The praise bestowed was just and wise,

He sprang impetuous forth, Secure of conquest where the prize

Attends superior worth.

15

Such civil broils are my delight,

Though some folks can't endure them, Who say the mob are mad outright,

And that a rope must cure them.

20

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM.

5

A rope! I wish we patriots had

Such strings for all who need 'em-
What! hang a man for going mad!

Then farewell British freedom.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM.

5

1Ο

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glowworm by his spark;
So stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent;-

'Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same Power Divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.'
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern;

15

20

25 30

That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case
The gifts of Nature and of Grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace, both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies..

35

THE DOVES.

REASONING at every step he treads,

Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,

Are rarely known to stray.

BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY.

7

“When lightnings flash among the trees,

Or kites are hovering near,
I fear lest thee alone they seize,

And know no other fear.

TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS. BY THE MOB, IN

THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780.

So then-the Vandals of our isle,

Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile

Than ever Roman saw!

5

And Murray sighs o'er Pope, and Swift,

And many a treasure more,
The well judged purchase, and the gift

That graced his lettered store.
Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn,

The loss was his alone;
But ages yet to come shall mourn

The burning of his own.

IO

ON THE SAME.

WHEN Wit and Genius meet their doom

In all-devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,

And bid us fear the same.

IO

O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept,

They felt the rude alarm,
Yet blessed the guardian care that kept

His sacred head from harm.
There Memory, like the bee that's fed

From Flora's balmy store,
The quintessence of all he read

Had treasured up before.
The lawless herd, with fury blind,

Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone-but still we find

The honey on his tongue.

15

ON A GOLDFINCH,

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.
TIME was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,

My drink the morning dew;
I perched at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,

My strains for ever new.