had thrice proclaini'd the day. And gliinm'ring sun-beams faintly turc'd their way ; ^^ hen, join'd in hand and heart,' to church we went. Mutual in vows, and pris'ners by consent. Aurelia's heart l)eat high with mi"\'d alarms. But trembling beauty glow'd with double channs ; In her soft breast a modest struegie rose. How she sliould seem to like the lot she chose; A smile, she thought, would dress her looks too ^ay; A frf)wn migjit sei-in too sad, and blast the dav : '' But, while nor this nor that her will could bow, She walk'd, and Jook'd, and charm'd— and knew not how. Our hands, at length, th^ unchanging fiat bound. And our glad souls sprang out to meet "the sound ; Jo)s meeting joys unite,"and stronaer shine; P\)r i)assion purified grows half divine. Aurelia, thou art mine, I crv'd— and she Soft sigh'd— now, Henry, thou art lord of me. Hut wilt thou, whisper'd she, the knot now t\'d, Ayiiich only death's keen weapon can divide; V\ ilt thou, still mindlul of thy raptures past. Permit the summer of love's hope to last? Shall not cold wint'ry frosts come on too soon ? Ah, say ! what means the world by honey-moon ? If we so short a space our bliss enjoy, A\ hat toils does love for one poor month employ ! Women thus us'd, like bubbles blown with air, Oy,e to their outward charms a sun-oilt glare: Like them we glitter to the distant eye; But, grasp'd like them, we do but weep and die. ^ Lest more, said ], thou should'st i)rofane the bliss, I'll seal thy dang'rous lips with this dose kiss ; Not thus the heav'n of marriage hopes blaspheme. But learn from me to speak on^this lov'd theme. 'I here have been wedlock joys of swift decay. Like lightning, seen at once," and shot away : But theirs were hopes, which, all unlit to pair, Like lire and powder, kiss'd and llasJi'd to air. 21 Thy soul and mine, by mutual courtship won. Meet, like two mingling tlames, and make but one. Union of hearts, not liands, doe., marriage make ; 'Tis sympathy of mind keeps love awake. Our growing days increase of joy shall know. And "thick-sown comforts leave no room for woe. Thou, the soft swelling vine, shalt fruitful last ; I, the strong elm, will prop thy beauties fast: Thou shalt strew sweets, to soften life's rough way. And, when hot passions my proud wishes sway, TJioii, like some l)reeze, shalt in my bosom play. '^I'hou for protection shalt on me depend ; And 1, on thee, for a soft faithful friend. I, in Aurelia, shall for ever view At once my care, my tear, my comfort too ; Thou shall hrst partner in my pleasures be. But all my pains shall last be known to thee. Aurelia heard, and view'd me with a smile, Which seem'd at once to cherish and resile. O god of love ! she cry'd, what joys were thine. If all life's race were wedding days like mii>e ! I •>♦<•■ TO A YOUNG ASS: ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT. 5. T. Coleridge, POOR little foal of an oppressed race ! I love the languid patience 01 tiiy face ; And oft, with gentle hand, 1 give thee bread. And clap thy rugged coat, and pat thy head. But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd, 'J'hat never ihou dost sport along the glade? And, most unlike tlie nature of things _\oung. That earth-ward still thy moveless head is hung? Do thy prophetic fears anticipate, Meek child of misery ! tliy future fate i 22 TliP starving meal, and all the thousand aches, " W liich patient merit ot tii' uinvorthy takes ?" Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain, To see thy wretched mother's sliorten'd chain ? And truly very pitious is her lot — Chain'd to a log, within a narrow spot, \\ here tlie close-eaten grass is scarcely seen, While sweet around thee waves the tempting green! Poor ass ! thy master should have learn'd to show Pity — best taught by tellowsliip of woe ! For much I fear me, that he lives, like thee. Half t'amisli'd in a land of luxury ! How askirigli/ its footsteps hither bend ! It seems to say — " and have I then one friend?" Innocent foal ! though poor, despis'd, forlorn, I hail thee broilier, spite of the fool's scorn ! And fain would take thee with me in the dell Of peace ami mild equality, to dwell ; AVhere toil shall hail the ciiarmer health his bride. And laughter tickle plenty's ribless side. How thou would'st toss thy lieels in gamesome plav. And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay ! Yea, and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be. Than warbled melodies, that soolheto rest 'I he aching of pale fashSv'i's vacant breast. THE LION. Collins. WHAT if the linn in his rage I meet ! — Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : And, fearful ! oft, when day's declining light > ields her pale empire to tli"e mournfurniglit, V>y hunger rous'd, he scours the groaning'plain, Ciaiint wolves and sullen tigers in his train: P^efore them death with shrieks directs their way. Fills the wild jell, and leads them to their prev. 23 THE HAPPY RETREAT. Hill. HIGH o'er the winding of a cliffy shore, Erom w! ihose worn steep the black'ning surges roar, My friend (how blest !) in quiet plenty lives, Rich in the unbought wealth which nature gives: Uiiplanted groves rise round his shelter'd seat, And self-sown flow'rs attract his wajid'ring feet ; Lengtlis of wild garden his near views adorn. And far seen fields wave with domestic corn. The grateful herds, which his own pastures feed. Pay their ask'd lives, and, in due tribute, bleed. Here, in learn'd leisure, he relaxes life, 'Twixt prattling children and a smiling wife. Here, on dependent want he sheds his care. Moves amid smiles, and all he hears is — pray'r. The world lies round him, like a subject soil, Stor'd for his service, but beneath his toil. Hence, in a morning walk, his piercing eye Skims the green ocean to the circling sky; And marks, at distance, some returning sail, Wing'd b\ tlie courtship of u flatt'ring gale. 24 TliP fearless crew, concluding danger o'^ Whh tjladd'ning sliouls saiuli? tlie op'iiing shore; ■"J Ii(.'y lliiiik how best ihey may tlieir gains (.mploy, i\nd antedate their scenes of promis'd joy ; Till a near quick-sand cliecks their shorten'd uav. And tlie sunk masts point through tlie rising spray. I'elix starts, sad! revolves the cliangeful sight, A\'here mis'ry can so soon succeed deiight; Then shakes his head, in pity of their fate, And, sweetly conscious, hugs his happier state. RONALD AND DOKXA. By a Highlander, to his Mistress. COME, let us climb Skor-urran's snowy top ! Cold as it seems, it is less cold than you : Thin through its snow these lambs its heath-lwigs crop ; ^ our snow, more hostile, starves and freezes too. What though I lov'd -if late in Skie's fiiir isle; And blush'd, and bow'd, and shrunk from Kenza's eye ; All she had ))ow'r to hurt was with her smile; Hut, 'tis a frown of yours for which 1 die. Ask why these herds beneath us rush so fast, On the brown sea-ware's stranded hea})s to feed ? ^\ inter, like you, with-holds their wish'd repast, And, robb'd of ij;cnial grass, tliey brouse on weed. Mark with wluit tuneful haste Slieleila flows. To mix its wid'ning stream in Donnan's lake ; Yet, should some dam the current's course oppose, It must, per force, a less lov'd jjassage take. Born, like vour body, for a spirit's claim, Trembling, I wail, unsoul'd, till you ins])ire: And how lie sluniber'd through the long clebaie. j His wift; and daughter quit the Gotliic hall. To taste the raptures of tlie rustic ball. The hiyh-born misses, insolent and vain, ycorn, while they mingle with, the homely train; Still at the top, in sjjite of order, stand. And liardly touch a mean plebeian hand ; While madam, eager 'mid the card-room's strife. Insults the lawyer's and the curate's wife ; Now smiles contemptuous, now with anger burns. And domineers and scolds and cheats by turns ; IMeas'd on tiie village gentry to retort Slights she re ceives from duchesses at court. 29 THE COUNTRY FAIR. The fane. BEHOLD the transports of yon festive scene, AVhere the wicie country on the tented green Its inmates pour, impatient all to share Th' expected pleasures of the annual iair. See to the am'rous youth and village maid The pedlar's silken treasury display'd; The liquorish boy the yellow simneleyes. The champion's cudi^el wins tlie envied prize; The martial trumpet calls the gazer in AVhere lions roar, and fierce hyenas grin. Responsive to the tabor's sprightly sound. Behold the jingling morrice beat the ground ; The neighb'riug courser, sleek and trick'd for sale, Grains in his paunch and ginger in his tail ; The dwarf and giant painted to the life. The spirit-stirring drum, the shvill-toii'd fife. Prelusive to the warlike speech that charms The kindling heroes of the plains to arms. Here bliss unfeign'd in every eye we trace. Here heart-felt n>irth illumines'ev'ry face. For pleasure here has never learnt to cloy. But days of toil enliven hours of joy, Joy, how unlike its unsubstantial shade Which faintly haunts the midnight masquerade. Where the distorted vizard ill conceals The deep ennui each languid bosom feels, And, but for shame, each vot'ry of deliglit. Fatigued with all the nonsense of the night, Would, like sc[uire Richard, seek, with sated eye, Wrestling and back-sword for variety. Nor do I fable — worn with constant care Of fev'rish riot and fantastic glare. From splendid luxury our youth resort. To all the roughness of barbarian sport. And leave each softer elegance of town, To share the pastime of the rustic clown, c 3 30 THE CAPTIVE TRUMPETER. Somervife. A PARTY of hussars, of lato. For prog and pliiiuler scoiir'd tht; plains. Some French Gms d\lrmcs siirpris'd, and beat. And brought their trumpeter in chains. In doleful plight, th' unhappy bard For (juarter begg'd on bended knee. Pity, Messieurs! in truth 'lis hard 'l"o kill a harmless enemy. These hands, of slaughter innocent, Ne'er brandish'd the destructive sword. To you or yours no luirt I meant, take a poor musician's word ! But the stern iot, wMth gen'rous rage, Scoundrel ! reply'd, \liou first shall die, A\'lio, urging others to engaiie, From fame and danger basely fly. Tlie brave by law of arms we spare, Thou by the hangman shall expire; 'Tis just, and not at all severe. To stop the breath that blew the fire. ■•^♦4 TO A K I S S. Peter Pindar. SOFT child of l.ovc— tiiou I)almy bliss. Inform me, O delicious Kiss, A\ hy thou so suddenly art gone? Lost in the moment tliou art won ? Yet go — for wherefore should I sitrh ? On Delia's blusiiing lip, with raplur'd e\c. On Delia's lip 1 scf A thousand full as sweet as thee. THE DISABLED SOLDIER. Author unknown. THE sun was just retir'd, the dews of eve Their glow-worm histre scatter'd o'er the vale ; The lonely nightingale began to grieve. Telling, with many a pause, her tender tale. No clamours loud disturb'd the pensive hour. And the young moon, yet fearful of the night, Rear'd her pale crescent o'er the burnish'd tow'r, That caught the parting orb's still ling' ring light. 'Twas then, where peasant footsteps mark'd the way, A wounded Soldier feebly mov'd along; Nor aught regarded he tlie soft'ning ray. Nor the melodious birds' expressive song. On crutches born, his mangled limbs he drew. Unsightly remnants of the battle's rage ; Wliile Pity, in his youthful form, might view A helpless prematurity of age. Then, as with strange contortions, lab'ring slow. He gain'd the summit of his native liill. And saw the well-known prospect spread below. The farm, the cot, the hamlet, and the mill : In spite of forlitudo, one struggling sigh Shook llie lirni texture of his tortur'd heart; And from his hollow and dejected eve A trembling tear hung ready to depart, " How chang'd," he cry'd, " is this fair scene to me, " .Since last across this narrow path I went ? " The soaring lark felt not superior glee, " Nor any human breast more true content. " "When the fresh hay was o'er the meadow thrown, " Amidst the busy'throng I still appear'd ; " My ])rowes8 too at harvest-time was shown, " \\ hile Lucy's carol ev'ry labor cheer'd. " The burning rays I scarcely seeni'd to feel, " If the dear maiden near me chanc'd to rove; " Or if she tleign'd to share my frugal meal, " It was a rich repast, a feast of love. " And when at evening, with a rustic's pride, " I dar'd the sturdiest wrestlers on the green, " What joy was mine, to hear her, at my side, " Extol my vigor and my manly mien. " Ah ! now no more the sprightly lass shall run " To bid me welcome from the sultry plain ; " But her averted eye my sight shall shun, " And all our cherish'd fondest liopes be vain. " Alas ! my ))arents, must ye too endure " 'i'hat 1 for ever should destroy your mirth, " Exist upon the pittance ye procure, " And make ye curse the hour that gave me birth? " Oh, Iiaj)1ess day ! when, at a neighb'ring wake, " The gauily serjeant caught my wand'ring eve; '* And, as his tongue of war and honor spake, " I telt a wish — to concjuer or to die! " Then, while he bound the ribbands on my brow, " He talk'd of captains kind, and gen'rals good ; " Said, a whole natiov would my fame avow, " And bouuti/ call'd the purchase of my blood. 33 ♦* Yet I refus'd that bounty ; I clisdain'd " To sell my service in a righteous cause; " (And such to my dull sense it was explain'd) " The cause of Monarchs, Justice, and the Laws. " The rattling drums beat loud, the fifes began, " My king and country seem'd to ask my aid ; •' Through ev'ry vein the thrilling ardor ran — " I left my humble cot, my village maid ! " Unhappy day ! torn from my Lucy's charms, " I thence was harried to a scene of strife, " To painful marches and the din of arms, " The wreck of reason, and the waste of life. ** In loathsome vessels now with crowds confin'd, " Now led with hosts to slaughter in the field, " Now backward driv'n, like leaves before the wind, " Too weak to stand, and yet asham'd to yield ; " Till oft repeated victories inspir'd " With tenfold fury the indignant foe, ♦' Who, ruthless, still advanc'd as we retir'd, " And laid our boasted proudest honors low. " Through frozen deserts then compell'd to fly, '* Our bravest legions moulder'd fast away; " Thousands of wounds and sickness left to die, " While hov'ring ravens mark'd tliem for their prey. " Oh, be this warfare of the world accurs'd ! — • " The son now weeps not o'er the father's bier ; *' But grey-hair'd age (for nature is revers'd) " Drops o'er his children's grave an icey tear." Thus having spoke, by varying passions tost, Pie reach'd the tlireshold of his parent's shed. Who knew not of his fate, yet mourn'd him lost " Amidst the number of the unnam'd dead." Soon as they heard his well-remember'd voice, A ray of rapture chas'd habitual care ; " Our Henry lives, we may again rejoice," And Lucy sweetly blush'd— for she was tliere. 34 " But when he enter'd in such horrid guise," His mother shriek'd, and dropp'd upon the floor; His father look'd to Ht-av'n, with streaming eyes. And Lucy sunk, alas ! to rise uo more. THE GYPSIES. Cowpcr. I SEE a column of slow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung Between two poles, upon a stick transverse. Receives the morsel — flesh obscene of dog. Or vermin, or, at best, of cock purloin'd" From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race ! They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge, AV hich, kindled with dry leaves, just saves imquench'd The spark of life. Ihe sportive wind blows wide Their flutt'ring rags, and shews a tawny skin, The vellum of the pedigree they claim. Great skill have they in palmistry, and more To conjure clean away the gold they touch. Conveying wortliless dross into its place; Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. Strange! that a creature rational, and cast' In human mould, should brutalize by choice Hisnatur'"; and, though capable of'arts I3y which the world might profit, and himself, Self-banish'd from society, prefer Such scjualid sloth to honorable toil. Yet even these, tho' feigning sickness, oft They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb. And vex their flesh with artificial sores. Can change their wjiine into a mirthful note \Vh('n sale occasion ofltrs ; anrl, with dance. And music of the bladder and the bag. Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. 33 THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. mils. WHY should our joys transform to pain? Why gentle Hymen's silken chain A plague of iron prove ? Indeed/'tis strange the charm that binds Millions of hands, should leave their minds At such a loose from love. In vain I sought the wond'rous cause, Kang'd the wide iields of nature's laws. And urg'd the schools in vain ; Then, deep in thought, within my breast My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd A bright instructive scene. O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide. On fancy's airy horse I ride, (Sweet rapture of my mind !) Till on the banks of Ganges' flood. In a tall ancient grove I stood. For sacred use design'd. Hard by, a venerable priest, Ris'n with his god, the sun, from rest, Awoke his morning song; Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream;' The birth of souls was all his theme, And half-divine his tongue. *' He sang th' eternal rolling flame, " The vital mass, that, still the same, " Does all our minds compose ; " But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames ; " Thence differing souls of differing names, " And jarring tempers, rose. " The mighty Pow'r that form'd the mind " One mould for ev'ry two design'd, " And bless'd the new-born pair: " This be a match for this (he said) : " Then down he sent the souls he made, " To seek them bodies here: 36 " But, parting from their -warm abode, " They lost their fellows on the road, " And never join'd their hands : *' Ah, cruel chance, and crossing fixtes ! " Our eastern souls have dropt Their mates " On Europe's barb'rous lands. " Happy the youth that finds the bride " A\ hose birth is to his own ally'd, " '4"he sweetest joy of life ! " But oh the crowds of wretched souls " Fetter'd to minds of ditiferent moulds, " And chain'd t' eternal strife I" Thus sang the holy Indian bard; My soul with vast attention heard. While Ganges ceas'd to flow : Sure then (I cry'd) might I but see The gentle nymph that twinn'd with me, " I may be happy too. Some courteous angel, tell me where. What distant lands this unknown fair, " Or distant seas, detain ? Swift as the wheel of nature rolls I'd fly, to meet, and mingle souls, " And wear the joyful chain." 37 PALEMON AND ANNA. Falconer. THE ship was laden, ami prepar'J to sail. And only waited now the leading gale; 'Twas ours in that sad period first to prove The heart-felt torments of despairing love. Th' impatient wish that never feels repose ; Desire that with perpetual current flows: The fluctuating pangs of hope and fear; Joy distant still, and sorrow ever near; Thus, while the pangs of thought severer grew, ■) The western breezes inauspicious grew, v Hast'ning the moment of our last adieu. ) The vessel parted on the falling tide; Yet time one sacred hour to love supplied. The night was silent, and, advancing fast. The moon o'er Thames her silver mantle cast. Impatient hope the midnight path explor'd. And led me to the nymph my soul ador'd. tSoon her quick footsteps struck my list'ning ear! She came confest ! the lovely maid drew near ! But ah ! what force of language can impart Th' impetuous joy that glow'd in either heart! O ! ye whose melting hearts are form'd to prove The trembling ecstacies of genuine love ; 38 When, with flplicious agony, tlip thought Is to the verge of high tleliVimn wroiitr'ht; Your secret ..ynipathv alone can tell "U'hat raptures then the lhiol)])ii)ir bosom swell: O'er ail the nerves v.hat terulcr tumults roll. While love with sweet inchantment melts the soul! In transport losj, my trembling hope imprest, Thehlunhing virgin sunk U|)on riiv breast; "While lurs congenial beat with fond alarms; Dissolving soilness! paradise of charms! FliTsird iVom our e_\es, in warm translusion flew Our blending spirit^, that each oilier drew! O bliss supreme! where virtue's self can melt With jo\>» that gTiliy pleasure never felt; I'orm'd to reiine the thought with chaste desire. And IJndle sweet a lied ion's purest tire! Ah! wheivibreshoidd jny hopelos love, she cries, AVhile sorrow burst with" interrupting sighs. For ever de>liii\l to UMncnt in vain, Such lluirring-, iond i(leas entertain? My heart Ihro' scenes of fair illusion stray'd. To jovs decreed for some superior maid. ''I'is mine to feel the sharpest stiuij of grief, ^Vh('re never gentle hope allords relief^ Cio then, dear youth ! thy father's rage atone ! And let tliis tortur'd bosom beat alone! The hov'ring anger vet thou mav'st appease, Cofhen,'dear^oirti4! Jior4empt"the faiihlcss seas! Find out sH>mr Iwippier datighter of the town. Will) fortune's dairer jovs thy love to crown ; Where smiling o'er thee with iiuhilgent ray, Prosperity shall hail each new-born dav. Tot) well thou know'st goofl Alberto's niggard fate, 111 littod to sustain thy "father's hate ; Co then, I charge thee, by (hy gen'rous love, 'Jhat fatal to my fath<'r thus ma\ prove! On me alone let dark aliliction i'ali! \\ hose heart, for thee, will gladly sulTer all. 'riien haste thee hence, Talcmon', ere too late. Nor rashly hope to brave op2K>sing fate! 39 She ceas'd ; while anguish in her angel-face. O'er all her beauties show'r'd celestial grace. Not Helen, in her bridal charms array'cl. Was half so lovely as this gentle maid. O sold of all my wishes! 1 repl^'d. Can that soft iabric stem affliction's tide? Canst thou, fair emblpiu of exalted truth, To sorrow doom the summer of thy youth? And 1, j)eilidi<)us ! ;dl that sweetness see Consign'd to la-ting Miisery fop me? Sooner this mom'Mit V'^ay th' eternal doom Palemon in the silciit earth ento^ib ! Attest thou moon, fair regent of the night! Whose lustre sickens at this mournful sight. By all the jjangs divided lovers leel. That sweet possession only knows to heal; By all the horrors brooding o'er the dee|). Where iUte and ruin sad cioiuinion keep; Tho' tyrant dut> o'er, me threat'oing stands. And claims obedi.'^iKe to her stern commands: .Should fortune cruel or au>picious prove, Her sn)ile or iVown .hail never change my love! My heart, that now mud ev'r^, joy lesign. Incapable of change, is only thine ! — O, cease to v.eep! this storm will yet decay. And the sad clouds of sorrow melt away. While thro' the rugged path of life we go, All mortals taste the bifter draught of woe. The iam'd and great, decreed to equal pain. Full oft in splendid wretchedness complain. For this prosperity with brighter ray, In smiling contrast gilds our vital day. Thou too, sweet maid ! ere twice ten months are o'er, Shall hail Palemon to his native shore, Where never int'rest shall divide us more. \ Her struggling soul, o'erwhelm'd with tender grief. Now found an interval of short relief: » 2 40 Sto melts the furnace of the frozen stream, Beneath tlie wiiit'ry sun's departing beain. With warning haste the shades of night withdrew. And gave the signal of a hist adieu. As on mv neck th' a^licted maiden hung, A thousand racking doubts her spirit wrung. She wept the terrors of the fearful wave, Too oft, alas! the wand'ring lover's grave ! "With soft persuasion I dispelPd her fear. And from her cheek beguil'd the falling tear. ^^ hiie dving fondness languish'd in her eyes, She poiir'd her soul to heav'n in suppliant sighs — Look down with pity, oli ! ye pow'rs above, Who hear the sad complaint of bleeding love ! Ye who the secret laws of fate e.\i)lore. Alone can tell if he returns no more: Or if the hour of future joy remain, Long-wish'd atonement of long-suffer'd pain ! Bid ev'ry guardian minister attend, And from all ill the much-lovVl youth defend! With grief o'erwhelni'd we parted twice in vain. And urg'd by stroi;g attraction, met again. At last, by cruel fortune torn apart, While tender passion stream'd in either heart; Our eyes transiix'd with agonizing look. One sad farewel, one last embrace we took. I'orlorn of hope the lovely maid I left, Pensive and pale; of ev'ry joy bereft. She to her silent couch retir'd to weep. While her sad swain embark'd upon the deep. TIIE POWEK OF INNOCENCE. Anonimous. HF.N first the nuptial state we prove, We live the hap|)y life of love ; But when familiar charms no more Inspire the bliss they gave before, 41 Each less delighting, less is lov'd, First (his, then thai", is disap|)rov'(l ; Coniplaceiu-e ilics, nfp;lccl succeeds, Keglect, disdain, and "hatred breeds. 'Twas thus a pair, w.lio long time prov'd The ju\s to love, and be belov'il. At lenglii fell out lor trilling things. From triiies anger chieily springs; The wish to please rorsook each breast, Love's throne was then by vage possess'd; Resolv'tl to part, they meet no more: Enough — tlie chaiiot's at the dooi'. The mansion was my lady's own ; Sir John resolv'd to 'live in town ; AVritings were drawn, each cause agreed. Both vow'd they'd ne'er recall the deed; The chariots wait, why this delay ? The sequel shall the ca'nse displii) . One lovely girl the lady bore. Dear pledge oi' joys she tastes, no more ; The lalher's, mother's darling, she Now lisp'd, and prattled on each knee; Sir John, when rising to depart, Turn'd to liie darling of his heart; And cry'tl, wilh ardour in his eje, " Conie Betsey, bid mamma good bye;" The lady, trembling, answer'd, " no — •' Go, ki-s papa, mv Eet^ey, vo; " Thccliild >iiali live wHirme"— she cry'd ; " The child >,\vd\\ choose" — ^5ir John reply'd; Poor l)elsey look'd at each, b} turns. And each the slarling tear clistorns; My lady a>ks, will) tloi'bl and i'car, " \\ ill yon not live wlih me, my dear?" Yes, hair re-olv'd, reply'd the c hild, And half sn|)press'd her leais. she sinil'd ; " Come Iknsey,' cry 'd Sir John, " you'll go,, " And live with dear papa, 1 know." Yes, Betsey cry'd— the lady then, Addresb'd the WDud'ring child again ; ' D 3 A2 " The time to live with both is o'er; " This day we part to meet no more : " C-hoosethen" — lier grief o'erflow'd her breast. And tears burst out, too long siippress'd; I'he child, who tears and ciiiding join'd, Suppos'd papa displeas'd, unkind; And try'd, with all her little ski!!. To sootiie his oft relenting will; Do, cry'd the lisper, pappy ! do, J-ove dear mamma ! mamma loves you. Subdii'd the soiuxe of manly prifle,' Ko more his looks his heart bely'd ; Tlie tender transport forc'd its way. They both confess'd each others sway ; y'uid prompted by the social smart, Ureast rusli'd to breast, and heart to heart; I'^ach clasp'd their Betsev, o'er and o'er. And Tom drove empty fVom the door. "^ ou, that have passions for a tear. Give nature vent, and drop it liere. TO AN AMIABLE GIRL. Charlotte Smith. MIRANDA! mark, where shrinking from the gale. Its silken leaves yet moist with early dew. That faint fair llow'r, tlie lily of the vale. Droops its meek head, and looks, mctliinks, like you I M'rapp'd in a shadowy veil of tender green, Its snowy bells a sot't perfume dispense, And bending, as reluctant to be seen. In simple loveliness it soothes the sense. Witli bosom bar'd to meet the garish day. The glaring tuii[), gaudy, undismay'd,' Otifends tlie e^e of taste, that turns awav To seek the lily in her fragrant shade. With such unconscious beauty, pensive, mild, Miranda charms — nature's soft, modest child. 43 ODE TO WISDO:\I. Miss Carter. THE solitary bird of night *. Thro' the pale shades now wings his flight. And quits the time-shook tow'r, Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day. In philosophic gloom he lay. Beneath his ivy bow'r. With joy I hear the solemn sound, AVhich midnight echoes waft around. And sighing gales repeat : Fav'rite of Pallas ! I attend. And, faithful to thy summons, bend At Wisdom's awful seat. She loves the cool, the silent eve. Where no false shows of life deceive, Beneath the lunar ray : Here Folly drops each vain disguise, Nor sports her gaily-colour'd dyes, As in the glare of day. 44 O Pallas ! queen of cv'ry art, " That glacis the sen-.e^ or mends the heart/* Blest source of purer joys ; In e\'ry form of beauty briglit. That fa]:)tivatL's (he nieiUarsight With pleasure and siu'prise ; To thy unspotted sluine I bow. Assist lliy modest sH])pliant's vow. That breatlics no wild desires; But, tauglit by thy uncrrring rules. To sluni the fruitless wisli of tools. To nobler views aspires. Not Fortune's gem, Ambition's plume, Kor Cytherea's fading bloom. He objects of my j)rav'r: Let Av'rice, ^';ulily, and Pride, Those glitt'ring envli-d toys divide. The dull rewards of care. To me thv belter gifts impart, Eacii mdial beauty of th'r heart. By studious thougiit retin'd : For wealth, tlie smiles of glad content; For pow'r, its amplest, best extent. An empire o'er my mind. When Fortune dro])-; her gay parade. When Plcastire's transient roses fade. And wither in the tomb, Unchang'd is thy immortal prize, 'Jhy ever-verdant laiu-els rise Jn undeca\in^ l)loom. 3 By thee protected, I defy The coxcomb's sneer, tlie stujnd lie Of ignoraiH e and spile; Alike conlemn tlie leaden fool. And all the pointeil ridicule Of undiscerning wit. 45 From envy, hurry, noise, and strife. The dull impertinence of life. In thy retreat I rest ; Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves. Where Plato's sacred spirit roves, in all thy graci^s drest. He bids Ilissus' tuneful stream Convey the philosophic theme Of perfect, iair, and good ; Attentive Athens caught the sound. And all her list'ning sons around In awful silence stood, Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth Confest the potent voice of truth, And felt its just control : The passions ceas'd their loud alarms. And virtue's soft persuasive charms O'er all their senses stole. Thy bi-eath inspires the poet's song. The patriot's free unbias'd tongue. The hero's gen'rous strife: Thine are retirement's silent joys. And all the sweet endearing ties Of still domestic life. No more to fabled names confin'd. To Thee, Supreme All-perfect Mind, My thoughts direct their flight: Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force From thee deriv'd, unchanging Source Of intellectual light ! O send her sure, her steady ray. To regulate my doubtful way, Through life's perplexing road ; The mists of error to control. And through its glom direct my soul 1 o happiness and good 1 46 Beneath her clear discerning eye The visionary siiadows fly Of foilv's painted siiow ; She sees, thro'ev'ry fair disguise. That all, but \ irtue's solid joys. Is vanity and woe. THE STORM. Hurdis. SO from the shore they laiinch'd. Bound to no port, but destin'd on a cruize, A morning's crui/e for fish. Pleas'd was the youth ; With utmost joy he saw the wood recede, Beheld his cottage dwindled to a speck, Observ'd the snow-while clifis to right and left Unfolding their wide barrier to his view, And felt the boat bound quickly o'er the waves, Liglit as a cork. He took the helm, rejoic'd, And right before the wind held on his course I'nheeding! 'Twas in vain liis busy friends Advis'd a difi'rent course, to gain with ease The sliore he left. He carelessly went on. And never dream'd of danger and delay Never e\|ierienced. last into the waves Sinks (lie far di-.tant shore. The lofty cliiT Stoops to the v.aler, and his jior.ry brow At ev'ry wave seems buried in the flood. And now the gloomy clone''' • oilec 1. A stomi Conie^ muil'ring o'er the deej), and hides the sun. IliKJi'd is the bree/.e, and the higli-liited wave. Portending speedy danger, to the shore. In lurid silence, rolls. Jn tenfolcl gloom The >(ormv south is wiapt, and his grim frown lmi)aris unusual horror to tlu; deep. Now to the shore too late young Gilbert turns. The breeze is sunk, and o'er the mountain v.aves 47 Labour' the bark in vain. To the stout oar Tlic li^Iicr and iii« son repair, and pull, Alairn'd tor saiety, 'iiil Un^ir flowing brows . Trie Lie with dew. And olt the anxious youth LooLs back amaz'd,. and sees tiie lightening play. And hears the Ihunclei', and beholds a sea 1-Jeady to burst ii|>oa him. Olt he thinks Of Anna and ':)Opliici, and of thee, Much-Iov'd Maria, and thy aged sire, ^.'evcr perhaps aj^ain to walk with you. To hear you sjjeak, to live upon your smiles. Ye hapless pair! what shall become of you. No brother to defend you, ahd no father ! But last the slorni increases. The strong flash Incessant gleams upon the curling wave. ]\ound his dark throne, in awiul majesty, Till" thunder marches; his imperious roar Siuikes the proud arcli of heav'n. And now the show'r Levins to drop, and the unsteady gust Sweeps to the shore, and stoops "the tiding boat E'en to the brink. Small distance then, my friends, 'Twixt life and death ; a nieer hair's breadth. And yet Far, very far, appears the wish'd-for port. And lo !' between yon ro( ks now seen, now lost. Buried in loam, an(l high the milky surge Bolls its proud cataract along the shore. Access denying, i'o the irov, uing cliff Approach not. Mark the strong recoiling wave; E'en to the base of tlie liigh precipice It plunges headlong, and llie ^icadi'ast hill Wears with eternal Ijatlery. No bark Of iorty times vour strength in such a sea Could live a moment ! ' i'were enough to wreck A British navy, and her stoutest oak Shiver to atoms. 48 THE PETIT-MAITRE AND THE MAN ON THE WHEEL. Peter Pindar. AT Paris, some time since, a murd'ring man, A German, and a most unlucky chap, Sad, stumbling at the threshold of his plan. Fell into Madam Justice's strong trap. The bungler was condemn'd to grace the wheel, On which the dullest fibres learn to feel ; His limbs secM:dum artcm to be broke. Amid ten thousand people, p'rhaps, or more. Whenever Monsieur Ketch apply'd a stroke, The culprit, like a bullock, made a roar. A flippant Petit-maitre, skipping by, Stepp'd up to him, and chcck'd him for his cry; " P>oh !" quoth the German ; " an't I 'pon de whecl? " D'ye tink my nerfs, an blood, and bones, can't feel* " Sir," quoth the beau, " don't, don't be in a passion " Pve nought to say about your situation ; " But making such a hideous noise in France, " Fellow, is contrary to Bienseance." 49 THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. A TRUE STORY. Peter Pindar. A BRACE of sinners, for no good, Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Wlio to Loretto dwelt in wax, stone, wood. And, in a fair white wig, look'd wondrous line. Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, With something in tiieir shoes much worse than gravel; In short, their toes, so gentle, to ainitse. The priest had order'd peas into tlieir shoes : A nosfriim famous in old popish times, For purifying souls that stunk with crimes ; A sort of apostolic salt. That popish parsons for its powers exalt. For keeping souls of sinners siceet. Just as our"kitciien-salt keeps meat. The-knaves set olf on the same day. Peas in their shoes, to go and pray: But very diff'rent was their speed, I wot ; One of the sinners gallop'd on, Light as a bullet from a gun ; The other limp'd as if he had been shot. One saw the virgin sc^n—peccavi cry'd — Had his soul wiiitewash'd all so clever; Then home again lie nimbly hied. Made fit with saints above to live/or ever. In coming back, however, let me say. He met Ins brother rogue about half way — Hobbling with outstretched bum and bending knees. Damning the souls and bodies of tlie peas ; His eyes'in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat, Deep" sympathising with his groaning feet. E .■)() " How now !" the iight-loed, white-wasird pilgrim " "ion lazy lubber !"— [broke— ' Ods curse,' crv'd the oilier, ' 'tis no joke! — * My feet, once liard as any rock, ' Are now as soft as blubber. ' Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear, ' As for Loretto, I shall not gt4 there : * No ! to the Devil my sinful soul must go, ' For damme, if 1 han't lost ev'ry toe! ' liut, brother sinner, do explain ' How 'lis that you are ijoi in pain ; ' What pow'r hath Work'd a wonder for your toes: * Whilst I, just like a snail, am crawling, * Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, ' ^^'hilst not a rascal conies to ease my woes? * How is't ihsii you can like a greyhound go, ' Merry, as if that nought had "happen'd, burn ye!' " \\ liy," rry'd tlie other, grinning, " you must /t«oa", " '1 hat, just before I ventur'd on my journey, " To walk a little more at ease, " 1 took tlie liberty to boil my jiease. DAMON AND MUSIDOKA, Thomson. CLOSE in the covert of an halel copse, Where, winding unto pleasing solitudes, Huns out the rami)ling dale, young Damon sat, l\■n^ive, and piere'd uith love's delightful pangs: There to the stream that down tin- tiistant rocks Hoarse-murmuring fell, and plaintive breeze, that play'd Among the bending willows, falsely he Of Musidora's cruelty complain'd. .She felt his llame ; hut dee]) within her breast. In bashful coyness, or in maiden pride, The soft return conceal'd, save wlien it stole In side-long glances from her downcast eye. Or from her swelling soul, in stilled sighs. Touch'd by the scene, no stranger to his vows, lie fram'd a melting lay to try her heart. And if an infant passion struggled there. To call that passion forth. 1'hrice happy swain! A lucky chance, that oft' decides the fate Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine: For, lo ! conducted by the laughing Loves, This cool retreat his Musidma sought: Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'd ; And, rob'd in loose array, she came to bathe Her fervent limbs in the" refreshing stream. What sliall he do ? In sweet confusion lost. And dubious flutterings, he a while remain'd : A pure ingenuous elegance of soul, A delicate rehnement, known to few, Perplex'd his breast, and urg'd him to retire ; But Love forebade. Ye Prudes, in virtue say, Sav, ye Sevfrrest, what would you have done? — Mean time this fairer nj mph than ever blest Arcadian stream, with timid eye around Tlie banks surveying, stripp'd her beauteous limbs. To taste the lucid coolness of the flood. Ah, then ! not Paris on the piny top Of Ida panted stronger, when aside The rival-goddesses the veil divine Cast unconlin'd, and gave him all their charms, I'han, Damon, thou, as from the snowy leg And slender foot th' inverted silk she drew ; As the soft touch dissolv'd the virgin zone. And thro' the parting robe th' alternate breast. With youth wild-tin-obbing, on thy lawless gaze In full luxuriance rose. But, desperate youth. How durst thou risque the soul-distracting view, • As from her naked limbs, of glowing white. Harmonious swcU'd by Nature's finest hand. In folds loose-lioating fell the fainter lawn. And fair-expos'd she stood, shrunk from herself, E 2 With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn ? Then to the flood she riish'd; the parted flood Its lovely guest with closing waves receiv'd. And every beauty softening, every grace l-'kishing anew, a mellow lustre shed ; As shines the lily thro' the crystal mild. Or as the rose amid the morning dew. Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows. "While thus she wanton'd, now beneath the wave But ill-conceal'd, and now with streaming locks, ''J hat half-embrac'd her in a humid veil, Kibing again, the latent Damon drew Such madd'ning draughts of beauty to the soul. As for a while o'erv.helm'd his raplur'd thought A\ ith luxury too daring. C'lieek'd, at last. By lovd's respectful modesty, he deem'd 'J "he tlieft profane, if aught profane to love Can e'er be deem'd ; and, struggling, from the shade With headlong hurry fled: but )ir?t these lines, Irac'd by his ready pt;ncil, on ti)e l)ank With trembling hand he threw. " Bathe on, iny fair! " Yet unbeheld, save by the sacred eye " Oi' faithful love. I go to guard thy haunt, " I'o keep from thy recess each vagrant foot, " And each licentious eye." \\ it!i wild surprise. As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless she stood; So stands the statue * that enchants the world ; So bending tries to veil the matchless boast. The mingled beauties of exulting Greece. Eecovering, swift she Hew to lind those robes Which blissful Kden knew not; and array'd In careless iiasle, th' alarming paper snatch'd : But when her Damon's well-known hand she saw. Her terrors vanish'd, and a softer train Of mixt emotions, hard to be describ'd. Her sudden bosom seiz'd : shame, void of guilt. The charming blush of innocence, esteem And admiration of lier lover's tlame, • TUc Venus of Medici, By modesty exalted ; even a sense Of self-approving beauty stole across Her busy thought. At length a tender calm Hush'd by degrees the tumult of her soul, And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen Of rural lovers this confession caw'd, Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy: " Dear youth ! sole judge of what these verses mean, " By fortune too much tavour'd, but by Love, " Alas ! not favour'd less, be still, as now, " Discreet : the time may come you need not fly." A RAZOR-SELLER AND COUNTRY BUMKIN. P. Pindar. A FELLOW in a market-town Most musical cry'd razors up and down. And olfer'd twelve for eighteen pence; Which certainly seem'd wond'rous cheap. And for the money quite a iieap, As ev'ry man would buy, with cash and sense. A country bumkin the great offer heard ; Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black beard. That seem'd a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose. With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid. And proudly to himself, in whispers said, ' 'I'his rascal stole the razors, I suppose. * No matter if the fellow be a knave, ' Provided that the razors shave; ' It certainly will be a monstrous prize.' So home the clown, with his good fortune, went. Smiling in heart, and S^oul content, And quickly soap'tl himself to i^ars and eyes> E 3 54 Being well lather'd from a dish or tub, Hodge now began with grinning lace to grub. Just lii,lairs ascent. And to the lonesome room of terrors went. When all was ready, swift retir'd the maid, The watch-lights burn, tuck'd warm in bed was laid The hardy stranger, and attends the sprite Till his accustom'd walk, at dead of night. At first he hears the wind, with hollow roar, Shake the loose lock, and swing the creeking door: Nearer and nearer draws tlie dreadful sound Of rattling chains, that dragg'd upon the ground : When lo ! the spectre came witli horrid stride, Approach'd the bed, and drew the curtains wide! 'In human form the ghastful phantom stood, Expos'd his mangled bosom dy'd with blood. Then, silent pointing to his wounded breast. Thrice vvav'd his hand. Beneath the friglited guest The bed-cords trembled, and, with shudd'ring fear. Sweat chill'd his limbs, high rose his bristled hair; Then mutt'ring hasty pray'rs, he mann'd his heart. And cry'd aloud — say, whence and who tliou art ? The stalking ghost with liollovv voice replies, Three years are counted since with mortal eyes I saw the sun, and vital air respir'd. Like thee benighted, and with travel tir'd, Within these walls 1 slept. O thirst of gain! See, still the planks the bloody mark retain. Stretch'd on this very bed, from sleep I start. And see the steel impending o'er my heart; The barb'rous hostess held the lifted knil'e. The floor ran purple with my gushing life. My treasure now they seize, the golden spoil They bury deep beneath the grass-grown soil. Far in the common field. Be bold ! arise ! My steps shall lead thee to the secret prize; There dig and find; let that thy care reward: Call loud on justice, bid her not retard To punish murder; lay my ghost at rest: So shall with peace secure thy nights be blest ! F 3 66 And when beneath these boards my bones are found. Decent inter them in some sacred ground! Here ceas'd the ghost. The strano;er springs from bed, And boldly follows where tiie phantom led : The half-worn stony stairs they now dcsend, Where passages obscure their arches bend. Silent tiiev walk ; and now through groves they pass, Isow through wet meads their steps imprint the grass. At length amid a spacious Jield they came: 'J'here stops the spectre, and ascends in flame. Amaz'd he stood, no bush or brier was found. To teach his morning search to tind the ground. What could he do? the night was hideous dark. Fear shook his joints, and nature dropt the mark: AVitli that he starting wak'd, and rais'd his head, But Ibund the yolden mark was left in bed. &^ What is the statesman's vast ambitious scheme, But a short vision and a golden dream? Pow'r, wealth, and title, elevate his hope; He wakes ; but, for a garter, fmds a rope. T HE G I P S Y. Bray. TUV. village, with the gloomy shade Of even-tide embrown'd, Is still ; no more with rural songs 'J'lie peaceful cots resound. \ Gipsy, shiv'ring with the cold. And having lobt her way. Knocks at young \\'illiam's lowly door. And begs the night to stay. 67 William, who pity'd the distress'd, And to the poor was kind. Unhappily, had lately lost His former peace of mind : Yet the benighted wanderer He with a smile receiv'd ; For those who were oppress'd with woe Ne'er left him unreliev'd. He added fuel to his fire, The frugal board he spread : And with a look of sad despair, Unto the Gipsy said : " Know, welcome guest, my heart's a prey " To woe and deadly grief; " And much I dread 1 ne'er shall find " Or solace or relief. " The beauteous Anna, charming maid ! " I love with tend'rest flame; " And late, with purest passion warm'd, " I to my Anna came. " Where, near the river's murm'ring stream, " We us'd so oft to meet ; " And thought the envious moments pass'd, " As the swift waves, too fleet. " Anna, at length, with ling'ring step " And clouded face, arriv'd ; " To clothe her cheek with wonted smiles " And sparkling joy, I striv'd- " In vain I vow'd eternal love, " I try'd my skill in vain; " For Anna, with a constant frown, " Repuls'd her angry swain, " I try'd to clasp her to my breast, " She tore herself away: " And never would she see my face " From that unhappy day ! 68 " Now soothe a wretched lover's pain " By thy forotelliin;; pow'r; " And say, what was'tlie unknown cause " Of that unlucky hour? " Tell me, if I may hope to live, " Or if I'm doom'd to die?"— The Gipscy heard tli' afflicted youth, And answer'd, with a sigh : " I know thy Anna is unkind, " The reason too I know: " Thou art thyself alone the cause " Of her and thine own woe. " When lately, in the rural dance, " Young Alary swoon'd away, *' She fell into thy circling arms, " And in thy bosom lay. " Unmindful of thy Anna then, " She's left by thee, to lead " A happy rival to her home, " From off the sportive mead. " She pensive si)ent the ling'ring night, " Nor found repose or rest: " F'or the sharp pangs of jealousy " Disturb'd her wayward breast. " The following morning Emma came, " And fann'd the kindling lire; " She told her, Mary did thy heart " With anxious love inspire. " Now she has dropt tiie cheering hope " Of calling thee her own." The youth with horror turn'd his liead. And uttcr'd with a groan — " And does she think her swain untrue? " And will she not. relent? " I'll hasten to her instantly, " And she will soon repent — 69 *♦ Or, in her presence will I die, " Reproach her with the deed : " And know if she can drop a tear, " To see her true-love bleed." He rose, with horror in his looks. And fury in his eye ; Kesolv'd to see his Anna's face. And in her sight to die. The Gipsy started from her seat. And threw off her disguise — When, bath'd in tears, his Anna stood Before his wond'ring eyes! " Come to my arms, thou injur'd youth, " Thy Anna's kind (she cried) *' Forgive, forgive my cruelty, " For now thy love I've tried." William replied, with voice of joy — " My Anna I forgive; " Thou call'st me from the arms of death, " Within thine own to live." A BOTANY BAY ECLOGUE. Southey. WHY, stern remembrance, must thine iron hand Harrow my soul? Why calls thy cruel pow'r The fields of England to my exil'd eyes. The joys which once were mine? E'en now I see The lowly lovely dwelling! even now Behold the woodbine clasping its white walls. And hear the fearless redbreasts chirp around. To ask their morning meal. — For I was wont, * With friendly hand, to give their morning-meal; Was wont to love their song, when ling'ring morn Streak'd o'er the chilly lanrlsrape the dim light, " And thro' the open'd ialtico liung my Jiead To view the snow-drops butl ; and thence, at eve, WJien mildly fading sunk the summer sun, Oit have I lov'd to mark the rooks slow course, And hear his hollow croak, what time he sought The church-yard elm, whose wide embow'ring'boiigh?. Full foliag'd, half conceal'd the house of God. There, my dead father, often have I heard Thy hallow'd voice explain the wond'rous works Of heav'n to sinful men. Ah, little deem'd Thy virtuous bosom, that thy shameless child So soon should spurn the lesson 1 sink the slave Of vice and infamy ! the hireling prey Of brutal appetite ! At length worn out With famine, and th' avenging scourge of guilt. Should dare dishonesty — yet dread to die. ODE IN IMITATION OF HORACE, By Warren Hastings, Esq. On his Passage from Bengal to England. FOR ease the harrass'd seaman prays. When Equinoctial tempests raise "^riie Cape's surrounding wave; When hanging o'er the reef he hears The cracking mast, and sees or fears. Beneath, his wat'ry grave. For ease, the slow Mahratta spoils, And hardii-r Sic erratic toils. While both their ease forego; For ease, which neither gold can buy. Nor robes, nor gems, wliich oft belie 'J"he cover'd heart, bestow ; 71 l-'or neither gold nor gems combiiiM, Can heal the soul, or sulFring mind : Lo ! where their owner lies ; Perch'd on his couch distemper breathes. And care, like smoke, in turbid wreatlies Hound the gay ceiling tlies. He who enjoys, nor covets more. The lands his father held before. Is of true bliss possess'd : Let but his mind unfetter'd tread. Far as the paths of knowledge lead. And wise, as well as bjest. No fears of mind his peace annoy. Lest printed lies liis fame destroy. Which labour'd years have won ; Nor pack'd committees break his rest. Nor av'rice sends him forth in quest Of climes beneath the sun. Short is our span ; then why engage In schemes, for which man's transient age AVas ne'er by fate design'd ; Why slight the gifts of nature's hand ? What wand'rer from his native land. E'er left himself behind ? The restless thought and wayward will. And discontent attend him still. Nor quit him while he lives ; At sea, care follows in the wind. At land, it mounts the pad behind. Or with the post-boy drives. He who would happy live to-day, Must laugh the present ills away. Nor think of woes to come ; For come they will, or soon or late. Since mix'd at best is man's estate. By Heav'n's eternal doom. 72 To lipenM age Clive liv'd renown'd, Willi lacks iMirifiril, with honors crown'd. His valour's well-carn'd meed ; Too long, alas! he liv'd to hate His envied lot, and died too late. From life's oppression freed. An early death was Elliot's* doom, I saw his op'ning virtues bloom. And manly sense unfold ; Too soon to fade ! I bade the stone Record his name 'midst hordes unknown. Unknowing what it told. To thee, perhaps, the fates may give, (I wish they may, in health to live). Herds, liocks, and fruitful fields; Thy vacant hours in mirtli to shine. With these, the muse already thine. Her present bounties yields. For me, O shore, I only claim To merit, not to seek lor fame, ' The good and just to please; A state above the fear of want, Domestic love, Jieav'n's choicest grant. Health, leisure, peace, and ease. * Mr. EUiot died in Ortobcr, 1778, in his way to Naupore, tlie capital of Moodajcc Booila's iloniinions, being deputed on an embassy to that prince, by the governor gcncr^il and connril ; a monuinent was erected to his memory on tlic (pot where lie was buried ; and the Mahrattas have since built a town there, called Elliott Gungt, or Elliott's Town. 73 THE SUPERANUATED HORSE TO HIS MASTER, Who had sentenced him to die at the end cf Summer. Author unknown. AND hast thou fix'd my doom, sweet master, say? And wilt thou kill thy servant old and poor? A little longer let me live, I pray ; A little longer hobble round thy door! For much it glads me to behold this place. And house me in this hospitable shed : It glads me more to see my master's face, And linger on the spot where I was bred. For oh ! to think of what we have enjoy'd. In my life's prime, ere I was old and poor ! Then from the jocund morn to eve employ'd. My gracious master on my back I bore. Thrice told ten years have danc'd on down along, Since first to thee these way-worn limbs I gave ; Sweet, smiling years ! when both of us were young. The kindest master, and the happiest slave ! Ah, years sweet smiling ! now for ever flown ! Ten years, thrice told, alas, are as a day 1 Yet, as together we are aged grown. Together let us wear that age away! 11 For still the older times are dear to thought, And rapture mark'd each minute as it tlcw ; Light were our hearts, and ev'ry season brought Tains that were soft, or pleasures that were new. Ah ! call to mind, how oft, near Soaring's stream My ready steps were bent to yonder grove. Where she who lov'd tiiee was thy tender theme. And I, thy more than messenger of love ! For when thy doubting heart felt fond alarms. And throblj'd alternate with its hope and fear. Did I not bear thee to tliy lond one's arms. Assure tiiy faith, and dry up ev'ry tear? And hast thou fix'd my doom, sweet master, say> And wilt thou kill thy servant, old and poor? A little longer let me live, I pray, A little longer hobble round thy door! Yet ah! in vain, in vain for life 1 plead. If nature hath deny'd a longer date: Still do not thou behold thy servant bleed, Tlio' weeping pity has decreed his fate. But O, kind nature! take thy victim's life! End thou a servant, feeble, old, and poor! So shall thou save me I'rom th' uplifted knife. And gently stretch me at my master's door. CANZONET. Hurdis. CAN aught be more fair to the eye Than the blush of the maidenly year Can aught with the orchard-bloom vie. When in May its sweet blossoms appear? Can aught like the eglantine please. Or the rose budding? — Tell me what can ! O, thrice more attracting than these. Is the cJieek of my sweet little Anne. 75 What can charm like the spring of the field. When it trickles transparently by ? Or what sweeter pleasure can yield. Than to look on the gems of the sky ? What can win like the tremulous dew Which the zephyrs on gossomer fan? O thrice more enchanting to view Is the eye of my sweet little Anne. Can aught like the morning delight. When it dawns towards peaceable day? Or bewitch like the planet of niglit. When she steals in good humour away ? Is there aught like the sweetness of eve. When serene as wiien nature began, The soft sua takes his mellow last leave? Yes ; tlie smile of my sweet little Anne. Can aught more delicious be nam'd Than'tiie exquisite fruit of the pine? More inviting can aught be proclaim'd Tlian the elegant branch of the vine? Is there ought can in flavour exceed Ev'ry beverage precious to man? O yes; these are tasteless indeed. To the kiss of my sweet little Anne. Thrice more than the sun-setting hour. Or the dawn of the morning benign. More delightful than spring's sweetest flow'r. Or the mirth-making juice of the vine; Mor serene than the gems of the sky. And more soft than the down of tiie swan. Is the cheek, is the lip, is the eye, Is the smile of mv sweet little Anne. c 2 76 SONNET. Anonymous . I SAW a crystal stream glide swiftly by. And many a bubble on its breast it bore. Which (iiiickly bursting, vanish'd from my eye. And scarcely was created ere no more. 1 saw the western sky with gold o'erspread. Glowing with purple and with crimson bright ; A minute paus'd — and ev'ry tint was fled And lost, and blended with oblivious Night. On thee, O wretched man ! my thought was turn'd ; For thee th' involuntary tear did flow : Tliy fleeting happiness I inly mourn'd ; For ah! by sad experience well 1 know, Life's fairest views are but an airy dream, I'rail as the transient cloud, or bubble on the stream. THE PKESSAVARRANT. Idem. A S Tom Bowling was prowling the streets with his X^ gang, Sucli fellows to press as would otherwise hang ; He spy'd one he tliought who would answer his end, And slappinfj his shoulder, crv'd, " What ship, my " friend?" " You mistake," said the man, " sir, you cannot " take me? " I can prove how I live ; so by law I am free ;" " Your law," said rough Tom, " I am not very apt in ; " Tiiat's a thing which we leave to the reg'lating " Captain;" " But this I know well, that whate'er you can say, *' I've a warrant to press, and so you must away." Then strait with their prey, they set off to the boat. And his children and wife left to sink or to IJoat. A Frenchman, attentive observed all that past. And thus to a friend, he broke silence at last : ** Now sir, pray you tell a me, en verite, " Vat vas, you tink now, of your grand liberie? " You make de great joke of de letfre de cachet; " Mufoiy de press-varrant vill very veil match it." THE WAY TO BE WISE. Idem. POOR Jenny, am'rous, young, and gay. Having by man been led astray. To nunn'ry dark retir'd ; There liv'd, and look'd so like a maid. So seldom ate, so often pray'd. She was by all admir'd. The Lady Abbess oft would cry. If any sister trode awry. Or prov'd an idle slattern ; " See wise and pious Mrs. Jane, " A life so strict, so grave a mein, "■ Is sure a worthy pattern." A pert young slut, at length replies, " Experience, madam, makes foljis wise; " 'Tis that which makes her such ; " And we, poor souls, no doubt, should be " As pious, and as wise, as she, " If we had seen as much." G 3 78 THREE BLACK CROWS. Byrom. TWO honc'st tradesmen, meeting in tlie Strand, One took the other, briskly, by the hand ; Ilark-ye, said he, 'tis an odd story tliis About the crows ! — I don't know what it is. Replied his friend — No ! I'm surpris'd at that ; \\'here I come from it is the common chat : ])'>!t }ou shall h(;ar; an odd affair indeed! And that it happen'd, they are all agreed. Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change, 'riiis week, in short, as all the alley knows, 'J'aking a puke, has thrown up three black crows. Impossible! — ^Nay, but its really true ; I have it from good hands, and so mav voii — I'rom whose, I pray ? — So having nam'd the man. Straight to enquire his curious comrade ran. .Sir, (lid you tell — relating the affair — Yes, Sir, I dirl ; and if its worth your care. Ask Mr. such-a-one, he told it me. But, by the bye, 'twas (no black crows, not three. Resolv'd to trace so wond'rous an event, \\ hip, to the third, the virtuoso went. Sir — and so forth — Why yes; the thing is fact, Tho', in regard to i)\imber, not exact; It was not two black crows, 'twas only one, 'i he truth of that you may depend upon ; The gentlemen himself told me the case — Where may I lind him? — Why, in such a place. Away goes he, and having found him out. Sir, be so good as tu resolve a doubt — Then to his last informant he rcferr'd. And beg'd to know, if trw: wJiat he had Jieard ; Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow }—Not I— Bless me! how people propagate a lie ! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one; And here I find all comes at last to 7ione! Did you say nothing of a crow at all? Crow — Crow — perhaps I might, now I recal The matter over — And, pray. Sir, what was't? — Why I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbour so. Something that was — as black, Sir, as a crow. BAD COMPANY; or, THE MAGPYE. Anonymous. LET others, with poetic fire, In raptures praise the tuneful choir. The Linnet, Chafiinch, Goldfinch, Thrush, And ev'ry warbler of the bush ; I sing the mimic Ma^pye's fame. In wieker cage well fed, and tame. In Fleet-street dwelt, in days of yore, A jolly tradesman, nam'd Tom More; Gen'rous and open as the day. But passionately fond of play ; No sounds to him such sweets afford As dice-box, rattling o'er the board ; Bewitching hazard is the game For which he forfeits health and fame. In basket-prison hung on high, "With dappled coat and watchful eye, A fav'rite Magpye sees the play. And mimics ev'ry word they say; " Lord, how he nicks us !" Tom More ones; " Lord, how he nicks us !" Mag replies. 80 Tom throws, and eyes the glitt'ring store, And, as he throws, exclaims, " Tom More!" " Tom More," the mimic bird replies ; Th' astonish'd gamesters lift their eyes. And wond'ring stare and look around. As doubtful whence proceeds the sound. This dissipative life, of course. Soon brought poor Tom from bad to worse ; Nor pray'rs nor promises prevail To keep him from a dreary jail. And now, between each heart-felt sigh, Tom oft exclaims, " Bad Company !" Poor Mag, who shares his master's fate, Exclaims, from out his wicker grate, " Bad Company ! Bad Company !" Then views poor Tom with curious eye. And cheers his master's wretched hours By this display of mimic pow'rs. Th' imprison'd bird, tho' much caress'd. Is still by anxious cares oppress'd ; Jn silence mourns its cruel fate. And oft explores his prison gate. Observe, thro' life you'll always find A fellorx'-Jeeling makes us kind : So Tom resolves immediately To give poor Mag his liberty ; Then opes his cage, and, with a sigh. Takes one fond look, and lets him fly. Now Mag, once more with freedom blest. Looks round to find a place of rest ; To Temple Gardens wings his way. There perches on a neighb'ring spray. The Gard'ner now, with busy cares, A curious :;ecd for grass prepares ; Yet, spite of all liis toil and pain, TJie hungry birds devour the grain. 81 A cuvious net he does prepare. And lightly spreads the wily snare ; The feather'd plund'rers come in view. And Mag soon joins the thievish crew. The watchful Gard'ner now stands by, With nimble hand and wary eye ; The birds begin their stol'n repast, The flying net secures them fast. The vengeful clown, now fill'd with ire. Does to a neighb'ring shed retire. And, having first secur'd the doors And windows, next the net explores. Now, in revenge for plunder'd seed. Each felon he resolves shall bleed ; Then twists their little necks around. And casts them breathless on the grounds Mag, who with man was iis'd to herd. Knew something more than common bird; He therefore watch'd with anxious care. And slipp'd himself from out the snare; Then, perch'd on nail remote from ground. Observes how deaths are dealt around. *' Lord, how he nicks us !" iMaggy cries, Th' astonish'd Gard'ner lifts his eyes, Witli fault'ring voice and panting breath. Exclaims, " Who's there?"— Alt still as death. His murd'rous work he does resume. And casts his eye around the room With caution, and, at length, does spy The Magpye, perch'd on nail so high! The wond'Ving clown, from what he hear'd. Believes him something more than bird ; With fear impress'd, does now retreat Towards the door, with trembling feet ; Then says — " Thy name I do implore?" The ready bird replies—'' Tom More." " O Lord !" the frighted clown replies. With hair erect, and staring eyes : 82 Half op'nins; then the liovel door, lie asks the bird one t[uebtion more: " What brought \ou here?"— With quick reply, Sly Mag rejoins—" Bad Company." Out jumps the Gard'ner in a fright, And runs away with all his might ; And, as he runs, impress'd with dread, Exclaims, " The Devil's in the shed!" The wond'rous tale a Bencher hears. And soothes tlie man, and quells his fears. Gets Mag secur'd in wicker cage. Once more to spend his little rage: Jn Temple Hall, now hung on high, Mag oft exclaims — " Bad Company 1" THE GOOD PREACHER. Con- per. WOULD I describe a Preacher, such as Paul, Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own — Paul should himself direct me. I would trace His master-strokes and draw from his design. I would express him simple, grave, sincere; In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain. And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste. And natural in gesture; much impress'd Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. And anxious mainly that tlie Hock he feeds May feel it loo ; affectionate in look. And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men. Behold the picture ! — Is it like? — like whom? The tilings that mount the rostrum with a skip. 83 And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; Cry — Iiem! and, reading what they never wrote. Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work. And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! THE CONTRAST. Jdim. I VENERATE the man whose heart is warm. Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life. Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause. To such I render more than mere respect. Whose actions say that they respect themselves. But, loose in morals, and in manners vain. In conversation frivolous, in dress Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; Frequent in park with lady at his side. Ambling and prating scandal as he goes ; But rare at home ; and never at his books. Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; Constant at routs, familiar with a round Of ladyships — a stranger to the poor; Ambitious of preferment for its gold. And well-prepar'd, by ignorance and sloth. By infidelity and love of world, To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave To his own pleasures and his patron's pride. From such apostles, oh, ye mitred heads. Preserve the church ! and lay not careless hands On sculls that cannot teach, and will not learn. THE PIG AND MAGPYE. Piter Pindar. COCKING his tail, a saucy prig, A Magpje, liopp'd upon a Pig, To pull some hair, lorsoolh, to line his nesl; And \vith such ease began the hair-attack. As thinking the lee-simple of the back Was by hiuiselj', and not the pig, possest. The Boar look'd up, as thunder black, to Mag, Who, squinting down on iiim, like an arch wag, Inlbrm'd Mynheer some bristles must be torn; Then busy went to work, not nicely culling; Got a good handsome beakluU by good pulling. And iiew, without a thank ye, to his thorn. The Pig set up a dismal yelling; Follow'd tiie robber to liis dwelling, W lio, like a fool, had built it 'midst a bramble: In, manfully, he sallied, full of might, Determin'd to obtain his right, And 'mid the bushes now began to scramble. He drove the Magpyc, tore his nest to rags. And happy on the downfall, pour'd his brags: But ere he from the brambles came, alack ! His ears and eyes were miserably torn. His bleeding hide in such a plight forlorn, He could not count ten hairs up on his back ! S5 THE PEASANT OF AUBURN. Coombe. DARK was the sky, and fatal was the morn, When first from Auburn's vale I roam'd forlorn. The neighb'ring swains came pensive o'er the lea, And, parting, breath'd their last kind pray'rs for me, Ah! gentle souls, yo'.n- pray'rs for me how vain ! The man of sorrow, penury, and pain. Thus Edwin mourn'd, pale, melancholy, slow. Where wild Ohio's sounding waters flow. The sun set low'ring on the plaints he made, And savage howlings doubly gloom'd the shade. O thou, in public toils with glory try'd. Whose high-born honours are thy humblest pride, AVhose private worth, in Fame's proud fane enroll'd, ^'ime shall emblaze in characters of gold, ]lUistrious Howard! shield th' unpohsh'd lays Which twine this cypress wreath around thy bays. And whilst thy breast matures each patriot plan That gladdens life, and man endears to man. Hear what big woes the village group befel. By Auburn's pensive bard foretold too well. Night o'er the scene her dusky horrors drew, The stars burn'd dim, the rapid whirlwind flew; E'en the lone cot deny'd its cheering ray, f As o'er the wild the v/and'rer urg'd his way. No more the birds prolong'd their soothing strain, No more the lanrlscape stole a pang from pain; In ev'ry bush destruction seem'd to hide. And hoarse beneatli him foam'd the sullen tide. Amidst uncoflin'd bones, as thus he pass'd. Where many a gallant Briton breath'd his last, From distant hills strange lires began to glow. That mark'd the ravage of the barb'rous foe. H 86 The scene, the hour, renew'd the trickling tear, "\^ hen thus, with mingled groans, the mournful seer: " God of my life ! protect me as I stray, ^Vhere panthers prowl, and murd'rous-men betray 1 " Once I was blest beyond the peasant's lot; Jn humble neatness rose luy little cot ; 1 saw my whitening fleece the down adorn ; J saw n>y valley wave with golden corn ; I saw my duteous children round me bloom. Nor envy'd pride its palace and its plume. Pleas'd with what lieav'n had lent, and far from strife, Calm, unreprov'd, 1 walk'd the vale of life. l>ut vain the humblest hope the poor can form, AVhen fierce oppression wings th' unfeeling storm. Nor peace, nor love, nor merit's modest woe. Can or avert or mitigate the blow. Alas! regardless of the suppliant train, The tyrant lord usurps the whole domain. The peasant's glebe, his garden's decent bound. The shade he rear'd, the lane with sweet-brier crown'd. All, all must yield, as wills imjjerious pride. And e'en the straw-lhatch'd cottage is deny'd. Hence, at this hour, by desp'rate sorrow led, A banish'd man, 1 roam the world for bread. *' Yet, witness Ileav'n ! tho' such thy chang'd decrees, Ne'er did I waste my hours in loil'riiig ease; Ne'er did the ble- sings prompt a wish to stray, lleallh nerv'd my limbs, and virtue bless'd my day; Constant at dawn to hardy toils I rose, Thav'd the bleak winds, and desolating snows; A\ hilst sweet cont(;ntni(MU knt her magic pow'r, ^5ol'Len'd the gale, and warni'd the frozen show'r. Still sad remembrance fondly calls to view The field, where once the branciiing poplar grew: 'Twas there, when spring renew'd Uie pluughniau's toil. My long-drawn lurrow turn'd the rugged soil; There, with my sickle, through long summer days, ) work'd, regardless of the noon-tide blaze ; 87 And there the lab'ring band, as leisure sway'd, The bough-crown'd reaper, and the village maid. Led up fheir sports along the bord'ring green. Whilst age look'd on, and bless'd the harmless seen?- Such were my toils, in days too bright to last. Such joys were mine, but all those joys are past ! Mean though I was, and circled too with care. Yet, blest with little, I had still to spare. No neighbour's sorrows but assail'd my breast. No poorer brother left my door unblest. To all my mite ; to some, more singly dear, I gave the tender tribute of a tear. Ofttimes, returning from the task of day, I hail'd the weary trav'ller on his way ; Kemark'd the hour of rest was nearly come. And press'd the stranger to my social home. Heedless of future ills", the playful train, To meet their sire, came shouting o'er the plain ; \\'ith eager joy their little news convey'd. Or round the green their mimic dance display'd. Perhaps, some neighb'ring swain, of genial soul. Would lift the latch, and~^join our sober bowl : And, whilst his soothing tales engag'd the guest. Of slighted love, or modest worth distrest, Whate'er our dairy, or our fields afford, In frugal plenty smil'd upon the board. Blest social home ! and ye dear distant bow'rs ! Scenes of my youth, and all my blissful hours. Where'er by fortune's hand neglected thrown. This heart, this faithful heart, is all your own. E'en now weak nature, rous'd to keener pain. Dwells on your charms, and bleeds in ev'ry vein. "Good heaVn! what anguish wrung this boding heart, When the rough boatswain gave the word to part ! Then first the tear, at nature's bidding, fell. As bleeding Friendship press'd its long farewel. Pale on my arm connubial mildness hung. Fond filial duty round my bosom clung. Firm, for their sakes along the surf-beat strand, And whisp'ring peace, 1 led the weeping band ; H 2 88 Deceiv'd their thoughts from Auburn's much-lov'd plain. And talk'd of happier seats beyond the main. Poor aged man ! since that eventful day, Despair and terror mark'd thee for their prey. War, sickness, famine, bursting on thine head. Mock thy vain toils, and weigh thee to the dead. " Ah me ! the words our pious preacher spoke. When first to him my mournful mind I broke. " Edwin," he said, with looks of kind dismay, " Earth's meteor-hopes but glitter to betray. " Thou canst not ily from God's all-chast'ning hand, " Storms sweep the ocean, discord blasts the land; " No change of climate can reverse our doom, " Life's various roads all centre in the tomb." Thus the meek sage my rasii resolve repress'd, Mhilst tears of pity ba'th'd his hoary breast. Oh! had I listen'd to his wise alarms, 'Jhen had 1 dy'd at home, in Friendship's arms. " Twelve tedious weeks we plough'd the wintrvmain. And hop'd the port, but i\op'd, alas! in vain; Till left of Heav'n, and press'd for daily bread. Each gaz'd at each, and liung the sickly head. Two little sons, my iiojje, my humble pride, Too weak to combat, languish'd, wail'd, and dy'd. Stretch'd on the deck the" breathless cherubs lay, As buds put forth in April's stormy day. Not Emma's self remain'd my woes to cheer, Piorne with her babes up»m a wat'ry bier. Five days she struggled with the fever's fire. The sixth, sad morn ! beheld my saint expire. These trembling lips her lips convulsive press'd. These trembling hands sustain'd her sinking breast ; These trembling hands discharg'd each mournful rite, Sooth'd her last pang, and seal'rl her dying sight. To the same deep their dear remains were e;iv'n ; Their mingled spirits wing'd their flight to neav'n. " One only daughter, in life's vernal pride, Surviv'd tJie wreck that whelm'd mv all beside. 89 Snatch'd from the peace of death, and loatliing day. On bleak. Henlopen's coast the mourner lay. These aged arms her languid body bore Through tiie rude breakers to that ruder shore. Mcrcv, sweet Heav'n! and did tJie pitying storm Spare but for deeper ills that angel form ! Blest had we sunk unheeded in the wave. And mine and Lucy's been one. common grave. But I am lost, a worn-out, ruin'd man, And fiends complete what t}'ranny began. " Much had I heard, from men unus'd to feign. Of this New World, and Freedom's gentle reign. 'Twas fam'd that here, by no proud master spuru'd. The poor man ate secure tlie bread he earn'd ; That verdant vales were fed by l)righter streams Than my own Medway, or the silver Thames ; Fields without bounds spontaneous fruitage bore. And peace and virtue bless'd the favour'd shore. Such were the hopes which once beguil'd my care, Hopes form'd in dreams, and baseless as the air. " Is this (O dire reverse!) is this the land, AVliere nature sway'd, and peaceful worthies plann'd.^ Where injur'd freedom, through the world impell'd. Her hallow'd seat, her last asylum held? Ye glitt'ring towns that crown th' Atlantic deep. Witness the change, and, as ye witness, weep! Mourn all ye streams, and all ye lields deplore Your slaughter'd sons, your verdure stain'd with gore! " Time was, blest time! to w'eeping thousands dear. When all that poets picture ilourish'd here. Then war was not, religion smil'd and spread. Arts, manners, learning, rear'd their polish'd head;.. Commerce her sails to every breeze uufurl'd, Tour'd on their coasts the treasures of the world. Past are those halcyon days. The very land Droops a weak mourner, wither'd and unmann'd. Brothers 'gainst brothers rise in vengeful strife. The parent's weapon drinks the children's life ; H 3 00 Sons, leagu'd with foes, unsheath their impious sword. And gore the nurt'ring breast they late ador'd. " How vain my search to find some lonely bow'r. Far from those scenes of death, this rage for pow'r ! Some quiet spot, conceal'd from ev'ry eye, In which to pause from woe, and calmly die. No such retreat these boundless shades embrace. But man with beast divides the bloody chace. What though some cottage rise amid the gloom. In vain its pastures spring, its orchards bloom: Far, far away the wretched owners roam. Exiles like me, the world their only home. "■ Here, as I trace my melancholy way. The prowling Indian snuffs his wonted prey. Ha ! — should I meet him in his dusky round — Late in these woods 1 heard his murd'rous sound — Still the deep war-hoop vibrates on mine ear. And still I hear his tread, or seem to hear. Hark! the leaves rustle! what a shriek was there! Tis he! 'tis he! his triumphs rend the air. Hold, coward heart, I'll answer to the yell. And chace the murd'rer to his gory cell. Savage! — But oh! I rave — o'er yonder wild. E'en at this hour he drives my only child; She, the dear source and soother of my pain, My tender daughter, drags the captive chain. " .\h, my poor Lucy ! in whose face, whose breast^ My long-lost Emma liv'd again contest. Thus ro'bb'd of thee, and ev'ry comfort fled, Soon shall the turf infold this weary head; Soon shall mv spirit reach that peaceful shore. Where bleeding friends unite, to part no more. Then shall I cease to rue that fatal morn "When first from Auburn's vale I roam'd forlorn." He spoke — and frantic with the sad review. Prone on the shore his tott'ring liml)s he threw. Life's crimson strings were bursting round his heart. And his torn soul was throbbing to depart; 91 No pitying frienrl, no meek-ey'tl stranger near. To tend liis throes, or calm them with a tear. Angels of grace, your golden pinions spread, Temper the winds and shield his houseless head! Let no rude sounds disturb life's awful close. And guard his relics from inhuman foes ! O haste, and waft him to those radiant plains. Where fiends torment no more, and love eternal reigns 1 THE STUDENT. Grceme. REMOTE from schools, from colleges remote. In a poor hamlet's meanest, homeliest cot. My earliest years were spent, obscurely low; Little I knew, nor much desir'd to know ; My highest wishes never mounted high'r Than the attainments of an aged sire; Proverbial wisdom, competence of wealth, Earn'd with hard labour, and enjoy'd with health. Blest, had I still these blessings known to prize; More rich I sure had been ; perhaps more wise. One luckless day, returning from the field. Two swains, the wisest of the village held. Talking of books and learning, 1 o'erheard. Of learned men, and learned men's reward : How some rich wives, and some rich livings got. Sprung from the tenants of a turf-built cot: Then both concluded, though it ruin'd health. Increase of learning was increase of wealth. Fir'd with the prospect, I embrac'd the hint, A grammar borrow'd, and to work I went. The scope and tenor of each rule I kept. No accent miss'd me, and no gender 'scap'd ; 92 I read whate'er con-iinentiiig Diilcliinfn wrote, Turn'd o'er Stoba-us, and could Suidas quote; In letter'd Gellius trace the bearded sage, Through all the windings of a wise adao-e. AVas the spectator of each honest scar, ° Each sophist carry'd from eacli wordy war; Undaunted was my heart, nor could appal I'he mustiest volume of the mustiest stall; Where'er I turn'd, the giant-spiders fled. And trembling moths retreated as I read ; Through Greece and Home I then observant stray'd, Their manners noted, and their states survey'd ; Attended heroes to the bloody fields, ■"I'lieir helmets polish'd, and emboss'd tlieir shields ; With duteous iiand tlie decent matron drest. And wrapp'd the stripling in his manly vest; Nor stopt 1 there, but mingled with the boys. Their rattles rattled, and improv'd tiieirtoys; Lash'd conic turbos as in gyres they (lew. Bestrode their hobbies, and their wliistles blew: But still when this, and more than this, was done. My coat was ragged, and my hat was brown. Then thus I commun'd with myself: " Shall I " Let all this learning in oblivion die? " Live in the haunts of ignorance, content " \yilh vest unbuttoii'd, and with breeches rent? " None knows my merit here; if any knew, " A scholar's worth would meet a scholar's due. " AVhat then ? The college ! ay, 'tis there I'll sliine, " I'll study morals, or I'll turn divine : " Struck with mv letter'd tame, without a doubt, " Some modern La-lius will find me out: " Superior parts can never long be hid, " And he who wants deserves not to be fed." Transported with the thoughts of this and that, I stitch'd my garments, and I'dy'd my hat; 'J^o college went, and found, with much ado, 'I'hat roses were not red, nor vi'lets blue; 93 That all I've learn'd, or all T yet may learn. Can't help me truth from falsehood to discern. ***** All mere confusion, altogether hurl'd, One dreary waste, one vast ideal world! ^\'here uproar rules, and do you what you will. Uproar has rul'd it, and will rule it still. Victorious ergo, daring consequence. Will ever be a match for common sense! To lordly reason ev'ry thing must bow. The hero liberty, and conscience too ; The first is fetter'd in a fatal chain. The latter, gagg'd, attempts to speak in vain. Locke! Malebranche! Hume! abstractions thrice abstract ! In reason give me what in sense I lack ; I feel my poverty, and, in my eye. My hat, though dy'd, has but a dusky dye, " Mistrust your feelings, reason bids you do." — But, gentlemen, indeed I cannot now : For after all your ergos, look you there I My hat is greasy, and my coat is bare. Hail moral truth ! I'm here at least secure. You'll give me comfort, though you keep me poor. But say^you so ? in troth 'tis something hard, "Virtue does surely merit a reward. > " Eeward 1 O, servile, selfish ; ask a hire !" I^aiment and food this body does require: A prince for nothing uiay philosophise, A student can't aftbrd to be so wise. Sometimes the Stoa's gloomy walks I try'd. Wrinkled my forehead, and enlarg'd my stride, Despis'd ev'n hunger, poverty, and pain. Searching my pockets for a crust in vain. Sometimes in Acadenuis' verdant shade \\'ith step more gracefid I exulting stray'd. Saw health and lortune joln'd with happiness. And virtue smiling in her social dress ; 94 On me she did not smile, but rather lour ; I still was wretched, for I still was poor. Sworn to no master, sometimes I would dwell With Shaftesbury, sometimes with Mandeville ; AVould call at ev'ry system on my way. And now with Leibnitz, now with Manes stay ; But after all my shiftings here and there. My hat was greasy, and my coat was bare. Then I belield my labours past, and lo! It all was vanity, and all was woe ; I look'd on Learning, and her garb was mean, HO' o ' ere ej es were hollow, and her cheeks were lean ; Dis^ease and famine threaten'd in her train. And want, who strives to hide her rags in vain ; Her lurid brow a sprig of laurel brac'd. On wliich was mark'd, ' I'npension'd and unplac'd.* I turn'd to Ignorance; and lo ! she sate Enthron'd beneath a canopy of state; Before her Riche-; all his bags unty'd. And ever and anon her wants supply'd. While on a smiling plentitude of face. Was clearly read,"" A pension and a place." ALONZO THE BRAVE & FAIR IMOGINE. G. P. Lewis, Esq. A Warrior so bold and a virgin so bright Convers'd as they sat on the green; They gaz'd on each other with tender delight; Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight — The maid's was the Fair Imogine. " And, oh!" said the youth, " since to-morrow I go " To fight in a far distant land, " Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow, " Some other will court you, and you will bestow " On a wealthier suitor your hand!" 95 *' Oh ! liush these suspicions," Fair Imogine said, " Offensive to love and to me: " For,' if you be living, or if you be dead, " I swear by the Virgin, that none, in your stead, " Shall husband of Imogine be. " If e'er I, by lust or by wealth led aside, " Forget my Alonzo the Brave, " God grant that, to punish my falsehood and pride, " Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, " May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, " And bear me away to the grave!" To Palestine hasten'd the hero so bold ; His love she lamented him sore : — But scarce had a twelvemonth elaps'd, when, behold ! A Baron, all cover'd with jewels and gold, Arriv'd at Fair Imogine's door. His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain. Soon made her untrue to her vows : He dazzled her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain ; He caught her affections so light and so vain. And carried her home as his spouse ! And now had the marriage been blest by the priest ; The revelry now was begun ; The tables they groan'd with the weight of the feast. Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceas'd. When the bell at the castle toU'd — osz ! Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found That a stranger was plac'd by her side : His air was terrific; he utter'd no sound ! He spake not, he mov'd not, he look'd not around — But earnestly gaz'd on the bride ! His vizor was clos'd, and gigantic his height; His armour was salile to view: — All pleasure and laughter were hush'd at his sight ; The dogs, as they ey'd him, drew Lack in alfright ; The lights in the chamber burn'd blue ! 96 His presence all bosoms appearM to dismay ; The guests sat in silence and fear ; At length spake the Bride, while she trembled, " I pray, " Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, " And deign to partake oi" our cheer !" The lady is silent ; the stranger complies ; His vizor he slowly unclos'd ; — Oh, God ! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eves? What words can express her dismay and surprise. When a skeleton's head was expos'd ! All present then utter'd a terrify'd shout, All turn'd with disgust from the scene; The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, And sported his eyes and his temples about, While the spectre address'd Imogine: — " Behold me, thou false one ; behold me !" he cried ; " Remember Alonzo the Brave ! " God grants, that, to punish thi/Jalsehood and pride, " Ml/ ghost at thy marriage should sit hy thy side ; *' Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, " And bear thee away to the grave /" Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, While loudly she shriek'd in dismay ; Then sunk witli his prey thro' the wide-yawning ground! Nor ever again was I'air Imogine found. Or the spectre that bore her away ! Not long liv'd the baron ; and none, since that time, To inhabit the castle presume; For chronicles tell, that, by order sublime, Thjpre Imogine sulfers the pain of her crime. And mourns her deplorable doom. At midnight, four limes in each year does her spright, M'hen mortals in slumber are bound, Array'd in hr^r bri(hd apparel of white, Appear in the hall with tiie Skeleton-Knight, And shriek as he whirls her around! While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave. Dancing round them the spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl — " To the health of Alonzo the Brave, '" And his consort, the Fair Imogine !" ! VERSES, Written at the Chiask at Pera, ovetlooking Constantinople, By Lady Montague. GIVE me, great God ! said 1, a little farm. In summer shady, and in winter warm; Where a clear spring gives birth to murm'ring brooks. By nature gliding down the mossy rocks. !Not artfully by leaden pipes convey'd. Or greatly falling in a forc'd cascade. Pure and unsully'd winding throiight the shade. All-bounteous Heaven has added to my pR^yer A softer climate, and a purer air. Our frozen isle now chilling winter binds, Deform'd by rains, and I'ough with blasting winds; The wither'd woods grow white with hoary frost. By driving storms their verdant beauty lost ; The trembling birds their leafless covert shun. And seek in distant climes a warmer sun: The water-nymphs their silent urns deplore. E'en I'hames benumb'd 's a river now no more: The barren meads no longer yield delight, By glitt'ring snow made hateiul to the sight. Here summer reigns with one eternal smile. Succeeding harvests bless the happy soil. Fair fertile fields, to whom indulgent Heav'a Has ev'ry charm of ev'ry season given ; 1 ! No killing cold deforms the beauteous year, T]\e springing ilow'rs no coming winter tear; But as tlie parent rose decays and dies, "^ 'J'lie infant buds uith brighter colour rise, > And with fresh sweets the mother's scent supplies. 3 ]Sear them the vi'iet grows, with odours blest. And blooms in more than Tyrian purple drest ; The rich jonquilles their golden beams display. And shine in glory's emulating day; ■^J'he peaceful groves their verdant leaves retain, '1 he streams still murmur, undelil'd with rain. And tow'riPig greens adorn the fruitful plain. The warbling choir uninterrupted sing, Warm'd witli enjoyments of perpetual spring. Here, at my window^, I at once survey The crowded city and resounding sea; In distant views the Asian mountains rise. And lose their snowy summits in the skies ; Above these mountains proud Olympus tow'rs. The parliamental seat of heav'nly pow'rs. New to the sight, my ravish'd eyes admire Each gilded crescent and each antique spire, The marble mosques, beneath whose ample domes Fierce warlike sultans sleep in peaceful tombs ; These lofty structures, once the Christians' boast. Their names, their beauty, and their honors lost; Those altars bright with gold and sculpture grac'd, 15y barb'rous zeal of savage foes defac'd ; Sophia alone her ancient name retains, Tho' unbelieving man her shrine profanes ; "W iiere holy saints have died in sacred ceils, >\ iiere monarchs pray'd, the frantic dervise dwells. How art thou fall'n, imperial city, low! AN'herc are thv hopes of Koman glory now ? Where are thy palaces by prelate's rai^'d? Where Grecian artists all their skill display'd, Ik'fore the happy sciences decay 'd ? So vast, lliat youthful kings might here reside. So splendid, to content a patriarch's pride ; Convents where emperors profess'd of old, 'J'here Jabour'd pillars that their triumphs told ; } 99 Vain monuments of those that once were great. Sunk undistingiiish'd in one common late: One little spot the tenure small contains. Of Greek nobility the poor remains ; Where other Helens, with like powerful charms. Had once engag'd the warring world to arms; Those names which royal ancestors can boast. In mean mechanic arts obscurely lost; Those eyes, a second Homer might inspire, Fix'd at the loom, destroy their useless lire ; Griev'd at a view vsdiich s'truck upon my mind. The short liv'd vanity of human kind. In gaudy object I indulge my sight. And furn where Eastern pomp gives gay deliglit; ^See the vast train in various habits drest, ") By the bright scimitar and sable vest, /- The proud vizier distinguish'd o'er the rest ; ) Six slaves in gay attire his bridle hold, His bridle rich with gems, and stirrups gold ; His snowy steed adorn'd with costly pride, "i Whole troops of soldiers mounted by his side, ,- These top the plumy crest Arabian courtiers guide. 3 With artful duty all" decline tlieir eyes. No belowing shouts of noisy crowd arise; Silence, in solemn state, the march attends. Till at the dread divan the slow procession ends. Yet not these prospects, all profusely gay, The gilded navy that adorns the sea, - The rising city in confusion fair. Magnificently form'd irregular; Where woods and palaces at once surprise. Gardens on gardens, domes on domes arise. And endless beauties tire the wand'ring eyes. So sootlie my wishes, or so charm my mind, As this retreat secure from human kind. No knave's successful craft does spleen excite. No coxcomb's tawdry splendor shocks my sight ; No mob-alarm awakes my female fear. No praise my mind, nor envy hurts my ear, E'en fame itself-can hardly reach me here: I 2 } 100 Impertinence, \\ith all her rattling train, Fail-sounding flattery's delicious bane; Censorious folly, noisy party-rage, "^ The thousand tongues with which she must engage, > ■W iio dares have virtue in a vicious age. y THE POET AND SPIDER, Anonymouj. ARTIST, who underneath my table Thy curious texture hast display'd ; "Who, if we may believe the fable, A\ as once a blooming beauteous maid; Insidious, restless, watchful spider. Fear no oHicious rlamsel's broom ; Extend thy arlful fal)ric wider. And spread thy banners round the room. Swept from the rich man's costly stanchion, Thou'rt welcome to my dirty roof; Here tliou may'st find a peaciful mansion; Here, undisiurb'd, attend IJiy woof. AVhilst i thy vvond'rous fabric stare at. And think on h.elpless poet's fate; Like tiiee, contin'd to lonely garret. And widely banish'd rooms of state. And as, from out the tortur'd body. Thou draw'st thy slender strings with pain; So th' poet labours, like a noddv. To spin materials from his brain. He, for some flatt'ring, tawdrv creature. That spreads her ciiains before iiis eye; And that a con(|uest little better liiaji thine o'er captive butterfly. 101 Thus far, 'tis plain, we both agree. Perhaps our deaths may better shew it; 'Tis ten to one but penury Ends both the Spider and the Poet. THE PARISH POOR-HOUSE. Crabbe. THEIRS is yon house that holds the parish poor. Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; There, where the putrid vapours flagging play. And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day; There children dwell who know no parents care. Parents who know no children's love, dwell there; Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed, Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed ; Dejected widows witii unheeded tears. And crippled age with more than cliildhood-fears ! The lame, the blind, and (far the happiest they !) The moping idiot, and the madman gay. Here too the sick their final doom receive. Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve; "Where the loud groi\ns from some sad chamber flow, Mixt with the clamcM-s of the crowd below ; Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan, And the cold charities of man to man. ^^'hose laws indeed for ruin'd age provide, And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride; But still that scrap is brought with many a sigh; And pride embitters what it can't deny. Say ye, opprest by some fantastic woes. Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose; Who press the downy couch, wliile slaves advance, AVith timid eye, to read the distant glance ; Who with sad prayers the weary doctor teaze To name the nameless ever-new disease ; I J 10(? Who wilh niock-paticnro dire complaints caclitn?, W'iiicli real pain, and tiiat alone can cure ; How would ve hear in real pain to lie, Dcspis'd, neglected, left alone to die? How would yf. bear to draw your latest breat, Where all that's wretched paves the way for death? Such is tliat room which one rude beam divides. And nalxcd rafters Irom the sloping sides: Where tiie vile bands tiiat bind tiie tiiatch are seen. And lath and mud is all that lie between ; Save one dull pane, tiiat, coarsely patch'd, gives way To the rude tempest, yet excludes tin* day : Here, on a malted flock, witli dust o'erspread. The drooping wretch reclines his languid head ; For him no hand the cordial cup applies, Kor wii)es the tear that stagnates in his eyes; No friends wilh soft discourse his pain beguile, Kor promise hope till sickness wears a smile. THE UNFORTUNATE FAIR. Soutkey. HARD by the road where, on that little mound^ The high grass rustles to the passing breeze, "I'he cliild of mis'ry rests her head in peace. Pause there in sadness. That unhallow'd ground Jnslu'ines what once was Isai)el. Sleep on. Sleep on, poor outcast! — Lovely was thy cheek. And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak Tiu; soul of pity. I'ale, and woe begone, .So(jn dill thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep The tear of anguish for the babe unborn. The helpless heir of poverty and scorn. •Siie drank the drauglit tliat chill'd her soul to sleep. I pause, and wipe the big drop from mine eye, Wliilst tlie proud Lcvite scowls, and passes by. J 03 ox VIEWING THE RUINS OF AN ABBEV. Scett. HOW steep yon mountains rise around ! How bold yon gloomy woods ascend ^ How loud the rushing torrents sound. That 'midst these heaps of ruin bend. Whore one arch'd gateway yet remains. And one lone aisle its roof retains, And one tall turret's walls impend ! Here once a seTf-sequester'd train Eenounc'd life's tempting pomp and glare; Kejected pow'r, rciinquish'd gain. And shunn'd the great, and shunn'd the fair: The voluntary slaves of toil. By day they till'd their litle soil. By night awoke and rose to pray'r. Though superstition much we blame. That bade them thus consume tlieir \ears; Their motive still onr praise must claim. Their constancy our thought reveres: And sure their solitary scheme Must check each passion's wild extreme. And save them cares, and save them fears. Their convent's round contain'd them all; Their minds no sad presage opprest, What fate might absent wealth befal. How absent friends might he distrest: Domestic ills ne'er hurt tlieir ease; They nought of pain could feel tVom these. Who no domestic joys possest. But imperfection haunts eacli place: Would this kind calm atone to tlice For fame's or fortune's sprightly chacc. Whose prize in prospect still we sec; ; Or Hymen's happy moments blest. With beauty leaning on thy breast. Or childhood prattling at thy knee? The young authou. Johnson. WHEN first the peasant, long inclin'd to roam, forsakes his rural sp^orts and peaceful home, Pleas'd with the scene, tiie smiling ocean yields. He scorns the verdant meads andflow'ry iields; '^riit n dances jocund o'er the wat'rv wav, A\ hile the breeze whispers, and the streamers play: Unbounded prospects in his bosom roll. And future millions lift his rising soul ; Jn blissful dreams he digs the golden mine, And ra])tur'd sees the new-found rub\ shine. Joys insincere! thick clouds invade the skies. Loud roar the billows, high the waves arise; Sick'ning with fear, he longs to view the shore. And vows to trust the faithless deep no more. So the yoimg author, j)anting after fame. And the long honors of a lasting name, Intrusts his ha|)piness to human kind, More false, more cruel, than the seas or wind. 105 <^ Toil on, dull crowd," in ecstacies he cries, " For wealtli or title— perishable prize! " While I those transitory blessings scorn, *' Secure of praise Irom ages yet unborn." This thought once forni'd,"all counsel comes too late. He flies to press, and hurries on his fate ; Swiftly he sees th' imagin'd laurels spread. And feels th' unfading wreath surround his head. Warn'd by another's Yate, vain youth, be wise! Those dreams were Settle's once, and Ogilvy's! The pamphlet spreads, incessant hisses rise. To some retreat the baffled writer flies ; Where no sour critic's snarl, no sneers molest. Safe from the tart lampoon, and stinging jest ; There begs of Ileav'n a less distinguish'd lot. Glad to be hid, and proud to be forgot. THE HAMLET. WRITTEN IN WHICHWOOD lOREST. T. Warton, THE hinds how blest, who ne'er beguil'd To quit tlieir liamlet's hawthorn-wild ; IS'or haunt tlie crowd, nor tempt the main. For splendid care and guilty gain! When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam Strikes tiie low thatch with slanting gleam. They rove abroad in sther blue. To dip the scythe in fragrant dew; The sheaf to "bind, the beech to fell. That nodding shades a craggy dell. 'Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear^ Wild nature's sweetest notes they hear ; On green untrodden banks they view The'hyaciath's neglected hue : In their lone haunts and woodland rounds They spy the sciuinel's airy bounds; And startle from her ashen spray. Across the glen, the screaming jay. Each native charm their steps'expiore Of solitude's sequester'd store. For them the moon, with cloudless ray. Mounts, to illume tiieir homeward way: Their weary spirits to relieve. The meadow's incense breathes at eve. No riot mars the simple fare That o'er a glimm'ring hearth they share: But when the curfeu's measur'd roar Duly, ihe dark'ning vallies o'er. Has echo'd from the distant town. They wish no beds of cygnet-down, Ko trophy'd canopies, to close Their drooping eye in quick repose. Their little sons, who spread the bloom Of health around the clay-built room, Or through the jM'inu-os'd coppice stray, Or gambol in the new-mown hay ; Or quaintly braid the cowslip-twine. Or clrive afield the tardy kino ; Or hasten from the sultry hill. To loiter at tiie shady rill ; Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest. To rob the raven's ancient nest. Their huml)]e porch with honied flow'rs The curling woodbine's siiade embow'rs: From the trim garden's thymy mound Their bees, in l)usy swarms, resound: Kor fell Disease, before his time. Hastes to consume life's golden prime: But when their temples long have wore The silver crown of tresses hoar; As studious still calm peace to keep. Beneath a llow'ry turf they sleep. 107 THE HERMIT. BeaUie. AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill. And nought but the nightingale's song in thegrove — 'Twas then^ by the cave of a mountain reclin'd, A Hermit his nightly complaint thus began: Tho' mournful his numbers, his soulAvas resign'd ; He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man. « Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe, " Why thus, lonely Philomel, tlows thy sad strain? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, '' And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain. Yet if pity inspires thee, O cease not thy lay ! " Mourn, sweetest companion ; man calls "thee to " mourn: O soothe him whose pleasures, like thine, pass away! " Full quickly they pass — but they never return! Now gliding remote on tlie verge of the sky, " The moon, half extinct, a dim crescent displays ; Puit lately I mark'd, when majestic on high " She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze: Eoll on then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue " The path that conducts thee to splendor again: But man's faded glory no change shall renew ; " Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 'Tis night, and tlie landscape is lovely no more: " I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not ibr you ; I'^or morn is approaching, your charms to restore, " Perfum'd witli fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with " dew. Nor vet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; *' Kind Nature the enibryo-blossom shall save: But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn > " O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?' lOS ADDRESS TO HAPPINESS. j Hurdis. O HAPPINESS! thou puny short-liv'd plant, \\ liose tender branch this workl's inclement sky But ill endures, and bears abundant bloom In the pacific clime of heav'n alone. Let me thy transient beauty strive to rear. Not witiiout hope, uncertain as thou art, 7'hat thy sweet blossom shall at length be mine. I'll give thee shelter iVom all winds tluit blow, Dittuse eternal summer lound thy head. And satisfy thy root with gentle drops, Warm as the dew the tender mother sheds Upon her drooping child. And, in return. Do thou, sweet stranger, to my longing eye At least one blossom leisurely unfold. To be transported, when occasion smiles. Into the bosom of the maid I love: There to abide, perchance, shall please tlxee well; For 'tis a mansion like thy native seat. The fair abode of innocence and truth. Be it thy home, and satisfy mankind That happiness can flourish here below. And is not always like the cereus' bloom. Alive at niiiht aiul wither'd ere the morn. •109 ODE TO CONTEXT. Mrs. Barbauld. OTHOU, the nymph with placid eye ! O seldom found, yet ever nigh ; Receive my temp'rate vow ! Not all the storms that shake the pole Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul. And smooth unalter'd brow. O come, in simplest vest array'd, With all thy sober cheer display'd, To bless my longing sight ; Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace. Thy meek regard, thy matron grace. And cliaste subdu'd delight. No more by varying passions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell ; Where, in some pure and equal sky^ Beneatla thy soft indulgent eye. The modest virtues dwell. K no Simplicity, in Attic vest. And Innocence, with candid breast. And clear undaunted eye ; 7\nd Hope, who points to distant years, Fair opening, tlu-o' this vale of tears, A vista to the sky. There health, thro' whose calm bosom glide Tlie tenip'rate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow; And patience there, thy sister meek, Presents her mild unvarying cheek. To meet tlie olier'd blow. Her influence taught tlie Phrygian sage A tvrant-master'sVanton rage ^^'itll settled smiles to meet: Inur'd to toil and bitter bread. He bow'd his meek submitted head. And kiss'd thy sainted feet. Rut tliou, O nymph ! retir'd and coy. In what brown handet dost thou joy To tell thy tender taie? The lowliest chiKlren of the ground, Moss-rosc and vioK't blossom round. And lily of the vale. say what soft propitious hour 1 best mav choose to hail thy povv'r. And court tiiy gentle sway ? When Autumn," friendly to "the muse, Shall thv own modest tints diffuse. And shed thy milder day. When eve, her dewy star beneath. Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, And ev'ry storm is laid ; If such an hour was e'er thy choice, t)ft let me hear thy soothing voice l.o\v wliisp'ring through the shade. Ill THE WELCHMAN AND THE PULLET. Peter Pindar. HAPPY the man, whose heart of such a sort is, As holds more biitter-railk than aqua-tbrtis ! Rut, lord I how passionate are certain folk ! How like tiie sea, reflecting ev'ry form. So placid !• the next instant in a storm. Dashing against the inoffensive rock ; Mounting towards the skies, with such a thunder. As tho' it wish'd (the lev'ler) to bring it under. Sun, moon, and stars, and tear them into tatters — Such passions, verily, are serious matters. Men in morality should ne'er be idle ; But for their passions make a strong curb-bridle. When lofty man doth quarrel witli a pin. In mmi resides the folly or the sin — Not in the brass, by which his finger's spitted ; — For, by a small philosophy, we find, That, as a pin is not endow'd with mind, Of malice C2.\V A prepense Pin stands acquitted: — Thus, then, his auJcwardness must bear the blame. And thus to persecute the pin's a shame. Many inanimates, as well as pins. Suffer for others' fooleries and sins. How oft a drunken blockhead blames a post That overturns him, breaks his shins, or head ; Whose eyes should certainly have view'd the coast. And have avoided this same post so dread ; Whereas he should have spar'd his idle cries. And only blam'd his own two blinking eyes. k2 112 A little Welchman, Welchman-like indeed. Hot as a Chian ; that is to sav, A baclulor — and therefore ev'ry Jieed Was, ibr subsistence, forc'd to him to pray. ^J'his baclielor, to satist"}' withal His gullet. Put into a small pot — indeed tuo small — A I'ullet. The Pullet's legs were not to be confin'd. So out f hey pok'd themselves, so sleek, and white; The \Volchnian curs'd her legs, with wicked mind. And push'd them in again, with monstrous spite. The pullet liking not the pot's embrace. So veri/ zvarm — indeed a nat'ra! case — Pok'd forth her shrinking legs again so fair; AVith seeming much uneasines':, in troth. Objecting to her element of broth, And wishing much to take a little air. '& The Cambro-Briton waxing red and hot. And higlilyyb.7?;////^>- too, just like the pot. Ran to the legs, and shov'd them in once more; But, lo ! his oaths and labor all were vain ; Out pt)k'd the Pullet's boiling legs again ; AMiicii put the \\'elchman's passions in a roar ! "What will not mortals, urg'd by rage and sin, do? Mad at defeat, and with a dev'lish scowl. He seizes, witli ferocity, the fowl. And, lull of vengeance, whirls her out at window. 113 EDWIN AND ANGELINA. Goldsmith, 143 LAURA. Mrs. Opk. THINK not, while gayer swains invite Tliv feet, dear girl, to pleasure's bow'rs. My faded" form shall meet thy sight, And cloud my Laura's smiling hours. Thou art the world's delighted guest. And all the young admire is thme ; Then I'll not wound thy gentle breast. By numb'ring o'er the wounds of mine. I will not sav, how well, how long. This faithful heart has sigh'd for thee. But leave, the happier swains among. Content, if thou contented be. But, Laura, should misfortune's wand Bid all thy youth's gay visions fly, From thy soft cheek the rose command. And force the lustre from thine eye; Then, thoughtless of my own distress, I'll haste, thy comforter to prove: And Laura shall m^ friendship bless, Altliough, alas ! she scorns my love. THE LONG VACATION. Anonymous. MY lord now quits his venerable seat, The six clerk on his padlock turns the key; From bus'ness hurries to his snug retreat. And leaves vacation and the town to me. Now all is hush'd, asleep the eye of care. And Lincoln's Inn a solemn stillness holds; Save where the porter whistles o'er the square. Or Pompey barks, or basket-woman scolds ; 144 Save that from yonder pump, and dusty stair. The moping shoe-black and the hiundry-maid Complain of such as from the town repair. And leave their little quarterage unpaid. In those dull chambers, where old parchments lie, And useless draughts, in many a mould'ring heap; Each for parade, to catch the client's eye, Viner and Blackstone in oblivion sleep. In these dead hours, what now remains for me? Still to the stool and to the desk confin'd, Debarr'd from autumn shades and liberty, (Those pleasures great as my Cleora's kind). Hail, beauteous nymph ! how does thy presence gild The brow of care, and mitigate my pains ! With thee (such ecstacy thy beauties \ield) Bondage is free, and Juigs thy pleasmg cliains. Bless'd in thy love, sincerely I despise The quil)ble, warmly urg'd, with many a frown. Hear each opinion of the learn'd and wise. Nor envy Cato's wig or Tully's gown. 116 PLEASURES OF MEMORY. S. Rogers, Es^. \1{711EN the blithe son of Savoy, roving W round. With luimble wares, and pipe of merry sound. From his green vale and shelter'd cabin hies. And scales the Alps, to visit foreign skies; Though far below the forked lightnings play. And at his feet the thunder dies away, Oft, in the saddle rudely rock'd to sleep. While his mule browzes on the dizzy steep. With mem'ry's aid he sits at home, and sees His chikU-cu sport beneath their native trees. And bends, to hear their cherub-voices call, O'er the loud fury of the torrent's fall. Oft has the aged tenant of the vale Lean'd on his sLatl' to lenothen out a tale ; Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath'd. From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd : When o'er the blasted heath the day declin'd, And on the scath'd oak warr'd the winter wind ; When not a distant taper's twinkling ray Gleam'd o'er the furze, to light him on his way; N 146 When not a sheep-bel! spoth'd his list'ning ear^ And the big- rain-drops told the tempest near ; Then did his horse the homeward track di^scry. The track which shunn'd his sad, enquiring eye; And win each wav'ring purpose to relent, Willi warmth so mild, so gently violent. That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd. And doubts and terrors vanish from his mind. Kecall the traveller, whose alter'd form Has bonie the buffet of the mountain storm ; And vvho will first his fond impatience meet? — His faithful dog's already at his feet ! Yes, tho' the porter spurn him from his door, Tho' all that knew him know his face no more. His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, With that mute eloquence which passes speech. And see, the master but returns to die! Yet, wlio shall bid the watchful servants fly? The blasts of hcav'n, the drenching dews of eai"th. The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth ; These, when to guard misfortune's sacred grave. Will lirm fulelity exult to brave. Led by what chart, transports the timid dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love? Sav, thro' the clouds what compass points her flight ? IMonarchs have gaz'd, and nations blest the siglit. Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, J'xlipse her native shades, her native skies ; — 'Tis vain ! thro'ather's patldess wilds she goes. And lights at last where all her cares repose. Oft may the spirits of the dead descend. To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ; To hover round his ev'niiig walk, unseen. And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; 1 o hail the spot where first their friendship grew. And heav'u and nature open'd to their view. U7 Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth, and sees A smiling circle emulous to please, There may these gentle guests delight to dwell. And bless'the scenes they lov'd in life so well, O thou ! with whom my heart was wont to share. From reason's dawn, each pleasure and each care; With whom, alas! 1 fondly hop'd to knov/ The humble walks of happiness below; If thy blest nature now unites above An angel's pity with a brother's love, Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control. Correct my views, and elevate my soul ; Grant me thy peace and purity of mind. Devout, yet cheerful ; active,' yet resign'd ; Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no dis- guise, Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise. To meet the changes time and chance present. With modest dignity and calm content. When thy last breath, ere nature sank to rest, Thy meek submission to thy God cxprest ; When thy last look, ere thougiit and feeling fled, A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed ; What to thy soul it^ glad assurance gave. Its hope in death, itstriumph o'er the grave? The sweet Remembrance of iinblemish'd youth, Th' inspiring voice of innocence and truth ! He who, thro' nature's various walk, surveys The good and fair her faultless line pourtrays; Whose mind, prophan'd by no unhallow'd guest. Culls from the crowd the purest and the best; May range at will bright I'ancy's golden clime, Or, musing, mount where Science sits sublime Or wake the spirit of departed time. Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral muse, A blooming Kden in iiis life reviews ! So richly cultur'd ev'ry native grace, Its scanty limits he forgets to trace: N 2 ] 148 But the fond fool, vlien evening shades the sky. Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh ! The weary waste, that lengthen'd as he ran. Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span ! Ah! who can t."ll the triumphs ot the mind. By truth illumin'd, and by taste retin'd? A\ hen age has quenc h'd the eye, and clos'd tiic ear, Still nerv'd for aetion in her native sphere, O't will she rise — with searching glance pursue Home iong-lov'd image vanish'd from her view ; Dart through the deep recesses of the past. O'er dusky forms, in chains of slumber cast ; AV iili giant-grasp fling back the folds of night, And snatch the faithless fugitive to light. Hail, meni'ry, hail ! in thy exhaustlcss mine. From age to age, unnumber'd treasures shine! Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey. And place and time are subject to thy sway! Tliy pleasures most we feel when most alone ; The only pleasures we can call our own. Tighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die. If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; If but a beam of sober Reason play, Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! ON A BEE, STIFLED IN' HO.N'EY. Anonymous. FROM flow'r to flow'r, witli eager pains. See the blest busy lab'rer lly ; "When all that from her toil she gains Is in the sweets she Jioards to die. 'Tis thus, would man the truth believe, V\'ith life's soft sweets, each fav'rite joy ; If we taste wisely, they relieve; But if we plunge too deep, destroy. 149 TO A TUFT OF EARLY VIOLETS. W, Gifford, Esq. SWEET flow'rs ! that from your humble beds Thus prematurely dare to rise. And trust your unprotected heads To cold Aquarius' wat'ry skies ; "Eetire, retire ! tliese tepid airs Are not the genial brood ot" May; That sun ^vith light malignant glares. And flatters only to betray. Stern Winter's reign is not yet past — Lo ! while your buds prepare to blow. On icy pinions comes the blast. And nips your root, and lays you low. Alas, for such ungentle doom ! But I will shield you, and supply A kindlier soil on which lo bloom, A nobler bed on which to die. Come, tiien — ere yet the morning ray Has drunk the dew that gems your crest. And drawn your balmiest sweets away, O come, and grace my Anna's breast ! Ye droop, fond flow'rs! but did ye know What worth, what goodness there reside. Your cups with liveliest tints would glow, And spread their leaves with conscious pride. For there has lib'ral nature join'd Her riches to the stores of art. And added to the vig'rous mind The soft, the sympathising lieart. N 3 150 Come, then — ere yet the morning ray Has clriink the dew that gems your crest. And drawn your balmiest sweets away, O come, and grace my Anna's breast I O ! I siiould think — tliat fragrant bed Might I l)ut liope with you to sliare — \ears of anxiety repaid By one short hour of transport there. More blest than me, thus shall ye live. Your little day, and, when ye die. Sweet liow'rs! the grateful muse shall give A verse; — the sorrowing maid, a sigh. While I, alas ! no distant date, Mix with the dust from whence I came. Without a friend to weep my fate, \\'ithout a stone to tell my name. A AVISH. Samuel Rogers, Esq. MINE be a cot, beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A Avi lowy brook, that turns a mill. With many a fall, shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my tliatch, Sliall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the'latch. And sJiare my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flow'r that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing, in rubset gown and apron blue. 151 The village church, among the trees. Where first our marriage-vows were giv'n,. Where merry peals shall swell tlie breeze. And point with taper spire to heav'n. Tlie DOG a?id the WATER-LILY, A TRUE STORY. Cowper. THE noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, Wlien, scap'd from literary cares, I wander'd on its side. My spaniel, prettiest of his race. And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs, adorn'd with ev'ry grace. That spaniel found for me) Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Now starting into sight, Piu'su'd the swallows o'er the meads. With scarce a slower flight. It was the time when Oiise display'd His lilies newly blown ; Their beauties I intent survey'd. And one I wish'd my own. With cane extended, far I sought To steer it close to land, But still the prize, tho' nearly caught, Escap'd my eager hand. Beau watch'd my unsuccessful pains. With fix'd consid'rate face. And, puzzling, set his puppy brains To comprehend the case : 152 But with a chirrup, clear and strong. Dispersing all his dream, I tlieu withdrew, and follow'd long The windings of the stream. My ramble fmish'd, I return'd. Beau trotting far before. The floating wreath again discern'd. And plunging left the shore. I saw him with that lily cropp'd. Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd The treasure at my feet. Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cry'd. Shall know of this thy deed ; My dog shall mortify tlie pride Of man's superior breed. But chief myself I will enjoin. Awake at duty's call. To shew a love as prompt as thine, To Him that gives me all. ELEGY TO PITY. Anonymous. HAIL, lovely pow'r! whose bosom heaves the sigh,* \\ hen Fancy paints the scene of deep distress; 'Whose tears spontaneous crystallise the eye. When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless. Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey From ilow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare: Not dew-drops, glitt'ring in the morning ray. Seem near so beauteous as that falling tear. # 153 Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play; Emblem of peace, the dove before thee llies;' No blood-stain'd traces mark thy blameless way; Beneath thy feet ho harmless insect dies. Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me. To spring the partridge from the guileful foe, From secret snares the struggling bird to free. And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows. And nature droops beneath the conqu'ring gleam^ Let us, slow wand'ring where tire current tlows. Save sinkins: flies that float along the stream. o Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care. To me thy sympathetic gifts impart; Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a share. And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart. Teach me to soothe the helpless orphan's grief. With timely aid the widow's woes assuage. To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief. And be the sure resource of drooping age. So, when the genial spring of life shall fade. And sinking nature owns the dread decay. Some soul congenial then may lend its aid. And gild the close of life's eventful day. 154 THE GARLAND. Prior. CELIA and I, the other day, Waik'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea ; The setting sun adorn'd the coast. His beams entire, his fierceness lost; And, on the surface of the deep. The winds lay only not asleep: The nymph did like the scene appear, 'i Serenely pleasant, calmly fair; V Soft fell her words, as flew the air. } With secret joy I heard her say, "1 That she would never miss one day J- A walk so fine, a sight so gay. • } But, oh the change ! the winds grew high ; Impending tempests charge the sky ; The lightning flies, the thunder roars. And big waves lash the frighten'd shores. Struck with the horror of the sight. She turns her head, and wings her flight ; And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again Approach the shore, or view the main. Once more, at least, look back, said I ; Thyself in that large glass descry : When thou art in good humour drest. When g(;ntle reason rules thy breast. The sun, upon the calmest sea. Appears not half so bright as thee: 'lis then that with delight I rove Upon the boundless depth of love; J bless my chain, 1 hand my oar, Nor think on all I left on shore. But when vain doubt and groundless fear Do Celia's lovely bosom tear ; When the big lip and wat'ry eye Tell me the rising storm is iiigh ; 155 'Tis then thou art yon angry main, Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain ; And the poor sailor, that must try Its fury, labours less than I. Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make. While love and fate still drive me back ; Forc'd to doat on thee thy own way, I chide thee first, and then obey. Wretched when from thee, vext when nigh, I with thee, or without thee, die. I THE THIEF. Anonymous. TELL, with equal truth and grief. That little Kitt's an arrant thief: Before tlie urchin well could go. She stole the whiteness of the snow; And more — that whiteness to adorn. She stole the blushes of the morn ; Stole ail the softness aether pours On primrose buds, in vernal show'rs. There's no repeating all her wiles. She stole the grace's winning smiles? 'Twas quickly seen she robb'd the sky. To plant a star in either eye ; She pilfer'd orient pearl for teeth. And stole the cow's ambrosial breath; The cherry, steep'd in morning dew. Gave moisture to her lips and hue. These were her infant spoils ; a store. To which, in time, she added more; At twelve she stole from Cyprus' queen Her air and love-commanding mien; 156 Stole Juno's dignity, and stole From Pallas, sense to charm the soul; She sang — amaz'd, the syrens heard, And, to assert tJieir voice, a])pear'd : She play'd — tlie muses, from their liiil, Wonder'd who thus had stol'n their skill ; Apollo's wit was next her prey. And then the beams that light the day; Wliilejove, her pilfring tricks to crown, Pronounc'd these beauties all her own ; Pardon'd her crimes, and prais'd her art. And t'other day she stole — my heart. Cupid ! if lovers are thy care. Revenge thy vot'ry on the fair; Do justice on her stolen charms. And let her prison be — my arms. ii>7 THE BOWLING-GREEN. Somenile, WHERE fair Sabrina's wand'ring currents flow, A large smooth plain extends its verdant brow Here every morn, wiiiie tVuitful vapours feed The swelling blade, and bless the smoaking mead, A cruel tyrant reigns: like Time, the swain Whets his unrighteous scythe, and shaves the plain. Beneath each stroke the peeping flow'rs decay, And all th' unripen'd crop is swept away; The heavy roller next he tugs along, Whifs his short pipe, or roars a rural song; With curious eye then the press'd turf he views. And every rising prominence subdues. Now when each craving stomach was well-stor'd, And church and king had travei'd round the board. Hither at fortune's shrine to pay their court. With eager hopes, the motley tribe resort ; Attornies spruce, in their plate-button'd frocks. And rosy parsons, fat and orthodox : Of every sect, whigs, papists, and high-flyers, Cornuted aldermen, and hen-peck'd squires : Fox-hunters, quacks, scribblers in verse and prose. With half-pay captains, and half-witted beaux ; On the green cirque the ready racers stand, Dispos'd in pairs, and tempt the bowler's hand: Each polish'd sphere does his round brother own. The twins distinguish'd by their marks are known. As the strong rein guides the well-manag'd horse. Here weighty lead infus'd directs their course. These in the ready road drive on with speed. But those in crooked paths more artfully succeed. So the tall ship that makes some dangerous bay. With a side wind obliquely slopes her way. Lo! there the silver tumbler fix'd on high, The victor's prize, inviting every eye ! o 153 Tlie cluinipions, or consent, or cliance divid<% 1 "W'iiile each man ll)ink5 l)is own tho surer side, > And the jack Iea"ds, the skilful bowler's guide. ) Bendo stripp'd first, from foreign coasts he brought A chaos of receipts, and anarchy of thouglit; Where the tunuiltuoiis wiiims, to faction prone. Still justled monarcli Reason from lier throne: More dangerous than the porcupine his quill, Inur'd to slaughter, and secure to kill. Let loose, just heav'n ! each virulent disease, liut save us from such murderers as these! Might Bendo live but half a patriarch's age, "J'h' unpeopled wbrid v.ould sink beiieath his rage: iS'or need t' appease the just Creator's ire A second deluge or consuming tire. lie winks one eye, and knits his brow severe, 'J hen from Ids hand launches the Hying sjjhere ; Out of the green the guiltless wood lie hurl'd. Swift as his patients from tiiis nether world ; ""I'hen srrinn'd malignant, but the jocund crowd Deride his senseless rag-e, and shout aloud. Next, Zadoc, 'tis thy turn, imperious priest ! Still late at church, biit early at a feast. No turkey-cock appears with better grace. His garments black, vermilion paints his face; His wattles hang upon his sliffen'd band. ^ His platter feet upon the trigger stand, |- Ile grasps tlie bowl in his rough brawny hand. } Then s([uatting down, with his grey goggle eyes He takes his aim, and at the mark it flies. Zadoc pursues, and wal)bles o'er tlie plain, But siiakes his strutting paunch, and ambles on in vain ; For, oh! wide errmg to the left it glides, The inmate lead the lighter wood misguides. He sharp reproofs with kind entreat i<.'s joins, 'J'hen on the counter side with |)ain reciines ; As if he meant to regulate its course, ]\\ pow'r attractive, and magnetic force. >.'ow almost in despair, he ra\es, he storms, Writhes his unwieldy truuk iu various forms: Unhappy Porteus! still in vain he tries "i A thousand shapes, the bowl erroneous flies, > Deaf to his prav'rs, regardless of his cries. ) His puffing cheeks M-ith rising rage inflame. And all his sparkling rubies glow with shame. Bendo's proud heart, proof against fortune's frown, Eesolves once more to make the prize his own: Cautious he plods, surveying all the green, And measures with his eye the space between. But, as on him 'twas a peculiar curse To fall from one extreme into a worse. Conscious of too much vigour, now for fear He should exceed, at hand he checks the sphere. Soon as he found its languid force decay. And the too weak impression die away. Quick after it he scuds, urges behind Step after step, and now, with anxious mind, Plangs o'er the bowl, slow-creeping on the plain. And chides its faint efforts, and bawls amain. Then on the guiltless green the blame to lay. Curses the mountains^hat obstruct his way ; Brazens it out v.ith an audacious face. His insolence improving by disgrace. Zadoc, who now with tbree black mugs had cheer'd His drooping heart, and his sunk spirits rear'd. Advances to'the trigg wiih solemn pace. And ruddy hope sits blooming on his face. The bowlhe pois'd, with pain his hams he bends. On well chose ground unto the mark it tends : Each adverse heart pants with unusual fear, V/ith joy he follows the propitious sphere ; Alas! how frail is every iiiortal scheme! "VVe build on sand, our happiness a dream. Bendo's short bowl stops the proud victor's course. Purloins his fame, and deadens all its force. At Bendo from each corner of his eyes He darts malignant rays, then muttering flies Into the bower; there, panting and half dead. In thick mundungus clouds he hides his head. o 2 160 Muse, raise thy voice! to win the glorious prize. Rid all the fury of the battle rise! l^hese but the light-arm'd champions of tlie field. See Griper there! a veteran we'd skill'd ; This able pilot knows to steer a c ause Throuph all the rocks and shallows of the laws: Or if 'tis wreck'd, his trembling client saves On the next plank, and disappoints the waves, in this, at least, all histories agree, '["hat, though he lost his cause, he sav'd his fee. When the fat client looks in jovial trim, How complaisant the wretch appears to him: But if th' abandon'd orphan puts his case. And poverty sits shrinking on his face, How like a cur he snarls, when, at the door. For broken scraps he quarrels with the poor! The farmer's oracle, when rent-day's near. And landlords, by forbearance, are severe; When huntsmen trespass, or his neighbour's swine,. Or tatter'd crape extorts by right divine. I Jim all the rich their contributions pay, Him all tlu; i)oor with aching hearts obey: He in his swanskin doublet struts a'ong. Now begs, and now rebukes, the pressing throng. A passage clear'd, he takes his aim with care, And gently from his hand lets loose the sphere: Smooth as a swallow o'er the plain it flies. While he pursues its track with eager eyes; Its hopeful course approv'd, he shouts aloud. Claps hard his hands, and justles through the crowd. Hov'ring a while, soon at the mark it stood. Hung o'er inclin'd, and fondly kiss'd the wood ; Loud is th' applause of every betting friend. And peals of clamorous joy "the concave rend: Ikit in each hostile face a dismal gloom Appears, the sad presage of loss to come; 'Mong these, I'rebellius, with a mournful air. Of livid hue, just dying with despair, Shu files about, skrews his chop-fallen face. And no wliipjj'd gigg so often shifts his place. 161 Then gives his sage advice with wond'rous skill, AVhich no man ever heeds, or ever will: Yet he persists, instructing to confound, And with his cane points out the dubious ground. Strong Nimrod now, fresh as the rising dawn. Appears — his sinewy limbs, and solid brawn. The gazing crowd a"dmire. lie nor in courts Delights, nor pompous balls ; but rural sports Are his soul's joy. At the horn's brisk alarms He shakes th' unwilling Phillis from his arms; Mounts with the sun, begins his bold career. To chase the wily fox, or rambling deer. So Hercules, by Juno's dread command. From savage beasts and monsters freed the land. Hark! from the covert of yon gloomy brake. Harmonious thunder rolls, the forests shake: Men, boys, and dogs, impatient for the chace. Tumultuous transports flush in every face ; With ears erect the courser paws the ground. Hills, vales, and hollow rocks, with cheering cries re- sound : Drive down the precipice, brave youths, with speed. Bound o'er the river banks, and snioke along the mead. But whither would the devious muse pursue The pleasing theme, and my past joys renew ? Another labour now demands thy song, Stretch'd in two ranks, behold the expecting throng. As Nimrod pois'd the sphere: his arm he drew Back like an arrow in the Parthian yew. Then launch'd the whirling globe, and full as swift ittlew: Bo-wls dash'd on bowls confounded all the plain. Safe stood the foe, well-cover'd by his train. Assaulted tyrants thus their guard defends. Escaping by the ruin of their friends. But now he%tands expos'd, their order broke. And seems to dread the next decisive stroke. So at some bloody siege, the ponderous ball Batters with ceaseless rage the crumbling wall; A breach once made, soon galls the naked town, Riots in blood, and heaps on heaps are thrown. o I ! 162 Each avenue thus clcarVl, with aching heart Griper beheld, exerting all his art ; Once more resolves to check his furious foe. Block up the passage, and elude the blow. With cautious hand, and with less force, he threw The well-pois'd sphen;, that gently circling flew, , But stopping short, cover'd the mark from view. } So little Teucer on the well-fought field, Securely skuik'd behind his brother's shield. Nimrod, in dangers bold, whose heart elate Nor courted fortune's smiles, nor fear'd her hate; Perplex'd, but not disconrag'd, walk'd around, With curious eye examin'd all the ground ; Not the least opening in the front was found. Sideway he leans, declining to the right. And marks his way, and moderates his might. Smooth-gliding o'er the plain, th' obedient sphere Held on its dubious road, while hope and fear Alternate ebb'd and tlow'd in every breast; Now rolling nearer to the mark it press'd; 'jlien chang'd its course, by the strong biass rein'd. And on the foe discharg'd the force that yet remain'd Smart was the stroke, away the rival lied. The bold intruder triumph'd in his stead. Victorious Nimrod seiz'd the glittering prize. Shouts of outrageous joy invade the skies ; Hands, tongues, and caps, exalt the victor's fame, Sabrina's banks return him loud acclaim. ON AURELlA's BLUSHING. Author unknoun. 'AY, gentle spirit! hast thou seen, When the sun darls o'er ocean low, And sudden bursts on heav'n's wide scene, Tha warm, the radiating glow ? — 163 Say, hast thou seen the opal ^vhite, First when no ray its breast illumes. Then flashing on some rapid light, AVhat blooming brilliance it assumes? And hast thou seen an ebon cloud, From which the rainy torrents flow. When Phccbus casts away his shroud, Gleam with the orience ot the bow? And hast thou seen, when turtles coo. Their varying bosoms swiftly flush ? Shot from the pale and dusky blue. To mingle colour's boundless blush? O ! if thou hast, thou'lt guess the grace. The rich sulfusion, beaming light. When on Aurelia's lovely face, The blush first kindles to the sight. The young FLY, and the OLD SPIDER, A FABLE. Peter Pindar. FRESH was the breath of morn— the busy breeze. As Poets tell us, whisper'd through the trees. And swept the dew-clad blooms with wing so light; Phoebus got up, and made a blazing fire, That gilded every country house and spire. And, smiling, put on his best looks so bright. On this fair morn, a Spider who had set. To catch a breakfast, his old waving net. With curious art, upon a spangled thorn ; At length, with gravely-squinting, longing eye, Near him espied a pretty, plump, young fly. Humming lier little orisons to morn. (( " Good morrow, dear Miss Fly," quoth gallant Grim — " Good morrow. Sir," reply'd Miss Fly to him — " Walk in, Miss, pray, and see what I'm about: I'm much oblig'd t'ye", Sir," Miss L'ly rejoin'd, *• My eyes are both so very good, I find, " That I can plainly see the whole uilhouf.''^ " Fine weather. Miss" — " Yes, very, very line," Quoth Miss — " prodigious fine indeed:" " But why so coy ? quoth Grim, " that you decline " To put within my bow'r your pretty head?" " '1 is simply this,'" Quoth cautious Miss, " I fear you'd like my pretty head so well, " You'd keep it for yourselt. Sir — who can tell ? " Then let me squeeze your lovely hand, my dear, " And prove that all your dread is foolibh, vain." — " I've a sore finger. Sir; nay more, I fear " You really would not let it go again." " Poh, poh, child, pray dismiss your idle dread ; " I would not hurt a hair of that sweet head — " Well, then, with one sweet kiss of Jricndship " meet me:" " La, Sir," quoth Miss, with seeming artless tongue, *' I fear our sabdation would be long; " So loit/ig, too, I fear that you would eat me." So saying, with a smile she left the rogue. To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog. T O II E N R Y. By Eliza. WHAT silver sounds, melodious, meet ray ear. And mourn responsive on the sighing gale. Dropping, so sweetly sad, the pitting tear O'er tiie soft sorrows of a recent tale! 165 Ah me ! no fancy'd woes I held to view ; The woe-fraught scene is prattled round the coast; Too true, alas ! and pity 'tis, 'tis true- William and Mary were together lost ! Nay, start not, Henry ! for 'was half conceal'd, ->» The simple facts, too copious for my line; Listen !— ah list !— the rest shall be reveal'd — .ast ! Thou wilt not grudge to mingle tears with n', O 1 it will cost me many a pang, I ween. To trace their infant loves, each childish When little Mary gambol'd o'er the green With her lov'd' William, then a fair-hai •" Fresh, like the rosy morn, his cherub fa."^^} And, like tlie berry dark, his laugh- >"ch goodness And Marv's too beam'd sweet with The soft mild blue that paints ■' to give. Oft' hand in hand they ram'^^fS ^vith sullen swell And riil'd their little la' }e tender scenes, farewel! And oft' pursu'd the gil'-'i their shade to trace These were the pasti- Time may soon efface. _, , ,,.,,,. that fronts the chancel-door. But war s shrdl clanr ^^^^^ ,^^^^, ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^.^^ 1 o gam lor Mar;^/^,^^^.^^,^ t,^^^^ h the ring. Sighing he ore hv^^^^,^^ .^,^^| ,ij-^ ^^.^^ j^ its spring; And lett her we^ ^^- ^,^^ ^-^^^^^^^^ ^^^t,^^ Full oft' retirinooed to the voice of mirth. To hide fron -mc>i^ He breath'd f „ „ Q r r TT And pour'. THE b 1 G H. So tlie lorn ^- ^- ^^o/cn^r^. 1 nils h( 11^^ yfj^itli his fairy reign began. So sings t £j.j, sorrow had proclaim'd me man ; ^^■^ ^',e peace the present hour beguil'd, (( Mary ^^^ lovely prospect smil'd ; (\ ^,j n, Mary, mid my lightsome glee, f. Soni'^'^'v''^ the painless sigh for thee. ICG " In the carnation, rich with coral g1o\T, " The milder rose-bud, and the jes;s'inine fair, " Thy lip, thy modest bhish, thy skin of snow, " And, in the almond brown, thy glossy hair: '» If the tall palm-tree bows beneath the breeze, <' Thy easy shape waves graceful in my view ; ,. he sweet blue-bell glistens thro' the trees, " rine-s Mary's eye, impearrd with pity's dew.'*' . Quot. " But \vi:ld he sing, till years of tedeous toil " To puiTipetency's meed had well acquir'd ; 1! laden with the spoiler's spoil, (,:i\iew of happiness — expir'd ! ',[ \!^^jy^^^'' ins to close the dire affair? YOU CI Keep^.^j_jj. ^,^^^ ,„aic{en as she stood ! " Then let me sqi?; and frantic with despair, " And prove ihat'JHnis, in the raging tlood ! " I've a sore finder, Sii . • i , ., ^r nil''" presumptuous maid ! " 1 ou rea V would noi' , ^ cruel sorrows, cease — " Poh, poh, child, pray disniian aid, " I would not hurt a hair of tpnly give thee peace. " Well, then, with one swc " meet me :" " La, Sir," quoth Miss, with seem *' I fear our salutation would be loii'^ wrwrtJi'V " So hning, too, I fear tluit you \ MLMOKY, So saying, with a smile she left the ro^ To weave more lines of death, and pla ■I, blaz'd and gaz'd; TO HENRY By Eliza. WHAT silver sounds, melodious, meet n And mourn responsive ou the sighin Dropj)ing, so sweetly sad, the pitying tear t shade. O'er tJie soft sorrows of a recent tale! "d : 167 And heroes fled the Sybil's mutter'd call, ^Miose eKiii prowess scal'd the orchard-wall. And o'er my palm the silver piece she drew. And trac'd the line of life with searching view. How throbb'd my tlutt'ring pulse with hopes and fears. To learn the colour of my future years ! Ah, then, what honest triumph liush'd my- breast! This truth once known — ^l^o bless is to be blest. We led the bending beggar on his way ; (Bare were his i'eel, his tresses silver-gre}) Soothe tlie keen pangs his aged spirit felt. And on his tale with mute attention-dweltj As in his scrip we dropp'd our little store. And wept to think that little was no more, lie breath'd his pray'r, " Long may such goodness " live!" 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen swell The church-clock strikes ! _^e tender scenes, farewell It calls me hence, beneath their shade to trace The few fond lines that Time may soon efface. On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel-door. Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more. Each eve we shot the marble through the ring. When the heart danc'd, and life was in its spring; Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. THE SIGH. S. T. Coleridge, WHEN youth his fairy reign began. Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man ; While peace the present hour beguil'd. And all the lovely prospect smil'd ; Then, Mary, mid my lightsome glee, I heav'd the painless sigh for thee. 168 And when, along the waves of woe, ISIy harrass'd heart was doom'd to know Tlie frantic burst of outrage keen. And the slow pang that gnaws unseen ; Then, shijnvreck'd on life's stormy sea, 1 heav'd an anguish'd sigh for thee ! But soon reflection's pow'r imprest, A stiller sadness on my breast; And sickly hope, witii waning eye, AV'as well content to droop and die: I yielded to the stern decree, Yet heav'd a languid sigh for thee ! And tho' in distant climes to roam, A wand'rer from my native home, I fain would soothe the sense of care. And lull to sleep the joys that were ! Thy ima^e may not banish'd be — sun, Mary ! still 1 sigh for thee. THE THRESHER. Concper. BETWEEN the upright shafts of those tall elms We may discern the Thresher at liis task. Thump alter thump resounds the constant flail. That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls Fvdl on the destin'd ear. AVide flies the chaff. The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist Of atoms, sparkling in the noon-day beam. Come hither, ye that press your beds of down. And sleep not: see him sweating o'er his bread Before he eats it. — 'Tis the primal curse. But soften'd into mercy ; made the pledge Of cheerful days, andnights without a groan. 1G9 VERSES FROM ITALY, TO A NOBLEMAN, Addison. WHILE you, my lord, the rural shades admire. And from Britannia's public posts retire. Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please. For their advantage sacrifice your ease ; Me into foreign realms my fate conveys, Through nations fruitful of immortal lays. Where the soft season and inviting clime Conspire to trouble your repose with rhime. For wheresoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes. Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise. Poetic fields encompass me around, And still 1 seem to tread on classic ground ; For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung. That not a mountain rears its head unsung; Renown'd in verse, each shady thicket grows. And ev'ry stream in heav'nly numbers flows. How am 1 pleas'd to search the hills and woods For rising springs and celebrated iloods ! To view the Nar, tumultuous to his course. And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source; To see the Mincio draw his wat'ry store Through the long windings of a fVuitful shore. And hoary Albuta's infected tide O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide. Fir'd with a thousand raptures, I survey Eridanus through ilow'ry meadows strav. The king of floods ! that, rolling o'er (lie plains. The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains, And, proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows, Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows. 170 Sometimes, misguided by tlie luneful throng, 1 look ibr streams iiumortaiis'd in song. That, lost in silence and oblivion, lie, (Dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry) ^ et run for ever by tlie Muse's skill. And in the smooth description murmur still. Sometimes to gentle Tiber 1 retire. And the iam'd river's empty sliores admire. That, destitute of strength, derives its course From thrifty m-ns and an unfruitful source: Yet sung so often in poetic lays, M'itli scorn tlie Danube and the Nile surveys; So high tlie deathless Muse exalts her theme! Suchwas the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream, I'hat in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd, And, unobserv'd, in wild meanders play'd, ''['ill, by your lines and Nassau's sword renown'd, ]ts rising l)illows through the world resound, Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce, Or where tlie fame of an immortal verse. Oh could the ^Tuse my ravish'd breast inspire W'Hh warmth like yours, and raise an equal hre, I'nnumber'd beauties in my verse should shine. And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine! See howlhe golden gr(jves around me smile, ■"Ihat shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle, Or, wiien transplanted and prcserv'd witii care. Curse the cokl clime, and starve in northern air. Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents: E'en Ihe rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom. And trodden weeds send out a rich jjcrfume. Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats. Or covi.-r me in I'mbria's green retreats; "\\ here western gales eternally reside. And all the seasons lavish all their pridt?: Blossoms, and fruits, and How'rs together rise, AjkI tlie whole year in gay confusion lies. 171 Immortal glories in my mind revive. And in my soul a thousand passions strive, When Rome's exalted beauties I descry, Magniticeiit in piles of ruin lie. An amphitheatre's amazing height Here tills my eye with terror and delight. That on its public shews unpeopled Rome, And held uiicrowded nations in its womb : Here pillars, rough with sculpture, pierce the skies; And here the proud triumphal arches rise, Where the old Romans' deathless acts display'd Their base degen'rate progeny upbraid : Whole rivers here forsake the fields below. And, wond'ring at their height, through airy channels flow. Still to new scenes my wand'ring Muse retires, And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires; Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown. And soften'd into flesh the rugged stone. In solemn silence, a majestic band, Heroes, and Gods, and Roman Consuls, stand ; Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown. And emperors, in Parian marble frown ; While the bright dames, to whom they humbly su'd. Still shew the charms Avhich their proud hearts subdu'd. Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And shew th' immortal labors in my verse, Where, from the mingled strength of shade and light, A new creation rises to my sight. Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow. So warm with life his blended colors glow. From theme to theme with secret pleasure tost. Amid the soft variety I'm lost : Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound With circling notes and labyrinths of sound : Here domes and temples rise in distant views. And op'ning palaces invite my Muse. p 2 173 IIow has kind Ileav'n adorn'd the happy land. And scatter'd blessinifs with a wasteful haiul ; Jnit wliat avail Iier inexliausted btoies. Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores, \yith all the gilts that heav'n and earth impart. The smiles ol nature, and tlie charms oi art, A\'hile proud Oppression in her valiies reigns. And Tyranny usurps her happy plains? The poor inabitant beholds in vain The redd niiig orange and the swelling grain: Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines. And in the Myrtle's Tragi ant shade repines: Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curst. And in the loaden vine\ard dies for thirst. Oh j.iberty ! thou goddess heav'nly bright ! Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with deUght! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign. And smiling Plenty leads thy wanlontrain ; Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light. And Poverty looks ciieeriid in thy sight; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of Nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the Sun, and pleasure to the Day, 173 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. Gray. YE distant spires, ye antique tow'rs. That crown tlie wat'ry glade. Where grateful science still adores Her Henry's holy shade ; And ye that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow'rs among W'anders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way. Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! Ah ! lields belov'd in vain ! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain ; I feel the gales that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow ; As waving fresh their gladsome wing. My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth. To breathe a second spring. Say, father Thames 1 (for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race. Disporting on thy margent green. The paths of pleasure trace) Who foremost now delight to cleave. With pliant arms, thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthrall? What idle progeny succeed To chace the rolling circle's speed. Or urge the flying ball? p3 17t Wliilc some, on earnest biis'ness bent,. Tlu-ir murm'ring labors ply, 'Gainst graver hours, tluit bring constraint, 1 o sweeten liberty ; Some bold adventurers disdain The limits oi" their little reign. And unknown regions dare descry, ytill as they run they look behind. They hear a voice in ev'ry wind. And snatch a fearful joy. Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed. Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed. The sunshine of the breast : "■{'heir buxom health, of rosy hue, AVild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigor born; 'I"he thoughtless day, the easy night, ^llie spirits pure, the slumbers light. That Hy th' approach of morn. Alas ! regardless of their doom. The little victims play ; ISo sense have they of ills to come, Xor care beyond to-day: Yet see, how all around can wait The ministers of liuman fate. And black misfortune's baleful train! Ah, shew them where in ambusli stand. To seize their prey, the mui'd'rous band ! Ah, tell them they are men ! These shall thy fury passions tear, Tlie vultures of "the mind. Disdainful Anger, ])allid Fear, And shame that skulks behind ; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or jealousy, with rankling tooth, Tluit inly gnaws tlie secret heart j 175 And Envy -wan, and faded Care, Grhn-visag'd comfortless Despair, And sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise. Then whirl tlie wretch from high. To bitter scorn a sacriiice. And grinning infamy. The stings of falsehood those shall try. And hard unkindness' alter'd eye. That mocks the tear it forc'd to tlow ; And keen remorse, with blood defil'd. And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo ! in the vale of years beneath, A grisly troop are seen. The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins. That ev'ry lab'ring sinew strains. Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo ! poverty, to iill the band. That numl)s"the soul with icy hand. And slow-consuming age. To each his suff 'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan ; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah ! why should they know their fate. Since sorrow never comes too late. And happiness so swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more — where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise. 176 ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNEQ IN A TUB OF GOLD-FISHES. Idem. 3npWAS on a lofty vase's side, JL Where China's gayest art had dy'd The azure ilow'rs that blew ; Demurest of the Tabby kind. The pensive Selima reclin'd, Gaz'd on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declar'd ; The fair round face, the snowy beard. The velvet of her paws. The coat that with the tortoise vies. Her ears of jet, and em'rald eyes, She saw ; and purr'd applause. Still had she gaz'd : but 'midst the tide Two beauteous forms were seen to glide. The genii of the stream ; Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Through richest purple to the view Betray'd a golden gleam. The hapless nymph with wonder saw: A whisker hrst, and then a claw. With many an ardent wish ; She stretch'd' in vain to reach the prize. What female heart can gold despise ? What cat's averse to hsh? Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent. Again she stretch'd, again she bent. Nor knew the gulph between;^ (Malignant Fate sat by and smil'd) The siipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd. She tumbled headlong in. 177 Eight times emerging from the flood. She mew'd to ev'n' wat'ry god. Some speedy aid to send ; No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd; Kor cruel I'om nor Susan heard ; A fav'rite has no friend ! From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd. Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd, And be with caution bold. Not all tiiat tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ; Nor all that glitters, gold. LI'lTLE MOUTHS. Anonymous. FROM London Paul the carrier coming down To Wantage, meets a beauty of the town ; They both accost, with salutation pretty. As how does Paul ? — thank ye, and how does Betty? Did'st see our Jack, or Sister ? — No. — You've seen, I warrant, none but those who saw the queen. Many words spoke ili jest, says Paul, are true, I came from Windsor, and if some folks knew As much as I, it might be well for you. Lord Paul ! what is't ? — Why give me something for't This kiss, and this ;— the matter's then, in short. The parliament have made a proclamation. Which will this week be sent all round the nation ; That maids with little mouths do all prepare. On Sunday next, to come before the may'r; And that all bachelors be likewise there. For maids with little mouths shall, if they please. From these young gentlemen choose two a-piece. Bettv, with "bridled chin, extends her face, And "then contracts her lips, with simp'ring grace; \ 178 Cries, hem ! pray what must all the huge ones do For luisbands, when we little moutlis have two? Hold ! not so fast ! cries he, pray pardon me, Maids with huge gaping wide mouths must have three. Betty distorts her lace, with hideous squawl, 1 And mouth of a foot wide begins to bawl, > Oh! oh! is'tso? the case isalter'd, Paul. 3 Is that the point ? 1 wish the three were ten, I warrant I'll tind mouth, if they'll lind meti. ANNA; or, THE COMPLAINT. Mrs, Moody. ON Thanet's rock, beneath whose steep Impetuous rolls the foaming deep, A lowly maid, to grief consign'd. Thus pour'tl the sorrows of her mind ; And while lier streaming eyes pursue Of Gallia's cliffs the misty view. Accurst (she cries) that guilty shore, • AVhence \\'illiam shall return no more I Thou cruel war, what hast thou done? Through thee tlie mother mourns her son. The orphan joins the widow's cries. And, torn from love — the lover dies. Ah, ^^ illiam I wherefore didst thou go To foreign lands, to meet the foe? Why, won by war's deceitful charms. Didst thou forsake thy Anna's arms ? Alas! full little didst thou know, The monster war doth falsely show: He decks his form witii pleasing art. And hides the daggers in his heart. 179 The music of his martial band. The shining halberd in liis hand ; The feather'd helmet on his head. And coat so fine, of flaming red. With these the simple youth he gains. And tempts him from his peaceful plains; And by this pomp was William led The dang'rous paths of war to tread. Fair-sounding words my love deceiv'd: That war is theft and murder too ; Yet had my William thought it so. He had not gone to fight the foe. How blest, could Anna see him now, With shoulders bending o'er the plough. Toiling to sow his native fields, And reap the harvest virtue yields. Then happier lot would both betide, A bridegroom he, and I a bride. But these fond hopes return no more, For dead lie lies on yonder shore. Oh! in that battle's dismal day, Wlien thou, dear youth, didst gasping lay, Why was not then thy Anna there. To bind thy wounds with softest care. To search with speed the nearest spring. To tliy parch'd lips the water bring. To wash with tears thy bleeding face. And soothe thee with a last embrace? But thou, amid a savage train, Wert mingled among heaps of slain. Without one friend to hear thy sighs, Or Anna's hand to close thine eyes. 180 Thou, cruel war, what hast thou done? Through thee the mother mourns her son. The orphan joins the widow's sighs. And, torn from Anna — William dies. EPITAPH. P-eter Pindar. OTHOU, remov'd from this world's strife. Whose relicks here below are laid. May Peace, who watch'd th} harmless life, In death protect th) gentle bhade ! Yet not alone, around thy bier, Th) Children's sighs uiifeion'd ascend; The mourner Pily drops a tear. And Virtue weeps a vanish'd friend. .^~^ ^ V^>s^ 13) THE FAIR PILGRLM. Written at the Isle of Man, about the Year 1350, By Dafyd ap Gui/ym. nP'IlE cliarmer of sweet Mona's isle, Jl \Vitli Death attendant on her sniilc, Intent on j)ilgrhnai>;e divine, Speeds to St. David's holy shrine. Too conscious of a sinful mind. And hopes she may forgiveness find. What hast thou done, thrice lovely maid * AVhat crimes can to thy charge be laid? Didst thou contemn the suppliant poor. Drive helj)less orphans from thv door, Unduteous to thy parents prove. Or yield thy charms to lawless love? No, Morvydd, no ; thy gentle breast "Was form'd to pity the distrest ; Hast ne'er one thought, one feeling known. That virtue could not call her own ; Nor hast thou caus'd a parent's pain. Till quitting now thy native plain. Yet, lovely nymph, thy way pursue. And keep repentance full in view; Yield not thy tongue to cold restraint. But lay thy soul before the saint; O tell him that thy lover dies ; On death's cold bed unpity'd lies; Murder'd by thee, relentless maid ; And to th' untimely grave convey'd. Yet, ere he's number'd with tJie dead, Ere yet his latest breath is Hed, Q 182 Confess, repent, thou cruel fair, And hear for once a lover's pray'r. So may the saint, with ear divine. Sweet penitent, attend to thine. Thou soon must over Menai go ; May ev'ry current softly tlow. Thy little bark securely glide Swift o'er the calm pellucid tide! Unrufiled be thy gentle breast, Without one fear to break thy rest. Till thou art safely wafted o'er To bold Arvonia's tow'ring shore. O could I guard ihy lonely form, Sale through yon desert of the storm, A\ here fiercely racre encounl'ring gales. And whirlwinds rend th' affrighted vales; Sons of the tempest, cease to blow. Sleep in your cavern'd glens below ; Ye streams, that, witli terrilic sound, Pour from your thousand hills around ; Oase with rude clamors to dismay A gentle pilgrim on hen- way. Peace, rude Traeth-Mawr, no longer urge O'er thy wild strand the sweeping surge ; 'Tis Morvvdd on tiiy beach appears, She dreads thy wrath, she o,w us her fears ; O let the meek repentant maid Securely to thy windings wade. Traelh Bychan, check thy dreadful ire, And bid thy foaming waves retire; Till from thy threat'ning dangers freed, Mv eliarmer trips the fiow'ry meaU ; Then bid again, with sullen roar. Thy billows lash the sounding shore. Abermo, from tliy rocky hay Drive each terrific surge away ; 183 Though, sunk beneath thy billows, lie Proud fanes, that once assail'd the sky, Dash'd by thy foam, yon vestal braves The dangers of thy bursting waves. O Cyric, see my lovely f^ir Consign'd to thy parental care ; Rebuke thy raging seas, and land My Morvydd on your friendly strand. Dyssynni, tame thy furious tide ; Fix'd at thy source in peace abide ! She comes — O greet her with a smile. The charmer of sweet Mona's isle. So may thv limpid rills around Purl down' their dells with soothing sound. Sport on thy bosom, and display Their crystal to the glitt'ring day ; Nor shrink from summer's parching sun. Nor, chain'd in ice, forget to run. So may thy verdant marge along Mervinia's bards, in raplur'd song. Dwell on thy bold majestic scene, High hills, vast woods, and vallies green. Where revels thy enchanting stream. The lover's haunt, the poet's theme. Thou, Dyvi, dangerous and deep. On oozy beds unruflied sleep ; O'er thy green wave my Morvydd sails ; Conduct her safe, ye gentle gales ; Charm'd with her beauties, waft her o'er To fam'd Ceredig's wond'ring shore. Foamy Rhedial, rage no more Down thy rocks, with echo'd roar ; Be silent, Ystwyth, in thy meads, Glide softly through thy peaceful reeds; Nor bid thy dells, rude ji'ron, ring, But halt at thy maternal spring ; q2 1S4 Hide from the nyniph, ye torrents wild. Or wear, like her, an aspect mild; For her light steps clear all your ways; O listen ! 'tis a lover prays.' Now safe beneath serener skies. Where softer beauties charm her eyeg. She Teivis' verdant region roves. Views flow'ry meads and pensile groves ; Ye lovely scenes, to Morvydd's heart Warm thoughts of tenderness impart. Such as in busy tumults roll When love's confusion fills the soul. Her weary'd step, with awe profound, Now treads Meneria's honour'd ground ; At David's shrine now, lovely maid, Thy pious orisons are paid : He sees the secrets of thy breast — One sin, one only, stands confest : One heinous guilt, that, ruthless, gave Thy hopeless lover to the grave. Thy soften'd bosom now relents, Of all its cruelty lepents. Gives to remorse the fervent sigh. Sweet pity's tear bedews thine eye; Now love ligiits up its hallovv'd lire. Melts all th) heart with chaste desire; Whilst in thy soul new feelings burn, O Morvydd, to thy bard return ! One tender look will cure his pain. Will bid him rise to life again, A life like that of saints above, Extatic joy and endless love. 185 AN ADDRESS TO LIFE. Anonymous. WHAT art Ihou, life ?— so courted by mankind ! What are the pleasures of thy happiest day? A gaudy meteor, dancing on the wind, Admir'd while fleeting, like the smoke, away! Is, then, existence deemed so great a good. That ev'ry thought of death should teem with dread. E'en to the wretcli depriv'd of friend and food, Who rings fi-om charity his daily bread ? Is it that man attempts, with eager clasp. To hold the present, doubtful of his doom? Imploring respite at his latest gasp. And shock'd with hon-or at the yawning tomb? Doth Heav'n unusual terrors, then, display. To melt the soul, the^itubborn neck to bend ; Or pow'rful nature vindicate her sway. And ev'ry passion rouse, for some great end! The restless monarch, toss'd in storms of state. Begs the continuance of his regal toil; The lab'ring hind implores a longer date, Tho' doom'd, witli sweating brow, to till the soil : The laurel'd chief, train'd up in wars alarms. Prompt in th' ensanguin'd field to yield Iiis breath,. Yet, lull'd in peace, and bless'd with beauty's charms. Begins to tremble at th' approach of death. Alike the vig'rous youth and blooming maid-. Aghast, behold the grizzly king advance; The hoary sire and hag, with age decay'd, Shrink from the blow, and tremble at his lance • Q 3 ISG See the lone widow, o'er yon mournful bier Of her lost lord, oppress'd with tender grief. Heave the deep sigh, in silence drop the tear. Or call on death, to give her woes relief: When lenient time hath sooth'd lier tro\ibled breast. And some new consort cheers her drooping heart ; Should dt-ath appear, and promise endless rest. She'd eye, aifrighted, his unerring dart. But happy he, whom conscious virtue gives A soul serene, a firm undaunted mind ; In peace secure, and iiope, content he lives. And, when his fate demands him, dies resign'd. ON THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, fHE COMMENCEMENT OF THE PARTRIDGE-SHOOTING SEASON, Idem. WHEN the still night withdrew her sable shroud. And left these climes with steps sedate and slow. Whilst sad Aurora, 'kerchief'd in a cloud, \\ ith drizzling vapours hung the mountains brow. The wretched bird, from hapless Perdix sprung, AA'ith trembling wing forsook the furrow'd plain. And, calling round her all her list'ning young. In falt'riiig accents sang this plaintive strain: *' Unwelcome morn ! full well thy low'ring mciii " Foretells the slaughter of tii' approaching day, " The gloomy sky laments with fears the scene, " Where pale-ey'd terror re-assumes her sway. " Ah, luckless train ! ah, fate-devoted race! " 'i he dreadiul tale experience tells believe; " Dark heavy mists obscure the morning's face, " But blood and death shall close the dreary eve. 187 " This day fell man, whose unrelenting hate " No grief can soften, and no fears asswage; " Pours dire destruction on the feather'd state, " Whilst pride and rapine urge his savage rage. " I, who so oft have scap'd th' impending snare, " Ere night arrives, may feel the fiery wound; *' In giddy circles quit the realms of air, " iVnd stain with streaming gore the dewy ground." She said, when lo ! the pointer wiuds his prey. The rustling stubble gives the fear'd alarm; The gunner views the covey fleet away, And rears th' unerring tube, with skilful arm. In vain the mother wings her whirling flight. The leaden death arrests her as she flies ; Her scatter'd offspring swim before her sight. And, bath'd in blood, she flutters, pants^ and dies. 188 THE TOPER AND THE FLIES. Peter Pindar. A GROUP of topers at a table sat, With punch, that much regales the thirsty soul: Flies soon the party join'd, and join'd the chat, Humming, and pitching round the mantling bowl. At length those flies got drunk, and, for their sin. Some hundreds lost their legs, and tumbled in ; And sprawling 'mid the gulph profound. Like Pharaoh and his daring host, were drown'd ! Wanting to drink, one of the men Dipp'd from the bowl tlie drunken host. And drank — then taking care that none were lost. He put in ev'ry mother's son agen. Up jump'd the Bacchanalian crew on this. Taking it very much amiss — Swearing, and in the attitude to smile: " Lord !" cry'd the man, with gravely-lifted eyes, " Though 1 don't like to swallow flies, I did not know but others might" •••■>«■■•■ SHEEP-SHEARING. Dyer. NOW, jolly swains, the harvest of your cares Prepare to reap. If verdant elder spreads Her silver flow'rs ; if humble daisies >ield 'J"o yellow crow-foot and luxmiant grass. Gay shearing-time approaches. Fii-st, howe'er. Drive to the double fold, upon the brim Of a clear river, gently drive the liock, (( 189 And plunge them one by one into the flood. Plung'd in the flood, not long the struggler sinks. With his white flakes, that glisten thro' the tide; The sturdy rustic, in the middle wave, Awaits to seize him rising ; one arm bears His lifted head above the limpid stream. While the full clammy fleece the other laves Around, laborious, with repeated toil ; And then resigns him to the sunny bank. Where, bleating loud, he shakes his dripping locks. Shear them the fourth or fifth return of morn. Lest touch of busy fly-blows wound their skin: Thy peaceful subjects, without murmur, yield Their yearly tribute: 'tis the prudent part To cherish and be gentle; while ye strip The downy vesture from their tender sides. Press not too close; with caution turn the points; And irom the liead in reg'lar rounds proceed : But speedy, when ye chance to wound, with tar Prevent tliie wingy swarm and scorching heat ; And careful house them, if the low'ring clouds Mingle their stores tumultuous: through the gloom Then thunder oft with pond'rous wheels rolls loud. And breaks the chrystal urns of heav'n : adown Fails streaming rain. Sometimes among the steeps Of Cambrian glades (pity tlie Cambrian glades !) Fast tumbling brooks on brooks enormous swell. And sudden overwhelm their vanish'd fields: Down with the flood, away the naked sheep. Bleating in vain, are borne, and straw-built huts, And rifted trees, and heavy enormous rocks, Down with the rapid torrent to the deep. At shearing-time, along the lively vales, Eural festivities are often heard : Beneath each blooming harbour all is joy And lusty merriment : while on the grass The mingled youth in gaudy circles sport. We think the golden age again return'd. And all the fabled Dryades in dance. 190 Leering they bounrl along, -"Aith laughing air, To the slirifl pipe, and deep remnrm'ring cords Of ancient harp, or tabor's hollow sound ; While th'old apart, upon a bank reclin'd. Attend the tuneful carol, softly mixt AVith ev'ry murmur of the sliding wave, And ev'ry warble of the feather'd choir ; Music ot' paradise! which still is heard. When the lieart listens; still the views appear Of the first happy garden, when Content To nature's flow'ry scenes directs the si^ht. Yet we abandon those Elysian walks. Then idly for the lost delight repine ; As greedy mariners, whose desp'rate sails Skim o'er the billows of the foamy flood. Fancy they see the less'ning shores retire. And sigh a farewcl to the sinking hills. ELEGY TO A YOUNG NOBLE^L\N, LEAVING THE UNIVERSITY. Mason, EEE vet, ingenuous youth, thy steps retire From Cam's smoo'th margin, and the peace- fid vale, ' AVhere Science calTd thee to her studious quire. And met thee musing in her cloysters pale ; O let thy friend (and may he boast the name) Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay : A lay like this tin early virtues claim. And this let voluntary virtue pay. Yet know, the time arrives, the dang'rous time. When all those virtues, op'ning now so fair. Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime. Must learn each passion's boist'rous breath to bear. 191 There, if Ambition pestilent and pale. Or Luxury should taint their vernal glow. If cold Self-int'rest, with her chilling gale, Should blast th' unfolding blossoms ere they blow ; If mimic hues, by Art or Fashion spread, Their genuine simple colouring should supply, O with them may these laureate honors fade, And with them (if it can) my friendship die! And do not blame, if, tho' thyself inspire. Cautious 1 strike the panegyric string; The Miise full oft pursues a meteor-fire. And, vainly vent'rous, soars on waxen wing. Too actively awake at Friendship's voice. The poet'^s bosom pours the fervent strain. Till sad reflection blames the hasty choice. And oft invokes oblivion's aid in vain. Go then, my friend, nor let thy candid breast Condemn me if I check the plausive string ; Go to the wayward world ; complete the rest ; Be what the purest Muse would wish to sing. Be still thyself ;— that open path of truth. Which fed thee here, let manhood firm pursue; Retain the sweet simplicity of youth. And all thy virtue dictates dare to do. Still scorn, with conscious pride, the mask of art; On vice's front let fearful caution lour. And teach the diffident, discreeter part Of knaves that plot, and fool's that fawn, for pow'r. So, round thy brow, when age's honors spread. When death's cold hand unstrings thy Mason's lyre. When the green turf lies lightly on his head. Thy worth shall some superior bard inspire: 192 lie, to the amplest bounds of Time's domain, On Kapture's plume shall give thy name to fly; For trust, with rev'rence trust, this Sabine strain: " The Muse forbids the virtuous man to die." A COURT AUDIENXE. Anonymous. LD South, a -witty churchman reckon'd. o^? "as preaching once to Charles the Second, But much too serious for a court Who at all preaching made a sport. He soon perceiv'd his audience nod. Deaf to the zealous man of God ! ' The doctor stopp'd ; began to call, "■ Pray 'wake the earl of Lauderdale. " My'lord ! why, 'tis a monstrous thing ! " You snore so "loud — you'll 'wake the king." EPIGRAM. Idem. NO wonder that Oxford and Cambridge profound In learning and science so greatly abound; When all carry thither a little each day, And we meet vvitli so few who bring any away. 19 J THE GARLAND. Prior. THE pride of ev'ry grove I chose. The vi'let sweet and lily foir. The dappled pink and blushing rose, .To deck my charming Cioe's hair. At morn the nymph vouchsaf d to place Upon her brow the various wreath ; The iiow'rs less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath. The flow'rs she wore along the day, And ev'ry nymph and shepherd said. That in her hair they look'd more gay Than glowing in their native bed. Undress'd at ev'ning, when she found Their odours lost"^ their colours past. She chang'd her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eyes she cast. That eye dropt sense distinct and clear As any Muse's tongue could speak ; When, from its lid, a pearly tear Ran trick'ling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well, " My love, my life," said I, " explain " This "change of humour : pr'ythee tell, " That failing tear — what does it mean ? She sigh'd — she smil'd — and to the flow'rs Pointing, the lovely mor'list said, See, friend ! in some few fleeting hours. See yonder, what a change is made ! R 19-1. All me ! the blooming pride of May And that of hcaiity are but one : At morn both flourish bright and gay. Both fade at ev'nijig, pale, and gone. At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung; The ani'rous youth around her bow'd ; At ni"ht her fatal knell was run*<■■■•• DUNCAN'S WARNING. Aikin. AS o'er the heath, amid his steel-clad Thanes, The royal Duncan rode in martial pride, Where, full to view, high-topp'd with glilt'ring vanes, Macbeth's strong tow'rs o'erhung the moun- tain's side ; In dusky mantle wrapp'd, a grisly form _ Rush'd, with a giant's stride, across his way ; And thus, wliile howi'd around the rising storm. In hollow thund'ring accents pour'd dismay. Slop, Oking! thy destin'd course. Furl thy standard, turn thy horse. Death besets this onward track, Come no further! — quickly back! Hear'st thou not the raven's croak ? See'st thou not the blasted oak? Feel'st thou not the loaded sky ? Read thy danger, king, and fly ! Lo, yon castle's banners glare Bloody thro'tlie troubled air! Lo, where spectres on the roof Frowning bid thee stand aloof! R 3 19S Murder, like an eagle, waits Perch'd above tlie gloomy gates. Just in act to pounce his prey; Come not near ; — away ! away ! Let not plighted faith beguile, Honor's semblance, beauty's smile; Fierce ambition's venom'ddart Eankles in the fest'ring heart. Treason, arm'd against thy life. Points his dagger, whets liis knife, ])rugs his stupefying bowl, Steels his unrelenting soul. Now 'tis time, ere guilty night Closes round thee, "speed thy Uight. If the threshold once be crost, Duncan ! thou'rt for ever lost. On he goes — resistless fate Hastes to file his mortal date; Cease, ye warnings ! vain, tho' true; Murder'd king, adieu ! adieu ! 199 THE MANIAC. C. Lloyd. THOSE gestures so wild and forlorn. Those looks uninform'd by the soul, I'hose laughters of objectless scorn, Those eye-balls that vacantly roll. Those garments that negligent hang. That pace so unequal and slow. They tell of a past suffer'd pang. Yet of feeling how callous to woe! Those siglis, that so piteously swell. Heave a breast all uncoriscious of strife! Those tears that unwittingly fell, They drain not the sluices of life. That bosom exposed and bare. It solicits the pitiless blast; That form, unprotected by care. On the cold earth is heedlessly cast. Yet that form so neglected and wan. Which no friend shall assiduously nurse. It forgets that its title is — man ! And cancels humanity's curse ! Poor maniac ! I envy thy state VViien with sorrow and anguish I shrink; When shall I he ttise and forget! For 'lis madness to feel and to think. These throbs of emotion, 'tis true, Tliey appear all enchanting and fair; But how soon shall we piteously rue, I'hatthe charm was in league with despair. 200 And hope, that disease of the mind, \\ iiicii awakes the keen tliroh of desire, Alas ! what a blank shall it tind. When its fondl}-shap'd transports expire! What a blank shall it find ! — when in youth The credulous feelings can bless. We wish and imagine it truth. We dream, and believe we possess. But the tears which voluptuously start. The charm of th' unspeakable sigh. The rapture that seizes the heart, When a kindred companion is nigh, Th' immortal aspirings of worth, Are feelings all fruitlessly giv'n I Those feelings must perish on earth. And tliey scarcely are fabled in heav'n! ON SPECTACLES. j^iwnymcus. OF all tlie spectacles, to mend the sight, Devis'd by art, for viewing objects right. Those are most useful which the prudent place High on ///e handle of the human face : Some on the templets fix them, 1 suppose. Lest they should see7ii to snufile thro' the nose; Some in one liand tlie single convex hold — But these are ])rigs, asham'd of being old, Kone are in news or politics so wise As he whose nose is saddled with his eyes ; Anfi if the taper tube regale liis snout. There's nought so secret but he'll smell it out. 201 Should GammarGurton leave these helps at home, To church, with bible, 'tis in vain to come; The plainest sermon is the most perplext, Unless, with care, she double down the text. Lo ! how tiie parish-clerk, with many u hum, By turns, now iits them to his nose or thumb ; Methodically regular, as need By turns require'him, or to sing or read ; Those who see dimly may their eyes restore. By adding two to what they had before ; And they that woidd be deem'd profoundly wise Must carry in their heads and pockets — eyes. THE KISS. S. T. Coleridge. ^NE kiss, dear maid, I said, and sigh'd- Your scorn the little boon deny'd : Ah, why refuse the blameless bliss ? Can danger lurk within a kiss ? Yon viewless wand'rer of the vale. The spirit of the western gale. At morning's break, at ev'ning's close. Inhales the sweetness of the rose; And hovers o'er th' uninjur'd bloom, Sigliing back the soft perfume, "\'igor to the zephyr's wing Her nectar-breathiiig kisses fling; And he the glitter of the dew Scatters on the rose's hue. Bashful, lo ! she bends her head. And darts a blush of deeper red. Too well those lovely lips disclose The triumphs of the op'ning rose: 202 O fair! O gracefvil ! bid thera prove As passive to the breath of love. In tender accents, faint and low, Well-plcas'd I hear the whisper'd No! The whisper'd No! — how little meant ! Sweet falsehood, that endears consent I For on those lovely lips the while Dawns the soft relenting smile, And tempts, Avith leign'd dissuasion coy^ The gentle violence of joy. EPITAPH ON A POOR, BUT HONEST, MAN. Anonymous. STOP, reader, here, and deign a look At one without a name. Ne'er enter'd in the ample book Of fortune or of fame. Studious of peace, he hated strife, Meek virtues fiil'd his breast; His coat of arms, a spotless life, An honest heart his crest, Quarter'd therewith was innocence ; And tlnis his motto ran: A conscience void oj all offence. Before both God a?id man. In the great day of wrath, tho' pride Now scorns his pedigree. Thousands shall wish they'd been ally'd To this great family. 203 L'AMOUR. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. Idem. WHEN Love was born of race divine, When dire intrigues disturb'd Cythera's joy. Till Venus cry'd — " A mother's heart is mine; " None but myself shall nurse my boy." But, infant as he was, the child In that divine embrace enchanted lay; And, l)y the beauty of the vase beguil'd. Forgot the beverage — and pin'd away. " And must my offspring languish in my sight?" Alive to all a mother's pain. The queen of beauty thus her court address'd: " No : let the most discreet of all the train " Receive him to her breast ! " Think all, he is the god of young delight." Then Tenderness, with Candor join'd. And Gaiety, the charming office sought. Nor even Delicacy stay'd behind ; But none of these fair Graces brought Wherewith to nurse the child — and still he pin'd. Fond hearts unto Compliance seem'd inclin'd. But she had surely spoil'd the boy ; And sad experience forbade a thought On the wild goodness of voluptuous joy. Long undecided lay th' important choice. Till of the beauteous court at length a voice Pronounc'd the name of Hope : — the conscious child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and sniil'd. 204 Enjoyment, who, 'lis said, averr'd The charge bclong'd to her alone. Jealous that Hope had been preleri'd. Laid snares to make the babe her own. Of Innocence the garb she took — The blushing mien, the downcast look — And came her services to prolfer; And Hope (what has not Hope bcliev'd ?) By that seducing air deceiv'd. Accepted of the offer. It happen'd that, to sleep inclin'd. Deluded Hope, for one short hour. To that false Innocence's pow'r Her little charge consign'd. The Goddess then her lap with sweetmeats fill'd. And gave, in handfuls gaA'e, the treach'rous store ; A wild delirium first the infant thrill'd, But soon upon her breast he sunk — to rise no more. 205 THE GENTLEMAN AND HIS WIFE. Peter Pindar. A MAN of some small fortune Iiad a wife. Satis doulu to be the comfort of his life ; Aiul pretty well they bore the yoke together; "With little jarring liv'd the pair one year; Sometimes the matrimonial sky was clear ; At times 'twas dark and dull, and hazy weather. Now came the time when mistress, in the straw. Did, for the world's support, her screams prepare; And Slop appear'd, with fair obstetric paw. To introduce his pupil to our air; Whilst in a neighb'ring room the husband sat. Musing on this thing now, and now on that ; Now sighing at the sorrows of his wife ; Praying to Ileav'n that he could take the pain; But recollecting that such pray'rs were vain. He made no more an oftier of his life. Alone, as thus he mus'd in solemn study. Ideas sometimes clear, and sometimes muddy. In Betty rush'd, with comfortable news: " Sir, Sir, I wish ye joy, I wish ye joy; *' Madam is brought to bed of a fine boy ; " As fine as ever stood in shoes." " I'm glad on't, Betty," cry'd the master : *' I pray there may be no disaster ! " All's with your mistress ti:ell, I hope ?" Quoth she, " All's m'cII as heart can well desire " With Madam and (he fine young squire; " So likewise says old doctor Slop." Off Betty hurried, fast as she could scour. Fast and as liard as any horse That trotteth fourteen miles an hour — A pretty tolerable course, s 206 Soon happy Betty came again, Blowing with all her might and main; Just like a grampus, or a whale ; In sounds, too, that would Calais reach from Dover: " Sir, Sir, more happy tidings ; 'tis not over — *' And madam's brisker than a nightingale ; " A fine young lady to the world is come, " Squalling away just as 1 left the room : " Sir, this is better than a good estate." " Humph," quoth the man, and scratcli'd his pate. Now gravely looking up — now looking down; Not with a smile, but somewhat like a frown — " Good God," says he, " why was not I a cock, " Who never feels of burd'ning brats the shock ; " Who, Turk-like, struts amid his madams, pick- ing. " Whilst to the hen belongs the care *' To carry them to eat, or take the air, " Or bed beneath her wing the chicken?" Just as this sweet soliloquy was ended, lie found affairs not greatly mended ; For in bounc'd Bet, her rump with rapture jigging: *' Another daughter. Sir — a charming rliikl." — ** Another!" cry'd the man, with wonder wild; " Zounds! Betty, ask your mistress if she's TO A COQUETTE. Anonymous. SHE who in secret yields her heart. Again may claim it from her lover; But she who plays the tritlers part Can ne'er her s(juander'd fame recover; Then grant the boon for wliich I pray I 'Tis better lend than throw awav. 207 GRONGAR-HILL. Dytr. SILENT nymph, with curious eye. Who, the purple ev'ning, lie On the mountain's lonely van. Beyond the noise of busy man. Painting lair the form of things, While the yellow linnet sings. Or the tuneful nightingale C'harms the forest with her tale. Come with all tiiy various hues. Come and aid thy sister-muse, Now while Phoebus, riding high, Gives lustre to the land and sky ! Grongar-Hill invites my song, Draw the landskip bright and strong ; Grongar, in whose mossy cells Sweetly-musing Quiet dwells ; Grongar, in whose silent shade^ For the modest Muses made. So oft I have, the ev'ning still. At the fountain of a rill. Sat upon a flow'ry bed. With my hand beneath my head ; While stray 'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood. Over mead and over wood. From house to house, from hill to hill. Till Contemplation had her till. About his chequer'd sides I wind. And leave his brooks and meads behind. And groves and grottoes where I lay. And vistas shooting beams of day : Wide and wider spreads the vale. As circles on a smooth canal ; The mountains round, unhappy fate ! Sooner or later, of all height, s2 SOS Withdraw their summits from the skies. Ami lessen as the others rise; Stiil the prospect wider spreads. Adds a tliousaiid woods and ineads ; Still it widens, widens still, And sinks the newly-risen hill. Now I gain the mountain's brow; AVhat a laudskip lies below ! Ko clouds, no vapours intervene. But the gay, the open scene Does" the face of nature show. In all the hues of heaven's bow ! And, swelling to embrace the light. Spreads around beneath the sight. Old castles on the clilfs arise, proudly tow'ring in the skies \ lUishing from t!ie woods, the spires Seem from hence ascending lires! Half his beams Apollo sheds On the yellow mountain-heads; Gilds the fleeces of the flocks, And glitters on the broken rocks ! Below me trees unnumber'd rise. Beautiful in various dyes: The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, Tlie vellow" beach, the sable yew. The slender in; that taper grows. The sturdy oak, with broad'-spread boughs. And beyond the purple grove. Haunt of Phiilis, queen of love ! Gaudy as the op'ning dawn. Lies a long and level lawn, On wliich a dark hill, steep and high. Holds and charms the wand'ring e}C ; Deep are his feet in Towy's flood, His sides are cloth'd with waving wood. And ancient tov%er3 crov>n h.is brow. That cast an awelul look below ; 209 Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps. And vvithher arms from falling keeps ; So botla a safety from the wind On mutual dependence find. 'Tis now the raven's bleak abode; 'Tis now th' apartment of the toad ; And there the ibx securely feeds, 'i And there tiie pois'nous adder breeds /- Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds: 3 While ever and anon there falls Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls. Yet time has been, that lifts the low. And level lays the lofty brow. Has seen this broken pile complete, ^ Big with the vanity of state; > But transient is the smile of fate ! } A little rule, a little sway, A sun-beam in a winter's day. Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave. And see the rivers how they run. Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, and sometimes slow. Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep. Like human life, to endless sleep !■ Thus is nature's vesture wrought. To instruct our wand'ring thought; Thus she dresses green and gay, To disperse our cares away. Ever charming, ever new, When will the landskip tire the view ! The fountain's fall, the river's flow. The woody vallies, warm and low ; The windy summit, wild and high, Koughly rushing on the sky ; The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r. The naked rock, the shady bow'r, S3 s 210 The town and village, dome and farm, Each give to each a double charm. As pearls upon an/Ethiop's arm. See on the mountain's southern side, "> AY here tlie prospect opens wide, > AVliere the ev'ning gilds the tide, } How close and small the hedges lie ! AY hat streaks of meadow cross the eye ! A step, melhinks, might pass the stream ; bo little distant dangers seem ; So we mistake the future's face, Ey'd through Mope's deluding glass ; As Ton summits soft and fair. Clad in colour;- of the air, AYhich, to those who journey near. Barren, brown, and rough appear; Still we tread the same coarse way, I'he present's still a cloudy day. O may I with myself agree, .And never covet what I see ! Content me with a humble shade. My passions tam'd, my wishes laid ; Foi- while our wishes idly roll, \Ye banish (juiet from the soul : 'Tis thus the busy beat the air. And misers gather wealth and care. Now, ev""<0>""^<" THE MISER'S WONDER. Anonymous. DUGARD, the veriest gripe alive. Whose only maxim was to thrive; The common jest of ev'ry tongue. The line disgracing whence he sprung ; Tho' grudging e'en of food the charge, A palace built immensely large; Its inside rich, its outside great. He liv'd, or rather starv'd, in state. 215 By chance Orlando, passing by, Upon the building cast an eye ; Dugaid, who knew his perfect taste. His entrance begs — if not in haste; He stops — then civilly is shewn The wonders of each stately room ; Paintings, from distant climates brouglit, Carpets that were in Persia wrought ; And roofs, resplendent all with gold, You might, with wonder, there behold. By the large stairs descending down. At length they enter the saloon ; There Dngard thus accosts his guest ; " Since with your presence I am blest, " Oblige me, Sir, in this, demand; These pannels, that unlinisli'd stand, I would have piclur'd with some scene . That never yet had painted been ; " Direct my choice." — " If oddness please, *' E'en paint a man that seems to sneeze." " Thy humour, good Orlando, change; *' I would have something really strange," " What, stranger yet ! then' pr'y thee draw ** Plenty — that thing you never saw." 2 IT ELEGY, ON THE DEATH OF THE SCOTTISH POET BURNS. Hoscoe, REAR high thy bleak majestic hills. Thy sheUer'd vallies proudly spread. And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. And wave thy heaths with blossoms red I But, ah ! what poet now shall tread Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign. Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead. That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? As green th\' tow'ring pines may grow. As clear ihy streams may speed along. As bright thy summer suns may glow, And wake again thy feath'ry throng: Rut now mdiecded is my song. And dull and lifeless all around : For his wild harp lies all unstrung — And cold tlie hand that wak'd its sound! 218 What tlio' thy vig'rous offspring rise, in arts, in arms, thy sons excel; Though beauty in thy daughter's eyes. And health in ev'ry feature dwell; Yet, who shall now their praises tell. In strains impassion'd, tond, and free. Since he no more the song shall swell l"o love, and liberty, and thee? With step-dame eye and frown severe Plis hapless youth why didst thou view? For all thy joys to him were dear. And all his vows to thee were due: Nor greater bliss his bosom knew. In hopeful youth's delightful prime. Than when thy fav'ring ear he drew To listen to his chaunted rhyme! Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies To him were all with rapture fraught ; He heard with joy the tempest rise That wak'd him to sublimer thought: And oft thy winding dells he sought, \Vher(; wild-liow'rs pour'd their rathe perfume, And with sincere devotion brought To thee the summer's earliest bloom. But, ah ! no fond maternal smile His unprotected \outh enjoy 'd ; His limbs inur'd to early toil. His days with early hardships try'd ! And, more to mark the gloomy void. And bid him feel his misery. Before his infant eyes would glide Day-dreams of immortality. Yet, not by cold neglect deprest, \\ ith sinewy arm lie turn'd the soil. Sunk \\ith the ev'ning suy to rest. And met at morn his earliest smile ! 219 VVak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile. The pow'rs of fancy came along, And sooth'd his lengtlien'd hours of toil With native wit and sprightly song! Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly fled ! When vig'rous health from labor springs. And bland contentment smooths the bed, And sleep his ready opiate brings ; And, hovVing round on airy wings. Float the light forms of young desire. That of unutterable things The soft and shadowy hope inspire ! Now spells of mightier pow'r prepare ; Bid brighter phantoms round him dance: Let flatt'ry spread her viewless snare. And fame attract his vagrant glance; Let spriglitly pleasure too advance, Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone. Till, lost in love's delirious trance. He scorn the joys his youth has known ! Let friendship pour her brightest blaze, Expanding all the bloom of soul ; And mirtli concentre all her rays. And point them from the sparkling bowl ; And let the careless moments roll In social pleasures unconhn'd ; And confidence, that spurns control. Unlock the inmost springs of mind ! And lead his steps those bow'rs among. Where elegance with splendor vies. Or science bids her favor'd throng To more refin'd sensations rise? Beyond the peasant's humbler joys. And freed from each laborious strife. There let hinj learn the bliss to prize That waits the sons of polish'd life ! T 3 220 Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high ^Vith ev'ry impulse of delight, Dash from his lips the cup of joy — And shroud the scene in shades of night ! Then let despair, with wizard light. Disclose the yawning gulph below. And pour incessant on his sight Her spectred ills, and shapes of woe ! And shew, beneath a cheerless shed, W ith sorrowing heart and streaming eyes^ In silent grief where droops her head — The pa"^iti\er of his early joys ! And let his infants' tender cries His fond parental succour claim. And bid him hear in agonies A husband's and a father's name ! 'Tis done — the pow'rful charm succeeds ; His high reluctant spirit bends ; In bitterness of soul he bleeds. Nor longer with his fate contends I An ideot-laugh the welkin rends. As genius thus degraded lies. Till pitting Heav'n the veil extends That shrouds the poet's ardent e\ es ! Bear high thv bleak majestic hills, Thv shelter'd vallies proudly spread. And, "Scotia, pour thy thou-^i^nd rills. And wave thy heaths with blossoms red! But never more shall poet tread Thv airy heights, thy ^voodland reign, Since"he, the sweetest bard is deatl, '1 hat ever brcath'd the sootliing strain ! .221 EVENING CONTEMPLATIONS IN A COLLEGE. In Imitation of Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard, Duncombct THE curfew tolls the hour of closing gates, Witli ja^•i^^g sound the porter turns the key; Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits. And slowly, sternly quits it, tho' for me. Now shine the spires beneath the pallid moon, And through the cloisters peace and silence reign. Save where some fiddler scrapes a drowsy tune. Or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain. Within those walls, where, tiiro' the glimm'ring shade. Appear the pamphlets in a mould'ring heap. Each in his narrow bed till morning laid. The peaceful fellows of the college sleep. The tinkling bell proclaiming early pray'rs. The noisy servants rattling o'er "their head. The calls of bus'ness, or domesic cares. Ne'er rouse these sleepers from their downy bed. No chatt'ring females crowd their social fire. No dread have the)- of discord or of strife; Unknown the names of husband and of sire, Unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life. Oft have they bask'd beneath the sunny walls. Oft have the benches bow'd beneath their weight; How jocund are their looks when dinner calls! How smoke the cutlets on their crowded plate I T 3 222 Oh ! let not temp'rance, too disdainful, hear How long their feasts, how long their dinners, last! ISor let the fair, with a contemptuous sneer. On these unmarried men retlections cast. The splendid fortune and the beauteous face (Themselves confess it, and their sires bemoan) Too soon are caught by scarlet and by lace ; These sons of science shine in black alone. Forgive, ye fair, tii' involuntary fault. If these no feats of gaiety display Where through proud Uanelagh's wide-echoing vaulk Melodious Krasi trills her quavering lay. Say, is the sword well suited to the band? Does broider'd coat agree with sable gown? Can Mechling laces shade a cl^urc^lman's iiand ? Or learning's vot'ries ape the beaux of town? perhaps in these time-tolt'ring walls reside Some who were once tiie darlings of the fair. Some w^io of old could tastes and fashions guide. Control the manager, and awe the play'r ; But science now has fiH'd their vacant mind With Koine's rich spoils and trutiis exalted views, Fir'd them with transports of a nobler kind. And bade tliem slight all females — but the muse. Fall many a lark, high tow'ring to the skv, I'nheard, unheedei.1, greets th' approacii of ligiit ; Full many a star, unseen by mortal eye, With twinkling lustre glimmers through the night. Some future Herring, who, witii dauntless breast. Rebellion's torrent shall, like him, oppose; Some mute unconscious llardwicke here may rest. Some rdham, dieadful to his country's foes. 223 From prince and people to command applause, 'Mid ermiii'd peers to guide the high debate. To shield Jjritannia's and i'leligion's laws. And steer with steady course the helm of state. Fate yet forbids ; nor circumscribes alone '1 iieir grou iiig virtues, but tht'ir crimes confines. Forbids \n iVeedom's veil t' insult the throne, Beneath her masque to hide the worst designs; To fill the madding crowd's perverted -mind. With pensions, taxes,, marriages, and Jews, Or shut the gales of Heav'n on lost mankind. And wrest their darling hopes, their future views. Far from the giddy crowds tumultuous strife Their wishes yet have never learn'd to stray ; Content and happy in a single life, 1 hey keep the noiseless tenor of their way. E'en now, their books from cobwebs to protect, Inclos'd by doors of brass, in Doric style. On poiisii'd pillars rais'd, with bronzes deck'd. They clain\ the passing tribute of a smile. Oft are the authors* names, though richly bound. Mis-spelt by bkuurring binder's want of care. And inan\ .i catalogue is strew'd around, To tell th' admiring guest what books are there. For who, to thouirhtless ignorance a prey. Neglects to hold short dalliance with a book? Who there but wishes to prolong his stay. And on those cases cast a ling'ring look ? Reports attract the lawyer's parting eyes. Novels Lord t'opling and Sir Plume require; For songs and plays the voice of beauty cries. And sense and nature Grandison desire. For thee, who, mindful of thy lov'd compeers. Dost in these lines their artiess tale relate. If chance, with pryini; search, in future years. Some antiquarian should enquire thy fate; Haply some friend may shake his hoary head. And say, " Each morn, unchill'd by frosts, he ran, " With hose uiigarter'd, o'er yon turfy bed, " To reach the chapel ere the psalms began. " There, in the arms of that lethargic chair, " Which rears its old moth-eaten back so high, " At noon he quafi 'd three glasses to the fair, " And por'd upon the news with curious eye. " Now by the fire, engag'd in serious talk, " Or mirthful converse, would he loit'ring stand; " 1 hen in the garden chose a sunny walk, " Or launched the poiish'd bowl with steady hand. " One morn we miss'd him at the hour of pray'r, ** Nor in the hall, nor on his fav'rite green ; '• Another came; nor yet within the chair, " Nor yet at bowls or chapel was he seen. " The next we heard, that, in a neighb'ring shire, " That day to church he led a blushing bride; " A iivmph whose snowy vest and maiden iear " Iniprov'd her beauty while the knot was ty'd. *' Now, by his patron's bounteous care remov'd, " He roves enraptur'd through the (ields ol Kent ; ♦' Yet, ever mindlul of the place he lov'd. — " Read here the letter which he lately sent." THE LETTER. In rural innocence secure I dwell. Alike to fortune and to form unknown; Approving conscience cheers my humble cell. And social c[uict marks me for own. 225 Next to the blessings of religious truth. Two gifts my daily gratitude engage: A wife — the joy and transport of iny youth, A son — tlie comfort of declining age. Seek not to draw me from this calm retreat. In loftier spheres unfit, untaught to move; Content with plain domestic life, where meet l"h(; sweets of friendship, and the smiles of love. ODE TO THE DEVIL. INGRATUM GDI. Peter Pindar, PIIINCE of the dark abodes! I ween "\"our Highness ne'er till now hath seen Yourself in metre shine ; Ke'er heard a song, with praise sincere, bweet warbled on your smutty ear. Before this Ode of mine. Perhaps the reason is too plain. Thou try'st to starve the tuneful train, Of potent verse afraid ; And yet I vow, in all my time, I've not belield a single rhyme That ever spoil'd thy trade. I've often read those pious whims — John Westley's sweet damnation hymns. That chant of heav'nly riches. What liave tJiey done? — those heav'nly strains^ Devoutly squeez'd from canting brains. But Hll'd John's earthly breeches ? 226 There's not a shoeblack in the land So iuimbly at the world's command As thy old cloven foot ; Like lightning dost thou liy, when call'd. And yet no pickpocket's so maul'd As thou, O Prince of Soot ! What thousands, hourly bent on sin. With supplication call thee in. To aid them to pursue it! Yet, -when detected, with a lie Hipe at their lingers' ends, they cry, " The Devil Djade me do it." Behold the fortunes that are made By men, through roguish tricks in trade! Yet all to thee are owing — And though we meet it ev'ry day. The sneaking rascals dare not say, " This is the Devil's doing." As to thy company, I'm sure, Nojiian can shun thee on that score; The very best is thine: With kings, queens, ministers of state. Lords, ladies, I have seen thee great. And many a grave divine. I'm sorely griev'd, at times, to find. The very instant thou art kind, Some people so uncivil. When augiit oflends, with face awry, W ith bast' ingratitude to cry, " I wish it' at the Devil." Ilatli some poor blockhead got a wife. To be the torment of his life. By one eternal yell ; The fellow cries out coarsely, " Zounds ! I'd give this moment twenty pounds " To see the jade in hell." 227 Should Heav'n their pray'rs so ardent grants Thou never company would'st want To make thee do\vnright mad ; For, mind me, in their wishing mood. They never ofier thee what's good. But ev'ry thing that's bad. My honest anger boils to view A snuflling, long-fac'd, canting crew. So much tliy liumble debtors. Hushing, on Sundays, one and all. With desp'rate pray'rs thy head to maul. And thus abuse their betters. To seize one day in ev'ry week. On thee their black abuse to wreak. By whom their soul's are fed Each minute of the other six. With ev'ry joy that heart can fix. Is impudence indeed ! Blushing, I own thy pleasing art Hath oft seduc'd my vagrant heart. And led my steps to joy — The charms of beauty have been mine ; And let me call the merit thine. Who brought'st the lovely toy. Ko, Satan — if I ask thy aid. To give my arms the blooming maid, I will not, througli the nation all. Proclaim thee (like a graceless imp) A vile old good-for-nothing pimp. But say, " 'tis thy vocation, Hal." Since truth must out — I seldom knew What 'twas high pleasure to pursue, I'ill thou hadst won my heart: So social were we both together. And beat the hoof in ev'ry weather, I never wish'd to part. 228 Yet vhen a child — good Lord ! I thouglit That thou a pair of horns hadst got. With eyes like saucers staring! And then a pair of ears so stout, A monstrous tail and hairy snout. With claws beyond comparing. Taught t' avoid the paths of evil. By day I us'd to dread the devil; And trembling when 'twas niglit, Melhought I saw thy horns and ears. Then sang and whistled to my fears. And ran to cliase mv lliciht. And ev'ry night T went to bed I sweated with a constant dread. And crej)! beneatli the rug; There, panting, thought that in my sleep Thou slily in the dark would'st creep. And eat me, though so snug. A haberdasher's shop is thine. With sins of all sorts, coarse and fine. To suit both man and maid : Thy wares they buy, with open eyes; How cruel, then, with constant cries. To vilify thy trade ! To speak the truth, indeed, I'm loth — Life's dcem'd a mawkish dish of broth. Without thy aid, old Sweeper; So mawkish, few will put it down. E'en from the cottage to the crown, Witiiout thy salt and pepper. O Satan ! whatsoever geer 1"hy Proteus form shall choose to wear. Black, red, or blue, or yellow ; Whatever hypocrites may say. They think tfiee ((rust my honest lay) A most bewitching fellow. 2?9 'Tis order'd (to deaf ears, ala^ !) To praise the bridge o'er vvliich we pass ; Yet often I discover A nitm'roiis band who daily make An easy bridge of thy poor back, And damn it when they're over. Why art thou then, with cap in hand. Obsequious to a graceless band. Whose souls are scarce worth taking? O Prince ! pursue but my advice, I'll teach your Highness in a trice To set them all a quaking. Plays, op'ras, masquerades, destroy; Lock up each charming _/?//<,' de joie; Give race-hoi-ses the glander — The dice-box break, and burn each card- Let virtue be its own reward. And gag the mouth of slander : In one week's time, I'll lay my life, Tliere's not a man, nor maid, nor wife, lliat will not glad agree. If thou wilt charm 'em as before. To shew their nose at churcli no more. But quit their God for thee. 'Tis now full time my Ode should end ; And now I tell thee like a friend, Ilowe'er the world may scout thee, Tliy wa}s are all so wond'rous winning, And folks so very fond of sinning. They cannot do without thee. V 230 THE FATAL SISTERS. Gray, NOW the storms begin to lour, (Haste, the loom of hell prepare) Iron sle<:t of arrowy show'r Hurtles in the darkcn'd air, Glitt'ring lances are the loom Where tlie lusty warp we strain, W^eaving many a soldier's doom, Orkney's Woe, and llandver's bane. See the grisly texture grow ! ('Tis of human entr^iils made) And the weights that play below Each a gasping warrior's head. ' Shafts for shuttles, dipp'd in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along; Sword that once a monarch bore Keeps the tissue close and strong. Mista, black terrific maid ! Sangrida and Hilda, see ! Join the wayward work to aid : 'Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy sun be set Pikes must shiver, jav'lins siSig, Blade willi clatt'ring buckler meet. Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. (Weave the crimson web of war) Let us go, and let us j]v. Where our friends tlic conliict share Wiicrc they triumph, where they die. 231 As the paths of fate we tread. Wading thro' th'ensanguin'd field, Gondula and Geira spread Oier the yoiithfid king your shield. We the reigns to slaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to spare; Spite of danger he shall live. (Weave the crimson web of war.) They, whom once the desart beach Peat within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch. O'er the plenty of the plain. Low the dauntless earl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound; Fate demands a nobler head ; Soon a king shall bite the ground. Long his loss shall Eirin weep. Ne'er again his likeness see. Long her strains in sorrow steep. Strains of immortality ! Horror covers all the heath. Clouds of carnage blot the sun. Sisters, weave the web of death. Sisters, cease: — the work is done. Hail the task, and hail the hands ! Songs of joy and triumph sing; Joy to the victorious bands ! Triumph to the younger king! Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale. Learn the tenor of our song : Scotland, thro' each winding vale. Far and wide the notes prolong. u 2 232- Sisters, hence vitli spurs of speed ! Each her thund'rir.g I'aulchiou wield ; Each bestride her sabie steed. Hurrv, hurrv to the iieid ! THE MAN OF KOSS. Pope. UT all our praises why should lords engross ? Kise, honest muse! and sing the Man of Ross; Pleas'd Vaga eclioes thro' her winding bounds. And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From tiie dry rock who bade the waters flow ? Kot to tlie skies in useless columns tost. Or in proud falls magnificently lost. But, clear and artless, pouring tlu-ough the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain ? Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? Whose seats the weary tra^ eller repose ? W'ho taught that Heav'n-directed spire to rise? " The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. Behold the market-place witli poor o'erspread! The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread : He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state. Where age and want sit smiling at the gate; Him portioned maids, apprentic'd orphans blest. The young who labour, and tlie poor who rest. Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves. Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives. Is tliere a variance ? enter but his door, Baulk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. Despairing quacks with curses fled the place. And vde attornies, now an useless race. Thrice happy man ! enabled to pursue Wliat all so wish, but want the pow'r to do ! 233 Oh say! what sums that gen'rous hand supply? What mines to swell that boundless chanty? Of debts and taxes, wife and children, clear. This man possest — live hundred pounds a year. Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud courts, withdraw your blaze'. Ye little stars, hide your dhninisli'd rays! And what ! no monument, inscription, stone ? His race, his form, his name, almost unknown ? Who builds a house to God, and not to fame. Will never mark the marble with his name : Go, search it there, where to be born and die Of rich and poor makes all the history ; Enough, that virtue made the space between ; Prov'd, by the ends of being, to have been. THE REVENGE OF AMERICA. ■IVarton. WHEN Cortez' furious legions flew O'er ravag'd fields of rich Peru, Struck with his bleeding country's woes, Old India's awful Genius rose : He sat on Andes' topmost stone. And heard a thousand nations groan : For grief his feath'ry crown he tore. To see huge Plata foam w ith gore ; He broke his arrows, stamp'd the ground. To view his cities smoking round. What woes, he cry'd, hath lust of gold O'er my poor country widely roll'd ! Plund'rers, proceed ! my bowels tear I But ye shall meet destruction there ; 534 From the deep-vaulted mine shall rise Th' insatiate liend, pale Avarice; Whose steps shall trembling Justice fly. Peace, Order, Law, and Aiiiitj'. 1 see all Europe's chiltlren curst With lucre's universal thirst: The rage that sweeps my sons away My baneful gold shall well repay. ODE TO LEVEN WATER. Stnolkt. ^N Leven's banks, while free to rove. And tune the rural pipe to love, I envy'd not the happiest swain That ever trod th' Arcadian plain. Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave ^ly youthful limbs I woni to lave; IS'o torrents stain thy limiiid source. No rocks impede thy dimpling course, 'I'hat sweetly warbles o'er its bed, Willi whitL', round, polish'd pebbles spread ; While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood In myriads cleave the crystal flood. 'Hie springing trout, in s])eck!ed pride; 'Hie salmon, monarch of the tide ; The ruthless pike, intent on war; The silver eel, and mottled par. Devolving from thy parent lake, A charming maze thy waters make, i\\ bow'rs oi birch, and groves of jiine. And hedj.^es, How'r'd with eglantine. Still on thy banks, so gaily green. May num'rous herds and docks be seen; And lasses chanting o'er the pail ; And siiephcrds, piping in the dale; 235 And ancient faitli, that knows no guile. And indiistvy, imbiowu'd with toil; And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepar'd TJie blessings they enjoy to guard ! ODE ON SOLITUDE. WRITTEN AT TWELVE YEARS OF AGE. Pope. HAPPY the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound ; Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Wliose herds with milk, whose fields '.vith bread. Whose flocks supply him witli attire. Whose trees in summer yield him sliade. In winter lire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away; In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night, study and ease. Together mi.v'd ; sweet recreation ! And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown. Thus, unlamented, let me die ; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. 236 THE FEMALE PRATTLER. Anonymous, FROM morn to night, from day to clay. At all times, and in ev'ry place. You scold, repeat, and sing, and say. Nor are there hopes you'll ever cease. Forbear, my Fannia ! oh, forbear ! If your own health or ours you prize; For all mankind, that hear you, swear Your tongue's more killing tlian your eyes. Your tongue's a traitor to your face. Your fame's by your own noise obscur'd ; AH are distracted while they gaze. But if they listen, they are cur'd. Your silence would acquire more praise Than all you say, or all you write; One look ten thousand charms displays; Then hush ! and be an angel quite. ON THE DEATH OF LADY COVENTRY. Mason, THE midnight clock has toll'd ; and hark ! tlie bell Of death beats slow I Heard ye the note pro- found ? It pauses now ; and now, with rising knell, lfuge to the grave. But now, should fortune shift the scene. And make thy curateship a dean ; Or some rich benefice provide. To pamper luxury and j)ride ; "Willi labor small,' and income great. With chariot, less for use than state ; With swelling scarf, and glossy gown. With licence to reside in town; To shine where all the gay resort. At concert, colTee-house, or court ; 24 1 Aiul weekly persecute his grace With visits, or to beg a place ; With underlings thy tlock to teach, Witli no desire to pray or preach ; With haughty spouse, in vesture line, With plenteous meals, and gen'rous \vine ; W^ould'st thou not wish, with so mech ease^, Thy years as num'rous as thy days? JEMMY DAWSON. Shenstonc. COME listen to my mournful tale, Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear; Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, Nor will you blush to shed a tear. And thou, dear Kitty ! peerless maid ! Do thou a pensive ear incline; For thou canst weep at ev'ry woe. And pity ev'ry plaint but mine. Young Dawson was a gallant youth, A brighter never trod the plain ; And well he lov'd one charming maid. And dearly was he lov'd again. One tender maid, she lov'd him dear. Of gentle blood the damsel came : And faultless was her beauteous form. And spotless was her virgin fame. But curse on party's hateful strife. That led the favnur'd youth astray. The day the rebel clans appear'd, O had he never seen that day I 242 Their colours and their sash he wore. And in lliat fatal dress was found ; And now he must that death endure. Which gives the brave the keenest wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek, \Mien Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows So pale, or yet so chill, appear. With falt'ring voice she weeping said, " Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart! <' Think not thy death shall end our loves, " For thou and I will never part. *' Yet might sweet mercy find a place, " And bring relief to'jemmy's woes, " O George ! without a pray'r for thee " My orisons should never close. " The gracious prince that gave him life " Would crown a never-dying flame; *' And ev'ry tender babe I bore " Should learn to lisp the giver's name. " But tho', dear youth, thou should'stbe dragg'd *' To yonder ignominious tree, *' Thou shalt not want a faitliful friend, " To share thy bitter fate with thee." O then her mourning coach was call'd. The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; Though borne in a trium}jhal car. She had not lov'd her fav'rite more. She follow'd liini, prepar'd to view The terrible behests of law ; And tlie last scene of Jemmy's woes "With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 243 Distorted was that blooming face. Which she had fondly lov'd so long ; And stilled was that tuneful breath, Which in her praise had sweetly sung ; And sever'd was that beauteous neck. Round which her arms had fondly clos'd ; And mangled was that beauteous breast. On which her love-sick head repos'd ; And ravish'd was that constant heart She did to ev'ry heart prefer ; For though it could its king forget, 'Twas true and loyal still to her. Amid those unrelenting flames She bore this constant heart to see ; But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, " Now, now," she cry'd, " I follow thee. " My death, my death alone, can shew " The pure and lastiiig love I bore: *' Accept, O Heav'n ! of woes like ours, " And let us, let us weep no more." The dismal scene was o'er and past. The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; The maid drew back lier languid head. And, sighing forth his name, expir'd. Though justice ever must prevail. The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall she hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true. ■•►K^".,....«j><" X 2 2U The SOLDIER and ihe VIRGIN MARY. Peter Pindar. A SOLDIER, at Loretto's wond'rous chapel. To parry irom his soul the wrath diviue. That follow'd mother Eve's unlucky apple. Did visit oft the virgin Islary's shrine ; %Vho ev'ry day is gorgeously deck'd out In silks or velvets, jewels, great and small, Just like a fine yotmg lady from a rout, A concert, op'ra, wedding, or a ball. At first the soldier at a distance kept. Begging her vote and interest in heav'n : "With steaming bitterness tiie sinner wept. Wrung his^two hands, and hop'd to be forgiv'n ; Dinn'd her two ears with Ave-Mary flummery; Declar'd what miracles the same could do. E'en with a garter, stocking, or a shoe. And such like wonder-vvforking nuimmery. AVhat answer Mary gave the wheedling sinner, "Who nearlv and more nearly mov'd to win her. The musty" mouth of hist'ry doth not mention; And thereforel can't tell but by invention. One day, as he was making love and praying. And pious Aves, thick as herrings, saying. And damned sins so manifold confessing, He drew, as if to whisper, very near, And twitch'd a pretty di'mond from lier ear. Instead of taking the good lady's blessing. Then off he set, with nimble shanks. Nor once turn'd back to give her thanks: A hue and cry the tliicf pursn'd, AVho, to his cost, still understood That he was not arriv'd beyond the paw Ui' tluit same long-lcgg'd tiger, christen'( d Law. 245 With horror did his judges quake: As for the tender conscienc'd jury. They doom'd him quickly to the stake. Such was their dev'hsh pious fury. However, after calling him hard names, They ask'd if he liad aught in vindication. To save iiis wretched body'from the flames. And sinful soul from terrible damnation ? The soldier answer'd them with much sang froid, AVhich seem'd to shew of sin a conscience void. That, if they meant to kill him, they might kill: As for the di'mond which they found about him. He hop'd their worships would by no means doubt him. That madam gave it him from pure good will. The answer turn'd both judge and jury pale: I'he punishment was for a time cieferr'd. Until his Holiness should hear the tale. And his infallibility be heard. The pope to all his counsellors made known This strange affair to cardinals and friars. Good pious gentlemen, who ne'er were known To act like hypocrites, and thieves, and liars. The question now was banded to and fro. If Mary had the pow'r to give or no. That Mary could not give it, was to say. That wonder-working lady wanted pow'r — This was a stumbling-block that stopp'd the way — This made pope, cardinal, and friars, low'r. To save the virgin's credit, lo ! And keep seciue the di'monds that were left. They said sh<; might, indeed, the gem bestow. And, consequently, it might be no theft: ^3 24 S But then they pass'd immediately an act. That ev'ry one discover'd in the iact Of taking presents from the virgin's hand. Or from the saints of any land. Should know no mercy, but be led to slaughter^ Flay'd here, and fry'd eternally hereafter. Ladies, I deem the moral much too clear To need poetical assistance ; Which bids you not let men approach too near. But keep the saucy fellows at a distance ; Since men, you find, so bold, are apt to seize Jewels from ladies, e'en upon their knees. >^" INVITATION TO THE FEATHERED RACE. Greaves, AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows, I'Vesh verdure decks the grove; Each bird with Atrnal rapture glows. And tunes his notes to love. Ye gentle warblers ! hither fly. And shun the noon-tide heat: My shrubs a cooling shade supply, jVIy groves a safe retreat. Here freely hop from spray to spray. Or weave the mossy nest ; Here rove and sing the live-long day; At night here sweetly rest. Amid this cool translucent rill. That trickles down the glade. Here batiie your plumes, here drink your fill. And revel ia the shade. I 247 No school-boy rude, to mischief prone. E'er shews his ruddy face. Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone. In this sequester'd place, Hither the vocal thrush repairs ; Secure the linnet sings ; The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares. To clog her painted wings. Sad Philomel ! ah, quit thy haunt. Yon distant woods among. And round my friendly grotto chant Thy sweetly-plaintive song. . Let not the harmless redbreast fear. Domestic bird ! to come And seek a sure asylum here. With one that loves his home. My trees for you, ye artless tribe ! Shall store "of friiit preserve: O let me thus your friendship bribe ; Come, feed without reserve. For you these cherries I protect ; To you these plums belong : Sweet is the fruit that you have peck'd ; But sweeter I'ar your song. Let, then, this league betwixt us made Our mutual int'rests guard : Mine be the gift of fruit and shade ; Your songs be my reward. "3G>OOS«« 248 ON BEAUTY. Shakespeare, Beauty's but a vain, a fleeting good, A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly ; A flow'r that dies when almost in the bud, A brittle glass that breaketh presently. . A fleeting good, a gloss, a glass, a flow'r. Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. As goods when lost, we know, are seldom found. As fading gloss no rubbing can excite ; As flow'rs, when dead, are "trampled on the ground. As broken glass no cement can unite ; So beauty, blemish'd once, is ever lost. In spite of physic, painting, pains, and cost. DESCRIPTION OF LONDON. Anonymous. HOUSES, churches, mixt together, Streets unpleasant in all weather ; Prisons, palaces contiguous. Gates, a bridge, the Thames irriguous. Gaudy things, enough to tempt ye. Showy outsides, insides empty;. Bubbles, trades, mechanic arts. Coaches, wheelbarrows, and carts; "Warrants, bailiiis, bills unpaid, Lords of laundresses afraid ; Rogues, that nightly rob and shoot men, Hangmen, aldermen, and footmen ! Law} ers, poets, priests, physicians } ]Sloble, simple, all conditions; 249 Worth beneath a thread-bare cover, Villany bedaub'd all over ; Women— black, red, fair, and gray. Prudes, and such as never pray ; Handsome, ugly, noisy, still ; Some that will not, some that will ; Many a beau without a shilling. Many a widow not unwilling ; _ Manv a bargain, if you strike it. This "is London.— How d'y^ like it? ELEGY, WRITTEN ON THE PLAINS OF FONTENOY. Anna Matilda. CHTLL blows the blast, and twilight's dewy hand Draws in the west her dusky veil away ; A deeper shadow steals along the land, , And nature muses at the death of day. Near this bleak waste no friendly mansion rears Its walls, where mirth and social joys resound. But each sad object melts the soul to tears, While horror treads the sacred bones around. As thus alone and comfortless I roam. Wet with the drizzling show'r, I sigh sincere; I cast a fond look tow'ds my native home, And think what valiant Britons perish'd here. Yes, the time was, nor very far the date. When carnage here her crimson toil began ; When nations' standards wav'd in threatning state^ And man the raurd'rer met the murd'fer man. 250 For war is murder, tho' the voice of king's Has styl'cl it justice, stvl'd it glory too ; _ Yet, from worse motives fierce ambition springs. And there fix'd prejudice is all we view ! But sure 'tis Heav'ns immutable decree. For thousands ev'ry age in fight to fall ; Some nat'ral cause prevails we cannot see. And that is fate which we ambition call. O let th' aspiring warrior think with grief. That as produc'd by chymic art refin'd ; So glitt'ring conquest from the laurel-leaf Extracts a gen'ral poison for mankind. Here let me wander at the midnight hour. These morbid rains, these gelid gales to meet ; And mourn, like me, the ravages of pow'r! And feel, like me, that vict'ry is defeat ! Nor deem, ye vain ! that e'er I mean to swell My feeble verse with many a sounding name; Of such the mercenary bard may tell. And call such dreary desolation, fame. The genuine muse removes the thin disguise That cheats the world, whene'er she deigns to sing; And full as meritorious, to her eyes, Seems the poor soldier, as the mighty king. Yet much my beating breast respects the brave ; Too well 1 love them not to mourn their late: Whv should they seek for greatness in the grave? Their hearts are noble, and in life they're great. Nor think 'tis but in war the brave excel- To valor ev'ry virtue is ally'd. Here faithful friendship 'mid the battle fell. And love, true love, in bitter anguish dy'd. 251 Alike T shun hi lal)Our'd strain to show, ' How Britain more than triumph'd, tho' she fled ; Where Louis stood ; where stalk'd the cokmin slow ; I turn from these, and dwell upon the dead. , Alas ! the solemn slaughter I retrace. That checks life's current circling thro' my veins, Bath'd in moist sorrow many a beauteous face. And gave a grief, perhaps, that still remains. I can no more — an agony too keen Absorbs my senses, and my mind subdues: Hard were that heart which here could beat serene, Or the just tribute of a. pang refuse. But lo ! thro' yonder op'ning cloud afar Shoots the bright planet's sanguinary ray. That bears thy name, fictitious lord o'f war I And with red lustre guides my lonely way. Then, Fontenoy, farewel ! yet much I fear (Wherever chance my course compels) to find Discord and blood— the thrilling sounds 1 hear ; " The noise of battle hurtles in the wind." From barb'rous Turkey to Britannia's shore Opposing int'rests into rage increase ; Destruction rears her sceptre, tumults roar. Ah ! where shall helpless man i-epose in peace? THE WINTER'S DAY. Anonymous. WHEN raging storms deform the air. And clouds of snow descend, And the wide landscape, bright and fair, No deepen'd colours blend ; 252 When biting frost ruJes on the -wind. Bleak from the north and east. And %vealth is at its ease reclin'd, Prepar'd to laugh and feast ; When the poor trav'ler treads the plain. All dubious of his way. And crawls with night-increasing pain. And dreads the parting day ; When poverty, in vile attire. Shrinks irom the biting blast. Or hove/s o'er the pigmy fire. And fears it will not last; When the fond mother hugs her child Still closer to her breast. And the poor infant, frost-beguil'd. Scarce feds that it is prest ; Then let the bounteous hand extend Its blessings to the poor, Kor spurn the wretched while they bend All suppliant at your door. FIIOM EDWIN & ELTRL'DA, A LEGENDARY TALE, By Miss Williams. SnpWAS easy in her looks to trace JL An emblem of her mind : There dwelt each mild attractive grace. Each gentle grace combin'd. Soft as the dews of morn arise. And on the pale flow'r gleam. So soft, so sweet, her metting eyes With love and pity beam. As, far retir'd, the lonely flow'r Smiles in the desert vale, And blows, its balmy sweets to pour Upon the flying gale ; So liv'd in solitude unseen This lovely peerless maid ; So sweetly grac'd the vernal scene. And blossom'd in the shade. Yet love could pierce the lone recess. For there he loves to dwell ; He scorns the noisy crowd to bless. And seeks the lowly cell : There only his resistless dart In all its pow'r is known ; His empire sways each willing heart; They live to iove alone. 254 E'lwin, of ev'iy grace possess'd. First taiiglit lier heart to prove That genllest passion of the breast- To feel the pow'r of love. Tho' few the pastures he possess'd, Tho' scanty was his store, Tho' wealth ne'er swell'd his hoarded chest, Edwin could boast of more. Edwin could boast the lib'ral mind. The gen'rous ample heart, And ev'ry virtue Heav'n inclin'd. Or bounty could impart. The maxims of this servile age. The moan, the sellish care. The sordid views that now engage The mercenary pair. Wliom riches can unite or part. To them was all unknown ; For them the sympathetic Jieart Mas link'd by love alone. They little knew that wealth liad pow'r To make the constant rove ; They little knew the splendid dow'r Could add a bliss to love. They little knew the human breast Could pant for sordid ore; Or, of a faithful heart possess'd. Could ever wisli for more. And tho' her peerless beauty warms His heart, to love iiulin'd. Not Irss he fell the lasting charms — The beauties of her mind. 255 Not less his gentle soul approv'd The virtues glowing there ; For surely virtue, to be lov'd. Needs only to appear. The sweets of dear domestic bliss Each circling hour beguil'd ; And meek-ey'd hope and inward peace On the lone mansion smil'd. Oft, o'er the daisy-sprinkled mead. They wander'd far away. Some lambkin to the fold to lead. That haply chanc'd to stray. Her heart, where pity lov'd to dwell. With sadness oft was rung ; For the bruis'd insect, as it fell, Her soft tear trembling hung. As roving o'''r the flow'ry waste A sigh would heave her breast. The while her gentle hand replac'd The linnet's falling nest. Then would she seek the vernal bow'r. And haste with tender care To nurse some pale declining fiow'r. Some op'ning blossom rear. And oft with eager step she flies To cheer the lonely cot, "Where the poor widow pours her sighs. And wails her hapless lot. The weeping mother's trembling knees Her lisping infants clasp ; Their much-imploring look she sees, She feels their tender grasp. Y a Wild throbs her aching bosom swell ; They mark the bursting sigh — (Nature has Ibrni'cl the soul to feel) They weep, unknowing why. Her hands the lib'ral boon impart. And much her tear avails To soothe the mourner's bursting heart. Where feeble utt'rance fails. On the pale cheek, \where hung the tear Of agonising woe, She bids the gush of joy rise there. The teiir of rapture liow. If greater plenty to impart She e'er would Heav'n implore, 'Twas only that her ample heart Still panted to do more. Thus soft the gliding moments flew (Tho' love would court their stay). While some new virtue rose to view. And marked each fleeting day. Peace, longcondemn'd the world to roam. Like tlie poor wand'ring dove. Here softly resting found a home. And wis'h'd no more to rove. The youthful poet's soothing dream Of voutlifui ages past. The N"l use's fond ideal theme ^^'as rcalis'd at last ! >-«C5«0*^5)'< 257 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. Ogilvie. HAIL, queen of thought sublime ! propitious pow'r, AVlio o'er th' unbounded waste art joy'd to roam. Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour Her pale rays tremble through the dusky gloom. O bear me, goddess, to thy peaceful seat ! Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd. Or lodg'd where mountains screen thy deep retreat. Or wand'ring wild thro' Chili's boundless shade. Say, rove thy steps o'er Lybia's naked waste ? Or seek some distant solitary shore ? Or on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd, Dost sit and hear the solemn thunder roar? Fix'd on some hanging rock's projected brow, Hear'st thou low murmurs from the distant dome? Or stray thy feet where pale dejected woe Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb ? Hark ! yon deep echo strikes the trembling ear ! See, night's dun curtain wraps the darksome pole! O'er heav'ns blue arch yon rolling worlds appear. And rouse to solemn thought th' aspiring soul. O lead my steps, beneath the moon's dim ray, \\'here Tadmor stands all desart and alone ; While, from her lime-shook tow'rs, the bird of prey- Sounds thro' the night her long-resounding moan. Or bear me far to von dark dismal plain, Wliere fell-ey'd tigers, all athirst for blood. Howl to the desert ; while the horrid lr:iin lloams o'er the wild where once great Babel stood I v3 258 That queen of nations ! whose superior call Rous'd the broad east, and bade her arms destroy ! "When warni'd to niirtli, let jiidgmcint mark her fall. And deep rellection dash the lip of joy. Short is ambition's gay deceitful dream, Tho' wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow; Cahn tlioiiglit dispels the visionary scheme, And time's cold breath dissolves" the with'ring bough. Slow as some miner saps th' aspiring tow'r. When working secret with destructive aim ; Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour. But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name. Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man ; Full in the draught be keen-ey'd Hope pourtray'd ; Let llutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan : I'litn give one touch, and dash it deep with shade. Beneath the plume that flames with glancing rays Be Care's deep engine on the soul imprest ; Bcncatl) tlie helmet's keen refulgent blaze Let Crief sit pining in the canker'd breast- Let r.ove's gay sons, a smiling train, appear, \\ ith Beauty pierc'd, yet heedless of the dart; \V liile, closely couch'd, pale sick'ning Envy near Whets her fell sling, and points it at the heart. Perch'd like a raven on some blasted yew, Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin ; Scar'd— while her eves survey th' etherial blue. Let lleav'ns strong light'ning burst the dark within. » Then paint, impending o'er the madd'ning deep. That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vainly brave. Stood, lirm of soul ; then from the dizzy steep Impetuous sprung, and dash'd the boiling wave. 259 Here, wrapt in studious thought, let Fancy rove. Still prompt to mark Suspicion's secret snare ; To see where Anguish nips the bloom of Love, Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care. Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame. Let judging Reason draw the veil aside ; Or fir'd with envy at some mighty name. Read o'er the monument that tells — He dy'd. What are the ensigns of imperial sway? What all that Fortune's lib'ral hand has brought? Teach they the voice to pour a sweeter lay ? Or rouse the soul to more exalted thought? When bleeds the heart, as Genius blooms unknown ? When melts the eye o'er Virtue's mournful bier? Not Wealth, but Pity, swells the bursting groan; Not Pow'r, but whisp'ring Nature, prompts the tear. Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault, Where the worm fattens on some scepter'd brow. Beneath that roof, ^vith sculptur'd marble fraught. Why sleeps unmov'd the breathless dust below ? Sleeps it more sweetly than the simple swain. Beneath some mossy turf that rests his head ? Where the lone widow tells the night her pain. And eve, withdewy tears, embalms the dead. The lily, screen'd from ev'ry ruder gale. Courts not the cuitur'd spot where roses spring; But blows neglected in the peaceful vale, And scents the zephyr's balmy-breathing wing. The busts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r. Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears subside? Can these avail in that tremendous hour, When Death's cold hand congeals the purple tide? 260 Ah no ! the mighty names are heard no more : Pride's tlioiight sublime, and Beauty's kindling bloom. Serve but to sport one llying moment o'er. And swell with pompous verse the scutcheon'd tomb. For me — may Passion ne'er my soul invade, Nor be the whims of tow'ring Frenzy giv'n ; Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful sliade. Where Contemplation wings the soul to Heav'n ! O guard me safe from Joy's enticing snare ! With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide. The poison'd breath of slow-consuming Care, The noise of Folly, and the dreams of Pride. But oft, when midnight's sadly-solemn knell Sounds loud and distant from the sky-topp'd toVr, Calm let me sit in Prosper's lonely cell. Or walk with Milton tlirough tlie dark obscure. Thus, when the transient dream of life is fled. May some sad friend recal the former years ; Then, stretch'd in silence o'er my dusty bed. Pour the warm gusli of sympallietic tears. ELEGY, IN IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. Smolkt. WHERE now are all my fiatt'ring dreams of joy? Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest : Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, Heart-knawing cares corrode my pensive breast! 261 Let hapi)y lovers fly where pleasures call, With festive souls beguile the fleeting hour. Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball. Or press her wanton in love's roseate bow'r. For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead, Wliere fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue. Where damps hang moiild'ring on tlie ivy'd wall. And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew: There, leagu'd with hopeless anguish and despair, A while in silence o'er my fate repine: Then, with a long farewel to love and care. To kindred dust my weary limbs consign. W'ilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love sincere. And bid the turf lie easy on my breat ? THE HAPPY LIFE. W. Thompson. A BOOK, a friend, a song, a glass, A chaste, yet laughter-loving lass. To mortals various joys impart. Inform the sense, and warm the heart. Thrice happy they who careless laid Beneath a kiiid-embow'ring shade, AVith rosy wreaths their temples crown. In rosy wine their sorrows drown. 26'2 Mean while the Muses wake the lyre. The Graces modest mirth inspire. Good natur'd humour, liarmless wit, Well-temper'd joys, nor grave nor light. Let sacred Venus, witli her heir. And dear lanthe too be there. Music and wine in concert move With beauty and reiining love. There Peace shall spread her dove-like wing. And bid her olives round us spring ; There trutli shall reign, a sacred guest ! And innocence, to crown the rest. Begone, ambition, riches, toys. And splendid cares, and guilty joys. Give me a book, a friend, a glass. And a chaste laughter-loving lass. THE MILKMAID. Jdtm. 'nPwas at the cool and fragrant hour, JL When ev'ning steals upon tlie sky. That Lucy sought a woodbine grove. And Colin taugiit the grove tosigh ; The sweetest damsel siie, on all the plains; The softest lover he, of all the swains. He took her by the lily hand. Which oft had made the milk look pale; Her cheeks with modest roses glow'd. As thus he breath'd liis tender tale: The list'ning streams awhile forgot to flow. The doves to murmur, and the breeze to blow. 263 *' O smile, my love ! thy dimply smiles Shall lengthen on the setting ray : Thus let us melt the hours in bliss. Thus sweetly languish life away : Thus sigh our souls into each other's breast. As true as turtles, and as turtles blest ! So may thy cows for ever crown With floods of milk thy brimming pail ; So may thy cheese all cheese surpass; So may thy butter never fail : So may each village round this truth declare. That Lucy is the fairest of the fair. Thy lips with streams of honey flow. And pouting swell with healing dews: More sweets are blended in tliy breath Than all thy father's fields diffuse. Though thousand flow'rs adorn each bloom- "ing field. Thy lovely cheeks more blooming beauties yield. Too long mv erring eyes had rov'd On city dames, in scarlet drest. And scorn'd the charfnful village maid. With innocence and grogram blest: Since Lucy's native graces fiU'd my sight. The painted city dames no more delight. The speaking purple, when you blush. Out-glows the scarlet's deepest dye ; Ko di'monds tremble on thy hair. But brighter sparkle in thine eye. Trust me, the smiling apples of thine eyes Are tempting as were those in paradise. The tuneful linnet's warbling notes Are grateful to the sheperd swain ; To drooping plants and thirsty fields. The silver drops of kindly rain. To blossoms clews, as blossoms to the bee. So lliou, my Lucy ! only art to me. But mark, my love, yon western clouds ; AVith lic[i.'.id gold they seem to burn : The ev'ning star will soon appear. And o\ ertlow his silver urn. Soft stillness now, and falling dews invite To taste the balmy blessings of the night. Yet, ere we part, one boon I crave. One tender boon — nor this deny — O promise that you still will love, O promise tliis f or else I die: Deatli else my only remedy must jjrove : I'll cease to live whene'er you cease to love." She sigh'd and bUish'd a sweet consent ; Joyous he thank'd her on his knee. And warmly press'd her virgin lip. "Was ever youth so blest as he ! The moon, to light the lovers homeward, rose. And Philomela luU'd them to repose. 26.". ELEGY, ox A PILE Of RUIN'S. Cunningham. IN llie full prospect yonder hill commands. O'er barren heaths and cultivated plains. The vestige of an ancient abbey stands. Close by a ruin'd castle's rude remains. Half buried, ther?, lie many a broken bust; And obelisk, and urn, o'erthrown by time; And many a cherub, there, descends in dust. From the rent roof and portico sublime. The rivulets, oft frighted at the sound Of fragments tumbling from thetow'rs on high. Plunge to their source in secret caves profound. Leaving their banks and pebbly bott oms dry. Where rev'rend shrines in Gothic grandeur stood. The nettle, or the noxious night-shade spreads; And ashlings, wafted from the neighb'ring wood. Thro' the worn turrets weave their trembling heads. There contemplation, to the crowd unknown. Her attitude compos'd, and aspect sweet. Sits musing on a monumental stone. And points to the 7nejneuto at her feet. Soon as sage ev'ning check'd day's sunny pride, I left the mantling shade, in moral mood ; And seated by the maid's sequester'd side, Sigh'd, as the mould'ring monuments she view'd. z 2(56 Inexorably calm, with silent pace, Ilerel'imc has pass'd — vvliat ruin marks his way! This pile, now crumbling o'er its hallow'd base, Turn'd not his step, nor could his course delay. Religion rais'd her supplicating eyes In vain ; and melody her song sublime ; In vain Philosophy, with maxims wise. Would touch the cold unfeeling heart of Time. Yet the hoar tyrant, tho' not mov'd to spare, Kelented when he struck its fmish'd pride ; And partly the rude ravage to repair, The tott'ring tow'rs with twisted ivy ty'd. How solemn is the cell o'ergrown with moss. That terminates tlie view yon cloister'd way! In the crush'd wall, a time-corroded cross, Religion-like, stands moidd'ring in decay. AVhere the mild sun, thro' faint encypher'd glass, lUum'd with mellow light yon dusky aisle. Many wrapt hours might meditation pass. Slow moving Hwixt the pillars of the pile. And Piety, with mystic-meaning beads. Bowing' to saints, on ev'ry side inurn'd. Trod oft the solitary path that leads Where now the sacred altar lies o'erturn'd. Through the grey grove, beneath those with'ring trees, 'Mongst a rude group of monuments, appears A marbie-imag'd matron on her knees. Half wasted, like a Niobe in tears: Low levell'd in the dust her darling's laid ! Death pity'd Jiot tlie pride of youthful bloom, Nor could maternal piety dissuade, Dr soften the fell tvrant of the tomb. 267 The relics of a mitred saint may rest, Where, mould'ring in the niche, his statue stands; Now nameless as the crowd that kiss'd his vest. And crav'd the benediction ot" his hands. Near the brown arch, redoubling yonder gloom. The bones of an illustrious chieftain lie ; As, trac'd among the fragments of his tomb. The tropliies of a broken fame imply. Ah ! what avails, that o'er the vassal plain His rights and rich demesnes extended wide ! That honor and her kniglits compos'd his train. And chivalry stood marshall'd by his side! Tho' to the clouds his castle seem'd to climb. And iVown'd defiance on the desp'rate foe ; Though deem'd invincible, the conqu'ror Time Levell'd tlie i'abric, as the founder, low. "Where the liglit lyre gave many a soft'ning sound, Ravens and rooks, "the birds of discord, dwell ; And where society sat sweetly crown'd Eternal solitude has iix'd her cell. The lizard, and the lazy lurking bat Inhabit now, perhaps, the painted room, "Wliere the sage matron and her maidens sat. Sweet singing at the silver-working loom. The traveller's bewilder'd on a waste ; And the rude winds incessant seem to roar. Where, in his groves, with arching labors grac'd. Young lovers often sigh'd in days of yore. His aqueducts, that led the limpid tide To pure canals — a crystal cool supply ! In the deep dust their barren beauties hide : Time's thirst, unquenchable, has drain'd them drv. » 268 Though his rich hours in revelry were spent. With Comus, and the laughter-loving crew; And the sweet brow of beauty, still unbent, Brighteu'd his fleecy moments as they tlew. Fleet are the fleecy moments ; fly they must ; Not to be stay'd by mask or midnight roar ! Nor shall a pulse among that mouUrrmg dust Beat wanton at the smiles of beauty more. Can the deep statesman, skill'd in great design. Protract, but for a day, precarious breath ? Or tiie tun'd follower of the sacred nine Soothe, with his melody, insatiate death. No — though the palace bar her golden gate, Or monarchs-})!ant ten thousand guards around; Unerring, and unseen, the shaft ot'^fate Strikes the devoted victim to the around. What then avails ambition's wide-stretch'd wing, The schoolman's page, or pride of beauty's bloom. The crape-clad hermit, and the rich-rob'd king, Levell'd, lie mi\t promiscuous in the tombi The Macedonian monarch, wise and good. Bade, when the morning's rosy reign becan. Courtiers sliould call, as round his couch they stood, Philip ! remember, thou'rt no more than man. ** Tho' glory spread thy name from pole to |)ole; " Tho' thou art merciful, and brave, and just ; " Philip, reflect ! tiiou'rt posting to the goal, " Where mortals mix in undislinguish'd dust!" So Saladin, for arts and arms renown'd, (Kgypt and Syria's wide domains subdu'd) Eeturning with impevial trimnphs crown'd, Sigh'd, when the perishable pomp he view'd : ^69 And as lie rode, high in his regal car, III all the purple pride of conquest drest; Conspicuous, o'er the triumphs gain'd in war, riac'd, pendent on a spear, his burial vest : While thus the herald cry'd — " Tliis son of powV, *' This Saladin, to whom the nations bow'd, " May, in the space of one revolving hour, " 13oast of no other spoil but yoncfer shroud !" Searcii where ambition rag'd, with rigor steel'd, A\'here slaughter, like the rapid lightning, ran. And say, while mem'ry weeps the blood-stain'd ' field. Where lies the chief, and where the common man? Vain, then, are pyramids, and motto'd stones. And monumental trophies rais'd on high f For Time confounds them with the crumbling bones. That, mix'd in hasty graves, unnotic'd lie. Hitlier let lux'ry lead her loose-rob'd train ; Here llutter pride, on purple-painted wings! And from the moral prospect learn— how vain The wish that sighs for sublunary things Z3 270 THE PICTURE. Idem. A PORTRAIT, at my lord's command. Completed by a curious hand ; I'or nabblers in the nice viriu, His lordship set the piece to view; Bidding their connoissenrships tell AVJiether the work were tinish'd well. Why (says the loudest) — on my word, 'Tis not a likeness, good my lord ; Nor, to be plain, for speak I must. Can I pronounce one feature just. Another effort strait Avas made. Another portraiture essay'd ; The judges were again besought Each to deliver what he thought. Worse than the first — the critics bawl; O what a mouth ! how monstrous small * Look at the cheeks — how lank and thin I See, w hat a most prepost'rous chin ! After remonstrance made in vain, I'll, says the painter, once again, (If my good lord vouchsafe to sit) Try for a more successful hit ; ]f you'll to-morrow deign to call, AVe'll have a piece to please you all. To-morrow comes — a picture's plac'd JJel'ore those spurious sons of taste — In their opinions all agree, 'J his is the vilest of the three. " Know, to confute your envious pride, (His lordihip iVom the canvas cry'd) 271 " Know, that it is my real face, " Wliere you could no resemblance trace I " I've try'd you by a lucky trick, " And prov'd your genius to the quick. <' Void of all judgment, justice, sense,^ " Out, ye pretending varlets ! — hence I The connoisseurs depart in haste, Despis'd, detected, and disgrac'd. THE TEAKS OF SCOTLAND. WRITTEN IN THE VEAR I746. Smolld, MOURN, hapless Caledonia ! mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! Thy sons, for valor long renown'd. Lie slaughter'd on their native ground ; Thy hospitable roofs no more, Livite the stranger to the door; In smoky ruins sunk they lie. The monuments of cruelty. The wretched owner sees afar His all become the prey of war ; Bethinks him of his babes and wife. Then smites his breast, and curses life. Thy swains are faniish'd on the rocks. Where once they fed their wanton flocks: Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain ; Thy infants perish on the plain. What boots it, then, in ev'ry clime, Through the wide-spreaduig waste ot timc^ Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise. Still shone with undiminish'd blaze ? 272 Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke. Thy neck is bended to the yoke, M'hat foieign arms could never quell By civil rage and rancor fell. The rnral pipe and merry lay No more shall cheer the "happy day ; No social scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night : No strains, but those of sorrow, flow. And nought be heard but sounds of woe ; '\\'hile the pale phantoms of the slain Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. Oh, baneful cause ! oh, fatal morn ! Accurs'd to ages yet unborn ; The sons against "their father stood. The parent shed liis children's blood ; Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd. The victor's soul was not appeas'd : The naked and forlorn must feel Devouring flames and murd'ring steel ! The pious mother, doom'd to death. Forsaken wanders o'er the heath, The bleak wind whistles round her head. Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; Bereft of shelter, food, and friend. She views the shades of night descend ; And strctch'd beneath th' inclement skies, AV eeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. While the warm blood bedews my veins. And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, Kesentment of my country's fate Witiiin my breast shall filial beat; And, spite of her insulting foe. My sympathising verse shall llow: " Alourn, hapless Caledonia ! mourn " Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn !" 273 THE LOVER AND FRIEND. Moore. THOU, for whom my lyre I string Of whom I speak, and think, and sing ! Thou constant object of my joys. Whose sweetness ev'ry wish employs ! Thou dearest of thy sex, attend. And hear tlie Lover and the Friend. Fear not the poet's flatt'ring strain ; No idle praise my verse shall stain ; The lowly numbers shall impart The laithful dictates of my heart. Nor humble modesty offend. And part the Lover "from the Friend. Not distant is the crnel day That tears me from my hopes away : Then frown not, fairest, if 1 try To steal the moisture from your eye. Or force your heart a sigh to send. To mourn the Lover and the Friend. No perfect joy my life e'er knew. But what arose from love and you ; Nor can I fear another pain Than your unkindness or disdain : Then let your looks their pity lend, To cheer the Lover and the Friend. Whole years I strove against the flame. And sutfer'd ills that want a name; Yet still the painful secret kept. And to myself in silence wept ; Till grown unable to contend, 1 own'd the Lover and tlie Friend, 274 I saw you still. Your gen'rous heart In all my sorrows bore a part ; Yet, while your eyes with pity glow'd. No words of hope your tongue bestow'd. But mildly bade me cease to blend Tlie name of Lover with the Friend. Curs'd be all wealth that can destroy My utmost hope of earthly joy ! Thy gifts, O fortune ! I resign. Let her and poverty be mine ! And ev'ry year that life shall lend Shall bless the Lover and the Friend. In vain, alas ! in vain T strive To keep a dying hope alive j The last sad remedy remains, 'Tis absence that must heal my pains. Thy image from my bosom rend. And force the Lover from the Friend. Vain thought ! tho' seas between us roll. Thy love is rooted in my soul ; The vital blood that warms my heart AVilh thy idea must depart. And death's decisive stroke must end At once the Lover and the I'riend. EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. Anonymous, TO the dark and silent tomb Soon I hasted from the womb ; Scarce the dawn of life began Ere I mcasiir'd out my span. 275 I no smiling pleasure knew; I no gay delights could view : Joyless sojourner was I — Only born to weep and die. Happy infant ! early blest ! Rest, in peaceful slumber, rest ; Early rescu'd from the cares Which increase with growing years. No delights are -worth thy stay, Smiling as they seem, and gay ; Short and sickly are they aU ; Hardly tasted ere they pall. All our gaiety is vain, All our laughter is but pain: Lasting only, and divine. Is an innocence like thine. ORRA MOOR. FROM THE LAPLAND TONGUE. Steele. THOU rising sun, whose gladsome ray Invites my fair to rural play. Dispel the mist, and clear the skies. And bring my Orra to my eyes. Oh ! were I sure my dear to view, I'd climb that pine-tree's topmost bough. Aloft in air that quiv'ring plays, And round and round for ever gaze. My Orra Moor, where art thou laid ? What wood conceals my sleeping maid ' 276 Fast by the roots enrag'd I'd tear The trees that hide my promis'd fair. Oh ! could I ride on clouds and skies. Or on the raven's pinions rise ! Ye storks, ye swans, a moment stay. And waft a lover on his way ! My bliss too long my bride denies. Apace the wasting summer flies : Nor yet the wintry blasts I fear, Nor storms or night shall keep me here. What may for strength with steel com- pare ? Oh 1 Love has fetters stronger far: By bolts of steel are limbs confin'd. But cruel Love enchains the mind, IS'o longer, then, perplex thy breast; When thoughts torment, the first are best ; 'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay ; Away to Orra ! haste away ! • »M9Atf<»4( TBUE BENEVOLENCE. Anonymous. THE otlici- day, says Ned to Joe, (Ned Hedlani's confines groping) Whene'er I hear tiie cries of woe. My hand is always open. I own, says Joe, that, to the poor (You prove it ev'ry minute) Your hand is open, to be sure ; But, then, there's nothing in it. 277 DINAH ; OR, MY LADY'S HOUSEKEEPER. Pder Pindar. JUST fortv-five was Mistress Dinah's age, My lady's housekeeper— stiff, dry, and sage. Quoting old proverbs oft, with much formality; A pair of tianiiel cheeks compos'd her face; Hed were her eyes, her nose of snipe-bill race. Which took a deal of snuff, of Scottish quality. Her small prim mouth bore many a hairy sprig, l^esembling much the bristles on a pig : She likewisti held a handsome length of chui, Tap'ring away to sharpness, like a pin. Her teeth so yellow much decay bespake. As ev'ry other tooth her mouth had fled ; Thus, when she grinn'd, they seem'd a garden rake. Or sheep's bones planted round a flow'ret bed. Her hair Qdep'd carrots by the wits) was red. Sleek comb'd upon a roll around her head ; Moreover comb'd up very close behind — No wanton ringlets waving in the wind. Upon her head a small mob-cap she plac'd, Of lawn so stiff, with large flow'r'd ribbon grac'd, Yclept a knot and bridle, in a bow. Of scarlet flaming, her long chin below, A goodly formal handkerchief of lawn. Around her scraggy neck, with parchment skin, Was fair and smooth, "with starch precision drawn, So that no prying eye might peep within. " A a 27ft Vet had it peep'd, it had e=;py'd no swell, No lovely swell — no more llian on a cat ; For, lo! was Dinah's neck (1 grieve to tell) As any tombstone, or a flounder, fiat. Now, on this handkerchief, so starch and white, ^Vas pinn'd a Barcelona, black and tight. A large broad-banded apron, rather short. Surrounded her long waist, with formal port. On week-days were black worsted mittens worn ; Black silk, on Sundays, did her arms adorn. Long, very long, was Mistress Dinah's waist; The stiff stay high before, for reasons chaste. A scarlet petticoat she gave to view — With a broad plaited back she wore a gown Of stuff, of yellow oft, and oft of brown, And oft of damask, well beflow'r'd with blue. Moreover, this same damask gown, or stuff. Had a large sleeve, and a long rullle cuff. Black worsted stockings on her legs she wore; IMack leather shoes too, which small inickles bore, Comjjos'd of shining silver, also square. Holding a pretty antiquated air. Shrill was her voice, that whistled thro' her beard ; And tunes, at times, were most discordant heard. Harsh grating on poor John the footman's ear: Harsh grating on the ears of housemaids fno, Postillion eke, who curs'd her for a shrew. And kitchen-wench, whom mis'ry taught to suear. All, all but Jehu, felt her pow'rful tongue, ^Vhose haj)picr ear was sooth'd by suectcr song. No coii)i)any but Ji^hu's did she keep, in horse-llesl), and a coach, profoundly deep: 279 My lady's coachman, stout, and young, and ruddy; Great friends were they !— full oft, indeed, toge- ther, They -walk'd, regardless of the wind and weather, So pleas'd each other's happiness to study. For friendship to a zephyr sinks a storm — Turns to a pigmy danger's giant form — Nought casts a dread on friendship's steady eye: Thus did the couple seek the darkest grove. Where silence, and sweet meditation, rove; Where Sol, intrusive, was forbid to pry. Greatly in sentences did she delight. So pious, putting people in the right ; And often in the pray'r-book would she look. Where matrimony was much thumb'd indeed, Because she oft'nest here God's word did read — Tlie sweetest page in all the blessed book. John Bunyan read she too, and Kempis Tom, Who plainly shew'd the way to kingdom-come. So modest was she, she got turn'd away Susan, the kitchen-wench, for harmless play With Dick the driver — likewise harmless Dick, Because he took from Susan's lips a kiss. Because too, Susan gave him up the bliss, Without a scream, a faint-fit, or a kick. If John tiie footman's eye on Lucy leer'd, iMy lady's maid, she"^watch'd him like a cat; And if the slightest word of love she heard, Quick in the lire, indeed, was all the fat. Off were the couple trundled — man and maid — John for a rogue, and Lucy for a jade. If e'er she heard of some forsaken lass. Who lost, by dire mishap, her maiden fame. At once she call'd her trollop, minx of brass. Strumpet, and ev'ry coarse opprobrious name. 260 So modest Dinah ! if she saw two cats Ogling and pawing witli tlieir pretty pats, Kissing, and squinting love, with frisking hops; Fir'd at the action, whut would Dinah do? ISlip down her hand, and slily lake her shoe. Then launch it, thund'riiig, at tlieir am'roiis chaps. Wit!i pigeons 'twas the same, and other birds — 7\11 who made love, came in for bitter words ; Poor simple souls ! amid the genial ray, ^\ hom simple nature calFd to simple play; But Dinrdi call'd it vile aduUeration, A wicked impudent abomination. It happen'd on a day that grievous cries, 13y Dinah pour'd, created great surprise — JU, very ill, in bed, alas! she lay : A dreadful colic — her good lady wept — Gave her rich cordials — to her berlside crept, \\ hen Dinah begg'd that she would go away. Down went my lady to the parlour strait, Fearful that Dinah soon would yield to fate ; And full of sorrow as my lady went, Sighs for her maid's recov'ry back she sent. Lo, Doctor Pestle comes to yield relief — He feels her pulse — is solemn, sage, and brief; Prescribeth for the colic — nought avails ; On Dinah, lo! the dire disorder gains; Stronger and faster (low the colic pains ; Fear, trembling, paleness, ev'ry soul assails. " Poor Dinah !" sisrhs each mouth around the o room, Join'd to a length'ning face of dread and gloom. At last, poor Dinah pours a death-like groan — A ghostly terror seizeth ev'ry one : Sly lady hears the cry, alas ! below — 281 She sends for doctor Pestle— Pestle strait Kuns to my lady—" Doctor, what's her tate? ^^ " Speaki is it"death, dear Doctor— yes, or no? " Not death, but life (cries Pestle), forc'd that squall ; *' A little Jehu's come to light— that's all. RELIGION AT SEA. Idem, I N ships of war, on Sunday, pray'rs are giv'n; ^ For, though so wicked, sailors think ot Heav n ; Particularly in a storm ; Where, if they iind no brandy to get drunk. Their souls are in a miserable funk ; Then vow they to th' Almighty to reform. If in his goodness only once, once more. He'll suffer tliem to clap one fcrot on shore. In calms, indeed, or gentle airs, ^ They ne'er on week-days pester Heav'n with pray rs; For 'tis amongst the tars a common saying, " Where there's no danger, there's no need of praying." On Sunday morning all were met, To hear the parson preach and pray. All but a boy, who, willing to forget That pray'rs were handing out, had stol'n away; And, thinking praying but an useless task. Had crawl'd, to take a nap, into a cask. The wnc/zer was found missing; and full soon The boatswain's cat sagacious smelt him out ; Cave him a clawing to some tune — This cat's a cousin-gennain to the knout. A 33 282 " Come out, you sculklnp; dog," the boatswain cry'd, " And save your daniu'd young sinful soul:" He then the moral-mending cat apply'd. And turn'd him like a badger from his hole. Sulky, the boy march'd on, nor seem'd to mind liim, Altho' the boatswain Hogging kept behind him: " Flog," crv'd the boy, " llog — curse me, flog away; " I'll "^0— but mind— G-d d-nm mc if I'll praj/." THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. Goldsmith. SECLUDED from domestic strife. Jack Book-worm led a college life; A fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke. And freshmen wond'red as he spoke. Such pleasures, unallay'd with care. Could any accident impair? Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six? O had the archer ne'er come down. To ravage in a country town ! Or l''lavia been content to stop At triumphs in a Fleet-street sliop. O had her eyes forgot to blaze. Or jat-k iiad wanted eyes to gaze! O — but let exclamation cease ; Jler presence banish'd all his peace. So, with decorum all things carry'd. Miss frown'd and blush'd, and then was iuarry'd. Need we expose to vulgar sight The raptures of the bridal night? Need we intrude on hallow'd ground. Or draw tlie curtains clos'd around? Let it suffice that each had charms ; He clasp'd a goddess in his arms ; And though she felt his usage rough. Yet in a man 'twas well enough. The honey-moon like light'ning flew. The second "brought its transports too ; A third, a fourth, were not amiss ; The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss : But when a twelvemonth pass'daway. Jack found his goddess made of clay ; Found half the charms that deck'd her" face Arose from powder, shreds, or lace ; But still the worst remain'd behind — That very face had robb'd her mind. Skiird in no other arts was she. But dressing, patching, repartee; And just as'humour rose or fell, Bv turns a slattern or a belle, 'tis true she dress'd with modern grace. Half naked at a ball or race ; But when at home, at board or bed. Five greasy night-caps wrapt her head. Could so much beauty condescend To be a dull domestic friend ? Could any curtain-lectures bring To decency so fine a thing ? In short, by night 'twas fits or fretting. By day 'twas gadding or coquetting. Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy ; The squire and captain took their stations^ And twenty otlier near relations; Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke A sigh in suffocating smoke ; 281 While all their hours were pass'd between Insulting repartee or spleen. Thus as her faults each day were known He thinks her features coarser grown ; He fancies ev'ry vice she shows. Or thins her lips, or points her nose : Whenever rage or envy rise. How wide her mouth ! how wild her eyes ! He knows not how — but so it is — Her face is grown a knowing phiz ; And, tho' her fops are wond'rous civil. He thinks her ugly as the devil. Novy, to perplex the ravell'd noose. As each a different way pursues, Wliile sullen or loquacious strife Promis'd to hold them on for life, That dire disease, whose ruthless pow'r Withers the beauty's transient flow'r ; Lo ! the small pox, whose Jiorrid glare Levell'd its terrors at the fair ; And, rifling ev'ry youthful grace. Left but the remnant of a face. Tiie glass, grown hateful to her sight. Reflected now a perfect fright : Each former art she vainly tries. To bring back lustre to her eyes. In vain she tries her paste and creams. To smooth her skin, or hide its scams ; Her country beaux, and city cousins. Lovers no more, flew off by dozens : The 'scjuire himself was seen to yield, Aiid e'en the captain quit the held. Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown. Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Iler present face surpass the old : 295 •With modesty her cheeks are dy'd j Humility displaces pride : For taudry finery is seen A person ever neatly clean : No more presuming on her sway. She learns good-naUire ev'ry day : Serenely gay, and strict in duty. Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty^ TO A LADY, WITH A RING. Anonymous. tc npilEE, Mary, with this ring I wed:"- JL So, sixteen years ago, I said — Beho d another ring! " for what?" I'o wed thee o'er again — why not? Witli that first ring I married youth, Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth ; Taste long admir'd ; sense long rev^r'd; And all my Molly then appear'd. If she, by merit since disclos'd, Prov'd twice the woman I suppos'd, I plead that double merit now. To justify a double vow. Here, then, to day (with faith as sure. With ardor as intense and pure. As when, amid the rites divine, I took thy troth, and plighted mine). To thee, sweet girl ! my second ring; A token and a pledge I bring ; With this I wed, till death us part. Thy riper virtues to my heart ; 28(5 Those virtues which, before untry'd. The wife has added to the bride ; Those virtues, whose progressive claim. Endearing wedlock's very name, My soul enjoys, my song approves, For conscience sake, as well as love's. For why ? — They shew me hour by hour. Honor's high thought, affection's pow'r. Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sentence ; And teach me all things but — Repentance. THE PROSTITUTE. Idem. AS travelers through life's vary'd paths we go, What sights we pass of wretchedness and woe ! Ah ! deep and many is the good man's sigh O'er thy hard suff'rings, poor Humanity! "What form is that vvliich wanders up and down ? Some poor unfriended orphan of tlie town 1 Heavy, indeed, hath ruthless sorrow prest ]ler cold hand at her miserable breast ; "Worn with disease, with not a friend to save. Or shed a tear of pity o'er ht;r grave ; The sickly lustre leaves her faded eye; She sinks in need, in pain, and infamy ! Ah ! happier innocent ! on whose chaste cheek The spotless rose of virtue blushes meek ; Come shed, in mercy shed, a silent tear. O'er a lost sister's soHtary bier ! She might have bloom'd, like thee, in vernal life; SJie might have bloom'd, the fond endearing wife j 2S7 The lender daughter ; — but want's chilling dew Blasted each scene hope's faithless pencil drew; No anxious friend sat weeping o'er her bed. Or ask'd a blessing on her wretched head. She never knew, tho' beauty mark'd her face, "What beggars woman-kind of ev'ry grace ! Ne'er clasp'd a mother's knees with fond delight. Or lisp'd to Heav'n her pray'r of peace at night ! Alas ! her helpless childhood was consign' d To the uufeeling mercy of mankind ! MY NATIVE HOME. Mrs. Robinson, ^'ER breezy hill or woodland glade. At morning's dawn or closing day. In summer's flaunting pomp array 'd. Or pensive moonlight's sdver gray, Tlie wretch in sadness still shall roam. Who wanders from his Native Home. While, at the foot of some old tree. As meditation soothes his mind, LuU'd by the hum of wand'ring bee. Or rippling stream, or whisp'ring wind. His vagrant fancy still shall roam. And lead him to his Native Home. Though Love a fragrant couch may weave. And Fortune heap tlie festive board, Still Mem'ry oft would turn to grieve. And Keason scorn the splendid hoard; While he, beneath the proudest dome. Would languish for liis Native Home. 288 To him the rushy roof is dear, And sweetly cahii the darkest glen : While Pomp, and Pride, and Pow'r appear. At best, the glitt'ring plagues of men ; Unsought by those that never roam. Forgetful of their Native Home. Let me to summer shades retire, With Meditation and the Muse; Or, round the social winter fire. The glow of temper'd mirth difiuse! Though winds may howl, and waters foam, I stiirshall bless my Native Home. And, oh ! when Youth's extatic hour. And Passion's glowing noon are past, Should Age behold the tempest low'r, Or sorrow blow its keenest blast. My shade, no longer doom'd to roam. Shall find the Grave a peaceful Home. 2S:' THE AFRICAN LOVERS. Anonymous, « WHERE the profound Atlantic Ocean roars. And sweeps tempestuous billows o'er the sand. Or wildly rages on Columbia's shores, Columbia, mart of wealth to ev'ry land ! Two Negro youths in former ages d^velt. In whom both nat'ral grace and beauty shone; With mutual zeal fair friendship's name they felt, Each felt his fellow's suff'rings as his own. 'B" Oft in the vale, by some sequester'd rill. Or where the rapid torrent roll'd along. And foaming rushes down the stony hill, \\'and'ring the massy cells and caves among; Or where the rural woodbine clasps the oak; Kimor and Maraton oft mourn'd their fate. Or listen'd to the raven's boding croak. Or heard the faithful turtle 'wail his mate. One morn, as through the fields they bent their way. Still and serene all nature seem'd around ; The soaring sky-lark tun'd his vocal lay. And, distant far, loud yell'd the coursing hound. At length, by Sol's meridian fervor led. They sought the covert of a shady wood. Where jessamines their How'ry odours shed. And gently trembled o'er the crystal flood. When, lo ! a damsel lay beside a brook. That pour'd its waters thro' tlie neighb'ring meads ; Sometimes upon its banks she cast a look. And seem'd to listen to the whisp'ring reeds. Bb 2i)0 Beauty sat smiling on her jetty face, Her form might with the straightest cocoa vie; And, as she mov'd, shone forth with ev'ry grace That wins the heart, and captivates the eye. KIMOR. Say, beauteous maid, what prompts you to remove Far from the pleasures of yon mirtliful cot ? Is it, my fair, to view the mirthful grove. Or taste the coolness of the peaceful grot ? AVhy seek you oft the unfrequented cell, M'here the swift streamlet rolls its wat'ry way, And plunging through the dark unfathom'd deli, I'lies from the fury of the solar ray ? There, 'lone, to pour, with many a piteous groan. Your plaintive sorrows to the list'ning air, AMiilst rocks return the solitary moan. And to the dreary Avilds sad echoes bear? Full many a lily, by yon river's side, Is horn to dj'oop, unnotic'd and unseen ; Full many a rose is doom'd to Avaste its pride, And dro]) its foliage on the wither'd green. MARATON. I,o ! the hoarse pigeon tunes his voice lo love ; And, hark! tht; crimson riiilomela sings ; O'er ( v'rv hush the Zephyrs softly move, And twitt'ring swallows skim with agile wings. 'Jhe iovous birds apjjoar (o glad (he vales, And "deck the sjjot that fair J.ouisa treads; Where'er she movt-s, mild breathe the genial gales, And eacii sweet llosv'r a sweeter fragrance sheds. 291 Thy breath more scented than the new-blown rose, And balmy lips, the buzzing bees invite; Thy glossy hue, that far transcends the sloe's, liow tine a contrast with those teeth so white ! LOUISA. Tho' truly grateful praise like yours must prove. Springing from two such fond and faithful hearts ; Yet cease, "kind youths ! restrain your tender love! No sweets for me your mutual flame imparts. But now the bat wheels low his mazy flight. Whilst not a single murmur meets the ear; The dusky trees declare th' approach of night, And sorrowing clouds distil the dewy tear. See the moon's orb, majestically bright. With placid rays expels th' incircling shades; The twinkling stars display their silver light. And rising splendor ev'ry mist pervades. The shadowy bushes tremble to the sight. And all the verdure of their branches fades. While whisp'ring breezes drowsy sleep invite, And gently rustle through the lonesome glades. Farewel ! for now I seek my lowly bed. And soon rcclin'd shall on its surface lay. Where slumbers soft may lull my weary'd head. And steep my soul in rest till dawn of day. Thus said, across the wood she took her way. And soon, with nimble steps, attain'd her home. Each warbling songster conch'd upon his spray. And lowing" herds had ceas'd the fields to roam. B b 2 292 And HOW the youths retite, with ling'ring tread, Bending their sad course o'er the desert heath ; The smoke quick rises from their humble shed. And waves around in many a spiry wreath : Hush'd into peaceful rest tlie Negroes sleep. And not a distant sound their dwelling shocks. Save v.'here tlie horrors of the foaming deep Dash mountain billows 'gainst the craggy rocks; Or where the mock-bird from the willow's height. Whose pliant boughs wave ceaseless to and fro. In solemn sadness, ail the live-long night. Tunes to tlie grove his plaintive tale of woe. Now ruddier skies proclaim the halcyon morn. The grazing sheep explore each verdant hill ; Sol's burnish'd rays the dewy vales adorn, Aud gently strike Jithwart the inurm'ring rill. Our youths no more with gladness hail'd the dawn, To" seek the place v. here fragrant flow'rets spring; No more, with blythsome step, tliey press'd tlie lawn. Or walk'd the grove, to hear the warblers sing: More suited now the dark sequester'd wood. The lonely cell, and unfrequented cave, "Where loudly roar'd the harsh discordant flood. Or foam' d old Ocean \vith his briny wave. Sad means, and vain, to soothe a troubled mind ! Here oft they wail'd their soi-rdws on tlie shore. Where iiercely howl'd tlie strong and boist'rous wind. And hollow cells return'd the solemn roar. Both equal felt the hapless flames of love. Both mourn'd incessant the past fatal day, AVhen, jjeaceful and serene they sought the grove. To shun the fury of the solar ray. 293 / But still their friendship was preferr'd to love (Tliat frieiiflship's but a name let none pretend). Nor wish'd its former ardor to remove ; Each of his charmer scorn'd to rob his friend. For both the tender-hearted maiden griev'd. Both equal dwelt within her troubled mind ; Oft in the lonely wood her bosom heav'd. And pour'd its sorrows to the passing wind. One peaceful eve, as in the silent dale She sought the comfort of a friendly shade. Where, soft and cool, the gently-breathing gale Wav'd the light boughs that crovvn'd the verdant glade ; The vivid landscape seem'd around to smile. And peace once more to cheer Louisa's breast ; Yet fortune, wont so often to beguile, Lull'd but her cares in momentary rest. Quick from the covert of a neighb'ring grove, To which the maid her sorrows would impart. The youths rush forth, thrice clasp her whom they love. Then plunge a dagger in the charmer's heart. So, where the limpid streamlet loves to glide. Or murm'ring roll along the shady dell. The lily droops, tliough deck'd in all her pride. And, broken, falls before the boist'rous gale. MARATON. She's gone ! — ah me ! — she yields her hapless life ! There the freed soul on airy pinions Hies ! Thus sinks the laml) beneath the slaughter'd knife; Thus, stain'd with gore, the bleeding victim dies. B b 3 Far from th^ realms of slavery she's gone, Joyous to seek and share those happy plains. Where gentler fates no more extort a groan, No more a sigh — for nought but gladnet-s reigns. kiMOR. Lo ! now the shades of night hang o'er the main ; Fierce-swelling waves roll to the sandy shore ; Thick darkening clouds pour down the beating rain; And angry winds like solemn thunders roar. Far from the tempest's rage, then, let us go. And hail the groves of bliss, where no control, No tyrant's horrid frown, the sign of woe. Can freeze the free-born current of the soul. Thus said, with fatal emulation fir'd. Each plung'd the pointed weapon in his breast. Then, with a sad, a deep-drawn sigh, expir'd. To seek the realms of everlasting rest. Beneath that aged willow's trembling shade, VVhere ev'ry eye drips down the dewy tear. Together see the hapless lovers laid. And moss-grown boughs their fun'ral trophy rear. Wliile oft the trilling red-breast chaunts their fate, Tiie mock-bird, louder, celebrates their love. Or turtle, ceasing to bewail his mate, A\'it]i tlieir stra'nge story hlls the mournful grove. 295 TO THE MAY-FLY. Obcron, POOR insect ! what a little day Of sunny bliss is thine ! And yet thou spread'st thy light wings gay. And bid'st them, spreading, shine ! Thou Inimm'st thy short and busy time. Unmindful of the blast ; And, careless, while 'tis burning noon. How short that noon is past ! A show'r would lay thy beauty low. The dew of twilight be The torrent of thy overthrow — Thy storm of destiny! Then, spread thy little shining wing ; Hum on thy busy lay ; For man, like thee, has but his spring— Lik thine, it fades away! POOR MARGUERITE. Mrs. Robinson, SWIFT o'er the wild and dreary waste A nut-brown maid was seen to haste : Wide-waving was her unbound hair. And sun-scorch'd was her bosom, bare; For Summer's noon had shed its beams As she lay wrap.p'd iu fev'rish dreams ; 296 While on the wither'd liay-stack's side By turns she slept, by turns she cry'd — " Ah ! where lies hid the ])alsam sweet, " To heal the wounds of Marguerite ?" Dark was her large but sunken eye. Which wildly gaz'd upon the sky ; And swiftly down her freckled face The unfelt dews began to pace ; For she was lorn, and many a day Had all alone been doom'd to stray : And many a night her bosom warm Had throbb'd beneath the pelting storm : And still she sigh'd — " The rain falls sweet; " It bathes the wounds of Marguerite." Across the waste of printless snow. All day the nut-brown maid would go : And when the winter moon had shed Its pale beams o'er the mountain's head. She on a broomy pillow lay. To watch the tardy glympse of day ; While the cold breath of dawn-light flew Across the fields of frozen dew ; And then she cry'd — " the air is sweet ; " It fans the breast of Marguerite." The weedy lane she lov'd to tread. When stars their twinkling lustre shed ; While from the lone and silent cot The watchful cur assail'd her not, ''J'hough at the beggar he would fly. And fright the trav'ler passing by ; But she so kind and gentle seem'd, Such softness in her dark eyes beam'd, Tliat savage lierceness could not greet Witli less than smiles — poor Marguerite. And why did she, with sun-burnt breast. So wander, and so scorn to rest ? Why did the nut-brown maiden go O'er burning plain, and wastes of snow? 297 What bade her fev'rish bosom sigh. And dimm'd her large and hazel eye ; And stole the hour of slumber sweet From the scorch'd brain of Marguerite ? Soon shalt thou know ; — for see how, lorn. She climbs the steep of shaggy thorn ! Now on the jutting cliff she stands. And clasps her cold but snow-white hands! She sighs — " Farewel !" and, bending slow. Looks, trembling, on the main below ; And list'ning, ev'ry wave to hear. Calls from tne deep her Henry dear ! Then topples from the rock, to meet The plighted love of Marguerite ! THE HAUNTED BEACH. Idem. UPON a lonely desert beach. Where the wliite foam was scatter'd, A little shed uprear'd its head, Though lofty barks were shatter'd ! The sea-weeds gath'ring near the dooi*, A sombre path display'd ; And, all around, the deaf 'ning roar E.e-echo'd on the chalky shore — By the green billows made. Above a jutting cliff was seen. Where sea-birds hover'd, craving. And all around the crags were bound With weeds, for ever waving ; And here and there a cavern wide Its shadowy jaws display'd. 298 And near the sand, at ebb of tide, A shatter'd mast was seen to ride Where the green billows stray'd. And often while the moaning wind Stole o'er tlie summer ocean. The moon-light scene was all serene. The waters scarce in motion : Then, while the smoothly-slanting sand The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade. The Fisherman beheld a band Of spectres, gliding, hand in hand, Where the green'billows play'd ! And pale their faces were, as snow ! And sullenly they wander'd ! And to the skies, with hollow eyes. They look'd, as though they ponder'd ! And sometimes, from their hammock shroud. They dismal bowlings made ! And while the blast blew strong and loud, The clear moon mark'd the ghastly crowd — Where the green billows play'd. And then, above the haunted hut. The curlews, screaming hover'd; And the low door, with furious roar. The frothy breakers cover'd : For, in the fisherman's lone shed, A murder'd man was laid. With ten wide gashes on his head. And deep was made the sandy bed. Where the green billows play'd ! The spectre band, his messmates bold. Sunk in the yawning ocean ; While to the mast he lash'd him fast. And brav'd the storm's commotion I The winter moon upon the sand A silv'ry carpet made, 299 And niark'd the sailor reach the land — And mark'd his murd'rer wash his hand. Where the green billows play'd ! And StTice that hour the fisherman Has toil'd and toil'd in vain ! For all the night the moony light Gleams on the spectred main ! And when the skies are veil'd in gloom. The murd'rers liquid way Rounds o'er the deeply-yawning tomb. And flashing fires the sands illume — Where the green billows play. Full thirty years his task has grown. Day after day, more weary ; For Heav'n design'd his guilty mind Should feed on prospects dreary ! Bound by a strong and mystic chain. He has not pow'r to stray. But destin'd mis'ry to sustain, He wastes, in solitude and pain, A loathsome life away ! SONNET. S. Wells. PALE roamer of the midnight hour ! when blow The cutting winds, and beat the pouring rain. Then I bethink on thee and all the pain You oft endure ! 'I'is seldom thine to know The look benignant, and but few bestow The gentle smile which timely might restrain Thy course licentious: thus from care and woe (With insults vile) proceed thy liard-earn'd gain. 300 Pale roamer ! when I view thy haggard look, Thy blue and quiv'rhig lip and sunken eye. Hear thee accost each stranger passing by In accents wild, to him wlio thus forsook Thee in the hour of need, my lieart has turn'd, And with a curse his unknown form I've spurn'd. THE THORN. Burns. FROM the white-blossom'd sloe my dear Cloe requested A sprig, her fair breast to adorn. *' No, by Heav'ns ! (I exclaim'd) — may I perish " if ever " I plant in that bosom a Thor7i." 301 TO THE SUN. WRITTEN WHILE IT WAS HALF CLOUDEB. Anonymous. An ! why these efforts, source of day ? Since half a cloud, and half a ray. Must chequer ev'ry sky ? Cease, cease the unavailing strife; And 'twixt thy state, O sun ! and life. Say where the diff'rence liesf Say where the diff'rence, mighty pow'r! 'Twixt thee and man, at this dull hour, Tho' thine a loftier birth? Thou, thro' the wide domain of air. Art struggling betwixt foul and fair. He does the same on earth. Asserting now a fleece of white. And now in mists exhausted quite, 'Twixt gaiety and gloom ; As flood and fire to vapours tend. Opposing elements but blend Thy radiance to entomb. Lo ! pilgrim man his journey runs. And travels after distant suns. And basks in ev'ry gleam ; Now fancies ev'ry wisli is near. Thinks his horizon wond'rous clear. And revels in his dream. Yet now, indeed, thy rays are bright ; Sure 'tis the jubilee of light; All nature feels thy pow'r; But, see! the storm"is riding ohj Thy jubilee, alas! is done, " And sunshine yields to show'r. c c 303 Thus, too, it is with man's poor race ; The storms break fast about his face, A various atmosphere ! Now pleasure gives the vermeil glow. Then burns the heat, then chills the snow, IS'o certain climate there. Full oft a flash of gorgeous glare Scorches its hour out through the air. While clouds in ambush lie : 'Tis thus the lesser orbs below. Life's idle pageant, hang to show. While woes are brooding by. Nor seldom the (juick smile appears. Fore-runner of the copious tears That intercept our day ; Til' alkision still, O Sol ! is true, A\ lien tender op'nings of thy blue Adorn the welkin's way. And, ah! liow oft the thicker clouds. From morn to eve th' eHlilgent shrouds In deepest robes of niijht. Sad emblem still of his distress. Whose days in constant wretchedness Pass on, unknown to light ! But see ! the prospect shifts a^ain ; Kadiance commixes with the rain ; 'Tis warmth and wet together: In this, too, the allusion's just ; For who, alas! one hour can trust Man's sunshine, show'ry weather .> Yet soft, a track of richer light Seems breaking now upon the sight ; Ihe lirmament is fair : Ah ! no — the suddt^n torrent pours, And half tlie skies descend in show'rs. Deforming earth and air ! 303 Thus, frequent, after many a sigh Hath burst impetuous o'er our sky. Rich transport darts around ; Tlien, e'er the flatt'ring beam can fix. Returning tides of sorrow mix. And liope itself is drown'd. Yet, haply, shall our eve be clear. Serenely smooth our hemisphere. Resembling still in this; Just as our orbs are going down, O may no fearful tempest frown. But may both set in peace ! But, should no parting joys befriend, No farewel streaks of light attend. To cheer our fading ray ; Then be it thine, sublimer sun ! Soon as this darksome course is run. To give PERPETUAL DAY, THE FAITHFUL FRIEND. Cuicper. THE green-house is my summer seat; My shrubs displac'd from that retreat Enjoy 'd the open air; Two goldlinches, whose sprightly song Had been their mutual solace long, Liv'd happy pris'ners there. The sang, as blithe as finches sing That flutter loose on golden wing. And frolic where they list ; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true ; But that delight they never knew. And, therefore, never miss'd. ► c c a But nature works in ev'ry breast ; Instinct is never quite suppress'd ; And Dick felt some desires. Which, after many an effort vain. Instructed him at length to gain A pass between his wires. The open windows seem'd t' invite The freeman to a farewel flight ; But Tom was still con^n'd ; And Dick, although his way was clear. Was much too gen'rous and sincere To leave his friend behind. For, settling on liis grated roof. He chirp'd and kiss'd him, giving proof That he desir'd no more ; Nor would forsake his cage at last. Till gently seiz'd, I siiut him fast, A pris'ner as before. O ye, Avho never knew the joys Of Friendship, satisfy'd with noise. Fandango, ball, and rout I Blush, when 1 tell you how a bird A prison, with a friend, preferr'd To liberty without. THE JACKDAW. Ide?n. THERE is a bird who, by his coat, And by the hoaseness of his note. Might be suppos'd a crow ; A great freciuenter of the church. Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch And dormitory too. 305 Above the steeple shines a plate That turns and turns, to indicate From what point blows the weather. Look up — your brains begin to swim — 'Tis in the clouds — that pleases him; He chooses it the rather. Fond of the speculative height. Thither he wings his airy flight. And thence securely sees The bustle and the raree-show That occupy mankind below^ Secure, and at his ease. You think, no doubt, he sits and muses On future broken bones and bruises. If he should chance to fall. No; not a single thought like that Employs his philosophic pate. Or b-oubles it at all. He sees, that this great round aliout — The world, with all its motley rout. Church, army, physic, law. Its customs, and its bus'nesses. Is no concern at all of his. And says — what says he? — Cavv'. Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen Much of the vanities of men ; And, sick of having seen 'em. Would cheerfully these limbs resign For such a pair of wings as thine. And such a head between 'em. cc 3 306 GOODY BLAKE & HARRY GILL. Anonymous, OH ! what's the matter ? ^vllat's the matter? What is't that ails young Harry Gill, 'i'hat evermore his teeth they chatter. Chatter, chatter, chatter still ? Of waistcoats Harry has no lack. Good duf'lle grey, and flannel line; He lias a flannel" on his back, And coats enough to smother nine. In March, December, and in July, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; The neighbours tell, and tell you truly. His teeth they chatter chatter still. At night, at morning, and at noon, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; Beneath the sun, beneath the moon. His teeth they chatter chatter still. Young Harry was a lusty drover. And who so stout of limb as he? His cheeks were red as ruddy clover. His voice was like the voice of three. Auld Goody Blake was old and poor, ill fed she was, and thinly clad ; j\nd any man who pass'd her door Might see how poor a hut she had. All day she spent in her ])oor dwelling. And tiien her three hours' work at night! Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling. It would not i)ay for candle-light. — This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire, Her hut was on a cold hill side. And in that country coals are dear, I'or Ihev come far bv wind and tide.. 307 By the same fire, to boil their pottage. Two poor old dames, as I have known. Will often live in one small cottage ; But she, poor woman ! dwelt alone. 'Twas well enough when summer came. The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, Then at'her door the canty dame Would sit, as any linnet gay. But when the ice our streams did fetter. Oh ! then liow her old bones would shake! You would have said, if you had met her, 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her ev'nings then were dull and dead ; Sad case it was, as you may think. For very cold to go to bed. And then for cold not sleep a wink ! Oh, joy for her, whene'er in winter. The winds at night had made a rout. And scatter'd many a lusty splinter. And many a rotten bough about. Yet never had she, well or sick. As ev'ry man who knew her says, A pile before-iiand, wood or stick. Enough to warm her for three days. Now when tlie frost was past enduring. And made her poor old bones to ache. Could any thing be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake ? And now and then it must be said. When her old bones were cold and chill. She left her hre, or left her bed. To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. Now Harry he had long suspected This trespass of old Goody Blake, And vow'd that she should be detected. And he on her would vengeance take i 308 And oft from liifs warm fire he'd go. And to the ftelds his road -would take, And there, at night, in frost and snow. He watch'd, to seize old Goody Blake. And once, behind a rick of barley. Thus looking out did Harry stand ; The moon was full, and shining clearly. And crisp with frost the stubble land. — He hears a noise — he's all awake — Again 1 — on tip-toe down the hjll He softly creeps — ' Tis Goody Blake ; She's at the hedge of Harry bill. Eigiit glad was he when he beheld her ; Stick after stick did Goody pull ; He stood behind a bush of elder , Till she had lill'd her apron full, When with her load sh(i turn'd about. The bye-road back again to take. He started forward M'ith a sliout. And sprang upon poor Goody Blake. And fiercely by the arm he took her. And by the arm he held her fast. And fiercely by the arm he shook her. And cry'd, " I've caught you, then, at last!" Then Goody, who had nothing said. Her bundlefrom her lap let fall ; And, kneeling on the sticks, she pray'd To God, who is the judge of all. She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing. While Harry hekl her by the arm — " God ! who art never "out of hearing, " O may he never more be warm !" The cold, cold moon above her head, "J'hus on her knees did Goody pray ; Young Harry heard what she had said. And icey-cold he turn'd away. 509 lie went complaining all the morrow That he was cold, and very chill : His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas ! that day for Harry Gill ! That day he wore a riding-coat. But not a whit the warmer he ! Another was on Thursday brought. And ere the Sabbath he had three ! 'Twas all in vain — an useless matter — And blankets were about him pinn'd ; Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter^ Like a loose casement in the wind. And Harry's flesh it fell away ! And all who saw him say 'tis plain. That, live as long as live he may. He never will be warm again. No word to any man he utters, A-bed or up, to young or old ; But ever to himself he mutters, " Poor Harry Gill is very cold! A-bed or up, by night or day. His teeth tli<;y chatter chatter still. Now think ye, farmers all, I prav. Of Goody Blake and Harry Gilll TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Peter Pindar, LONE minstrel of the moonlight hour. Who cliarm'st the silent list'ning plain^ A hapless pilgrim treads thy bow'r, To hear thy solitary strain. 310 How soothing is the song of woe. To me, whom love hath doom'd to pine ! For, 'mid those sounds that plaintive flow, I hear my sorrows mix with thine. SUSAN AND THE SPIDER. Idem. *' //^OME down, you toad," cry'd Susan to a ^\>>' spider. High on the gilded cornice a proud rider. And, wanton, swinging by his silken rope ; *' I'll teach thee to spin cobwebs round the room ; " You're now upon some murder, I presume — " I'll bless thee— if I don't, say I'm no Pope." Then Susan brandish'd her long brush, Determin'd on a fatal push. To bring the rope-dancer to ground. And all his schemes of death confound. The spider, blest with oratory grace, Slipp'd down, and staring Susan in the face, " Fie, Susan! lurks there murder \x\that heart? *' O barb'rous, lovely Susan ! I'm amaz'd ! *' O can that form, on which so oft I've gaz'd, " Possess of cruelty the slightest part? " Ah ! can that swelling bosom of delight, " On which I've peep'd with wonder many a night, " Nay, with these fingers touched too, let me say, " Contain a heart of cruelty ? — no, no ! " That bosom, which exceeds the new-fall'n snow, " All softness, sweetness — one eternal May." '311 '■^ How!" Susan screech'd, as with disorder'cl brain — *' How, impudence ! repeat those words again ! " Come, come, confess with honesty ! — speak ! " speak! *' Say, did you really crawl upon my neck?" « Susan, by all thy heav'nly charms, I did ; " I saw thee sleeping by the taper's light ; ** Thy cheek so blushful, and thy breast so « white: " I could not stand it, and so down I slid." *' You did, sweet Mr. Spider? so you saw!" " Yes, Susan : Nature's is a pow'rful law." " Ar'n't you a murd'rer ?" gravely Susan cries ; " Ar'n't you for ever busy with that claw, *' Killing poor unoffending little flies, " Merely to satisfy your nasty maw ?" *' But Susan, don't you feed on gentle lamb ? " Don't you on pretty little pigeons cram ? " Don't you on harmless j^'.v/zej often dine?" *' That's very true," quoth Susan, " true indeed ; " Lord ! with what eloquence these spiders plead ! " This little rascal beats a grave divine. " It was no snake, I verily believe, *' But a sly spider that seduc'd poor Eve. « But then you are so ugly.'" — " Ah ! sweet Sue ! " I did not make myself, you know too well : " Could I have made myself, I had been ?/ow, " And kill'd with envy ev'ry beauteous helled " Heav'ns! to this spider, what a 'witching " tongue ! « Well ! go about thy bus'ness — go along: " All animals; indeed, their food must get : ' . 312 " Aiid hear me — should'st thou look with longing " eves, " At any time, on yonna;, fat, luscious flies, " I'll "drive tlie little rascals to thy net. " Lord ! then, how blind I've been to form and " feature ! " I think a spider, 7iow, a comely creature l" «<*s*»^ A COMPARISON. Cowper, THE lapse of time and rivers is the same ; Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; The silent pace with which they steal away No wealth can bribe, no pray'rs persuade to stay; Alike irrevocable both when past. And a wide ocean swallows both at last. Though each resemble each in ev'ry part, A diti 'rence strikes at length the musing heart : Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound How laughs the land, with various plenty crown'dl But time that should enrich the nobler mind. Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind. 3ia RONA: IMITATED FROM OSSlAiH. Crame, ** np'HE noise of war is on the breeze, JL " And can Hidallan stay ? *' My soul i$ in the strife of shields — '* He spoke, and burst away. O where shall Morna's maid repose. Till heroes have their fame? On Morna's silent hill of hinds. Or by its rushy stream ? But what if in the hour of blood The lovely hero fall? While some dark warrior hangs his shield A trophy in his hall ! Leave, slumber ! leave the eye of tears. Forsake my limbs, repose ! Lean, love-born maidens, from your clouds. And aid me with your woes. Fair was Hidallan as the flow'r That dyes the dusky heath ; But raise not, bards ! the mournful song Around his stone of death. How fell the hero? — in his might. Amid his growing fame! Not feeble was Hidalian's foe. His sword a meteor's Hame. D d No hiore sliall Morna's hall rejoice, The feast of shells be spread ; Tlie sigli of Kona's secret soul In death's dark house is laid. Lour not on Rona, from your cloud. The rolling of your rest! Not weak, Hidallan ! was my sire; No fear dislurb'd his breast. In aged Cairbar's lonely hall The strife of heroes rose ; His was Rivine's stolen glance. And nianv were his foes. In strength he grasp'd his sword of fire, "Jlie stoutest started back: Not \Teak, Hidallan ! was my sire. Nor is his daughter weak. Ah ! whither rolls thy airy hall ? Tlu? sky its blue resumes; Her father's sword prepares the cloud On which thv llona comes. HARVEST IIOMK. Airs. Robinson. WHO has not seen the cheerful Harvest Home, Enliv'ning thescorch'd field, and greeting gay The slow decline^of Autunui ? All around 'I'he yelk)\v sheaves, catching llie burning beam, (ilow, golden lustre; and the trembling stem Of the slim oat, or azure corn-llow'r, \\'aves on hedge-rows shady. From the liill The day-breeze softly steal's with downward wing. 315 And lightly passes, whisp'ring the soft sounds Which moan the death of Summer. Glowing scene! Nature's long holiday ! Luxuriant, rich. In her proud progeny, she smiling marks Their graces, now mature, and wonder-fraught ! Hail! season exquisite! — and hail, ye sons Of rural toil! — ye blooming daughters ! — ye. Who, in the lap of hardy labour rear'd. Enjoy the mind unspotted ! Up the plain. Or on the side-long hill, or in the glen. Where the rich farm, or scatter'd hamlet, shows The neighbourhood of peace ye still are found, A merry and an artless throng, whose souls Beam thro' untutor'd glances. Wlien the dawn Unfolds its sunny lustre, and the dew Silvers the out-stretch'd landscape, labour's sons Rise, ever healthful, — ever cheerily. From sweet and sootiiing rest; for fev'rish dreams Visit not lowly pallets ! AH the day They toil in the fierce beams of fervid noon — But toil without repining! The blithe song. Joining the woodland melodies afar. Fling its rude cadence in fantastic sport On Echo's airy wing ! 1 he pond'rous load Follows the weary team: the narrow lane Bears on its thick-wove hedge the scatter'd corn, Hanging in scanty fragments, which the thorn Purloin'd from tlie broad waggon. On the plain The freckled gleaner gathers the scant sheaf. And looks, with many a sigh, on the tythe heap Of the proud pamper'd pastor ! To the brook That ripples, shallow, down the valley's slope. The herds slow measure their unvaried way ;— The tiocks along the heath are dimly seen By the faint torch of Ev'ning, whose red eye Closes in tearful silence. Now the air Is rich in fragrance ! fragrance exquisite! Of new mown hay, of wild thyme dewy wash'd And gales ambrosial, which, with cooling breath, Kuflle the lake's gray surface. All around D d 3 ■^ The thin mist rises, and the busy tones Of airy peoph-, borne on viewless \vings. Break the short pause of Nature. From tlie plain The rustic throngs come cheerly, their loud din Augments to mingling clamnur. Sportive hinds, Happy ' — more happy than the lords ye serve; — Jiow lustily your sons endure the hour Of winl'ry desolation; and how fair Vour blooming daughters greet the op'ning dawn Of love-inspiring Spring! Hail ! Harvest Home ! To thee, the Muse of Nature pours the song. By instinct taught to warble? instinrt pure. Sacred, and grateful, to that Pow'r aoor'd. Which warms the sensate being, and reveals The soul sell-evident ! — beyond the dreams Of visionary sceptics ! Scene sublime ! AVhere iCarth presents her golden treasures; A\ here balmy breathings whisper to the heart Delights unspeakable! Where seas and skies. And hills and valiies, colours, odours, dews. Diversify the work of Nature's God! — ^>C<4 — THE WINTRY DAY. Idem. IS it. in mansions rich and gay. On downy beds, or couclies warm. That Nature'owns theAVintry Day, And shrinks to hear the howling storm? Ah! no! 'Tis on the bleak and barren Jicath, Where Mis'ry I'eels the shaft of death. As to the dark and freezing grave Her children not a friend to save — Unheeded go ! 317 Is it in chambers, silken drest, At table?, with prufiision's heap? Is it on pillows soft to rest In dreams of long and balmy sleep? Ah! no! 'Tis in the rushy hut obscure, "Where Poverty's low sons endure. And, scarcely daring to repine, On a straw pallet mute, recline, O'erwhelm'd with woe ! Is it to ilaunt in warm attire. To laugh and feast, and dance and sing. To crowd around the blazing lire. And make the roof with revels ring? Ah! no! 'Tis on the prison's flinty floor, — 'Tis where the deaf'ning whirlwinds roar, 'Tis when the sea-boy on the mast, Hears the waves bounding to the blast, And looks below! Is it in chariots gay to ride, To crowd the splendid midnight ball. To revel in luxurious pride. While pamper'd vassals wait yoiy call } Ah! no! 'Tis in a cheerless, naked room. Where Mis'ry's victims v.ait their dooml Where a fond mother famish'd dies. While forth a i'rantic lather iVies, Man's desp'rate foe ! Is it where, prodigal and weak. The silly spendthrift scatters gold. Where eager folly hastes to seek The sordid wanton, false and bold ?. All ! no ! 31S Tis in the silent spot obscure, AVliere, ibrc'cl all sorrows to endure. Pale Genius learns, O lesson sad ! To court the vain, and on the bad False praise bestow I Is it where Gamesters, thronging round. Their shining heaps of wealtli display ? Where Fashion's gifldy tribes are ibund. Sporting their senseless hours away ? Ah! no! 'Tis where neglected Genius sighs, AVhere Hope, exhausted, silent dies; Where Merit starves, by Pride oppress'd, 'Till ev'ry stream that warms the breast I orbears to flow ! — *<*s*»^- — NOVEMBER. Dr, Perfect. AH '. whither, bright God of the Spring, Art tliou and thy blessings withdrawn? The warblers that prune the gay wing No longer enliven the lawn. Ye Breezes of Softness, ah ! where Are you and your odours exii'd? No longer you sport thro' the air. Invitingly pleasant and mild. Of verdure the loss do we moan ; Lament that the Sun's soothing rays To climates more southern are gone. And darken'd our spiritless days! Such feelings are common to all ; J-O ! Nature shall sympathize too ; Who, tiio' slie descends to her fall. At intervals sjiiiles on the view. 319 Does the Woodcock, itinerant, come, P'or nurture solicit our plains ; Ah ! why tluis abandon his home To crimson the sport of our swains, \V]:o rise with the dawn for their game. And pierce thro' the spring and the copse. With eagerness level their aim, Wlien the emigrant flutters and drops ! Ye Streams, that run purling along. Your banks your own Flora has fled. And Philomel issues no song From willows that bower'd her head: The bleating of lambs from the fold No longer in symphony blends ; No tale of soft passion is told Where, arching, the sycamore bends. . All ! where is the couch of green moss. Which erst for my Delia I found. As cheerful we wander'd across The cowslip and daisy-drest ground ? No more to the 'bine-twisted bow'r With Delia, delighted, I run. In coolness to pass the still hour. Eluding the heat of the sun. See! Nature so pensive is grown, Her tears steep in dew all the plain ; Congenial to her's is my own. But avails not our mutual pain : November, the tomb of the year. Usurps with tyrannical hand ; His horrors successive appear. Successive stalk over the land : His glooms all around us arise ; Does Sol with less lustre appear. Beam pale from his throne in tlie skies. Or shine unempower'd to chear?. Your funeral notes in the wind I hear, ye disconsolate Shades ! — . "Your foliage, so sickly, resign'd. Shrouds over the face of the glades. To pine and weep over your bier ISlelpoinene shall not refuse ! The fall of the Leaf and the Year Such heart-feeling sorrow renews: While tuneless and sad, as the breeze. Are the strains tliat arise from the spray Of the naked, coUl, quiv'ring trees, Sepulchral, sad signs of decay ! Might Fancy, excursive of wing. When all is so baleful and bleak. In simile venture to sing, Your copse on the lawn let her seek : The "^ ew, in its centre, compare To some Prelate, whose rev'rend head Heclines, sympathetic, with care To close the last riles of the dead. Who knows, but that Priest of the Shade By Nature herself is ordain'd. In vestments too sacred to fade, And thro' every season sustain'd ; In spring to invite the warm breeze That wakens the bud as it blows; In simiiner to guard the green trees, in winter to iuish all their woes ? Does ought soot II the blast on the heath, l"he griei's that arise from the grove. The rigours above and beneath, 'Tis undisguis'd Friendship and Love; Those myrtles of peace and repose. Cherubic Content as their guide. But soften the season of Woes, And make all its terrors subside. Then w^re does my Celadon rove, Tiie friend of my analyz'd breast? — And where is the Empress of Love, My Delia, with innocence blest? Can winter to Celadon bring The troubles which frienciship annoy? Or Lethe e'er venture to spring O'er such a pure fountain of joy? 321 Shall Delia, whose heart is the seat Where love the most faitiiiul is stor'd Unfeelingly fly my retreat. By Winter's o!)trusion explorVl > No, Celadon, no; to complain e simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart. One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 329 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolick o'er the vacant nund, Unenvy'd, unmolested, uuconfin'd: But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd. In these, ere trillers halt their wish obtain. The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, e'vn^ while fashion's brightest arts decoy. The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. And shouting folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards, even beyond the miser's wish abound. And rich men tlock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name. That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so tlie loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supply'd : Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken slotli. Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half Iheir growth His seat, where solitary sports are seen. Indignant spurns the cottage from the green : ' Around the world each needful product flies. For all the luxuries the world supplies. While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all. In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. As some fair female unadorn'd and plain. Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. Slights every borrovv'd charm tliat dress supplies, Kol- shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; But when those charms are past, for charms are Irail, When time advances, and when lovers fail. She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. In all the glaring impotence of dress : E c 3 330 Thus fares the land, by luxury betra\'d. In nature's simplest charms atfirst array'd ; But verging to decline, its splendors rise. Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling land^ The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; And, while he sinks without one arm to save. The country blooms — a garden, and a grave. Where then, ah, where shall poverty reside. To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? If to somecotnmon's fenceless limits stray'd. He drives his flock to pick the scantv blade. Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide;. Ami even the bare-worn common is dcnv'd. If to the city sped — what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful artscombin'd. To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know. Extorted from his fellow-creature; woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade. There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud tlicir long-drawn pomps display. There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pkasure holds her midnight reign. Here richly deck'd admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square. The rattling chariots clash, th.e torches glare: Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy ! Are these thy st-rious thoughts? — Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless sliivVing female lies; She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest^ Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. Sweet as the ))rimrose peeps beneath the thorn ; Kow lost to all her friends, her virtue fled, ISear her betrayer's door she lays her head ; And, pinch'd v-ith cold, and shrinking from the show'r. 331 . Witli heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, ■\Vhen idly first, ambitious of tlie town. She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Do tliine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train. Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Even liow, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. At proud men's doors they ask a little bread] Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, AVhere half the convex world intrudes between. Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Far different there from all that charm'tl before. The various terrors of that horrid sliore; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray. And liercelv shed intolerable day ? Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd. Where the dark scorpion gathers deatli around; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Where crcuchi-.ig tigers wait their hapless prey, And.savage men more murd'rous slill than they ; AVhile oft in whirls the mad tornado tiies, Minsiliug the ravag'd landscape with the skies. Far different these from every former scene. The cooling brook, the grassy vested green. The breezy covert of the \sarbling grove. That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day. That call'd them from their native walks away : When the poor exiles, every pleasure past. Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last. And took a long farewell, and wisli'd in vain For seals like these beyond the western main; And shudd'ring still to" face the distant deep, Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. 332 The good old sire, the first prepar'd to go To new-found worlds, and wept for otiier's woe; !Hut for himself, in conscious virtue brave. He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier'in her tears, The fond companion of his hapless years. Silent went next, neglectful other charms. And left a lover's for her faf hers arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes. And blest the cot where every pleasure rose; And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear. And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doublv dear; While her fond husband strove to lend relief. In all the silent manliness of grief. O luxury ! thou curst by heaven's decree. How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy. Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown. Boast of a florid vigour not their own. At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; 'Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. E'en now the devastation is begun. And half the the business of destruction done; E'en now, methiiiks, as pond'ring here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail. That idly waiting flaps with every gale; Downward they move, a melancholy band. Pass from the shore, and darken all' the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care. And kind connubial tenderness are there; And j)iety with wishes plac'd above, And steady loyalty and faithful love. And thou, sweet poetry ! thou loveliest maid. Still first to tly, where sunsual joys invade ; Unfit, in these degen'rate times of shame, I'o catcli the heart, or strike for honest fame; 333 Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'^^ « AN EPITAPH ON A FALLEN BEAUTY. Idem. HERE sleeps what was innocence once, but its snow Was sullied and trod \vith disdain; Here lies what was beauty, but pluck'd was it's rose. And flung like a weed to the plain. O pilgrim ! look down on her grave with a sigh. Who fell the sad victim oiart; E'en cruelty's self must bid her hard eye A pearl of compassion impart. Ah! think not, ye prudes, that a sigli, or a tear/ Can olfend of all nature the God ; Lo ! virtue already has mourn'd at her bier. And tJie lily will bloom on her sod. Brook ScLancaDiirc, Printers, Market-place, Huddcisfiel*. tHE UBRARY ITOIVERSITY OF CAUFORNU \ This book is DUE on the last date stamped below FEB 2 5 195& li)m-ll, '50(2555)470 j:jii'' PR r^Glr^mtl^ - 1173 !?-auti3s of Briti-AA l^'Up sh noetrv. 000 339 615 7 -rt O — Qr-g idkM ■<^+rtTTn v.-t- _T !?^^^ PR 1173 Mii9 r -^ ii^A^