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I prick'd them into paper with a pin, (And thou was happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and

smile,) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them

here?
I would not trust my heart—the dear delight
Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might-
But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, (The storms all weather'd and the ocean

cross'd) Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons

smile, There sits quiescent on the floods that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the

shore, “Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," * And thy lov'd consort on the dang’rous tide Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,

# Garth.

Always from port withheld, always distress'dMe howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass

lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course. Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the Earth ; But higher far my proud pretensions riseThe son of parents pass'd into the skies. And now farewell-Time unrevok'd has run His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done, By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem t' have my childhood o'er again ; To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine ; And while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theftThyself remov'd, thy pow'r to sooth me lest.

GRATITUDE.

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH.

[1786.]

This cap, that so stately appears,

With riband-bound tassel on high, Which seems by the crest that it rears

Ambitious of brushing the sky: This cap to my cousin I owe,

She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreath'd into an elegant bow,

The riband with which it is tied.

This wheel-footed studying chair,

Contriv'd both for toil and repose, Wide-elbow'd and wadded with hair,

In which I both scribble and doze, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes,

And rival in lustre of that In which, or astronomy lies, Fair Cassiopeia sat:

These carpets, so soft to the foot,

Caledonia's traffic and pride,
Oh, spare them, ye knights of the boot,

Escaped from a cross-country ride!
This table and mirror within,

Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin

And periwig nicely adjust :

This movable structure of shelves,

For its beauty admired, and its use, And charged with octavos and twelves,

The gayest I had to produce. Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,

My poems enchanted I view, And hope, in due time to behold

My Iliad and Odyssey too :

This china, that decks the alcove,

Which here people call a buffet, But what the gods call it above,

Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet ; These curtains, that keep the room warm

Or cool, as the season demands, These stoves that for pattern and form,

Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands :

All these are not half that I owe

To one, from her earliest youth To me ever ready to show

Benignity, friendship, and truth;

For time, the destroyer declar'd

And foe of our perishing kind, If even her face he has spar'd,

Much less could he alter her mind.

Thus compass'd about with the goods

And chattels of leisure and ease, I indulge my poetical moods,

In many such fancies as these ; And fancies I fear they will seem

Poet's goods are not often so fine; The poets will swear that I dream, When I sing of the splendor of mine.

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