Come then, fair maid (in nature wise)
Who, knowing them, can tell
From gen'rous sympathy what joys
The glowing bosom swell.

In justice to the various pow'rs
Of pleasing, which you share,
Join me, amid your silent hours,
To form the better pray'r.

With lenient balm, may Ob'ron hence
To fairy-land be driv'n;

With ev'ry herb that blunts the sense
Mankind received from heav'n.

'Oh! if my Sov'reign Author please,
Far be it from my fate,

To live, unblest, in torpid ease,
And slumber on in state.

'Each tender tie of life defied

Whence social pleasures spring,
Unmoved with all the world beside,
A solitary thing-'

Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow,
Thus braves the whirling blast,
Eternal winter doom'd to know,
No genial spring to taste.

In vain warm suns their influence shed,
The zephyrs sport in vain,

He rears unchanged his barren head,
Whilst beauty decks the plain.

What tho' in scaly armour drest,

Indifference may repel

The shafts of woe-in such a breast
No joy can ever dwell.

'Tis woven in the world's great plan,

And fix'd by Heav'n's decree,

That all the true delights of man
Should spring from Sympathy.

'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws
Of nature we retain,

Our self-approving bosom draws
A pleasure from its pain.

Thus grief itself has comforts dear,

The sordid never know;

And ecstasy attends the tear,

When virtue bids it flow;

For, when it streams from that purc source
No bribes the heart can win,

To check or alter from its course
The luxury within.

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves,
Who, if from labour eased,
Extend no care beyond themselves,
Unpleasing and unpleased.

Let no low thought suggest the pray'r,
Oh! grant, kind Heav'n, to me,
Long as I draw ethereal air,
Sweet Sensibility.

Where'er the heav'nly nymph is seen,
With lustre-beaming eye,

A train attendant on their Queen

(Her rosy chorus) fly.

The jocund Loves in Hymen's band,

With torches ever bright,

And gen'rous Friendship hand in hand,

With Pity's wat'ry sight.

The gentler virtues too are join'd,
In youth immortal warm,

The soft relations, which, combined,
Give life her ev'ry charm.

The Arts come smiling in the close,
And lend celestial fire,

The marble breathes, the canvas glows,
The Muses sweep the lyre.

'Still may my melting bosom cleave

To suff'rings not my own,

And still the sigh responsive heave,
Where'er is heard a groan.

'So pity shall take Virtue's part,
Her natural ally,

And fashioning my soften'd heart,
Prepare it for the sky.'

This artless vow may Heav'n receive,
And you, fond maid, approve;
So may your guiding angel give
Whate'er you wish or love.

So may the rosy-finger'd hours
Lead on the various year,

And ev'ry joy, which now is yours,
Extend a larger sphere.

And suns to come, as round they wheel,

Your golden moments bless,

With all a tender heart can feel,

Or lively fancy guess.

ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ., TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND.

ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,

And in his sportive days,

Fair science pour'd the light of truth,
And genius shed his rays.

See! with united wonder, cried

The experienced and the sage,

Ambition in a boy supplied
With all the skill of age.

Discernment, eloquence, and grace,
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,
And bear the palm away.

The praise bestow'd was just and wise,
He sprang impetuous forth,
Secure of conquest where the prize
Attends superior worth.

So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain
What all had deem'd his own.

THE MODERN PATRIOT.

REBELLION is my theme all day,
I only wish 'twould come

(As who knows but perhaps it may) A little nearer home.

Yon roaring boys who rave and fight
On t'other side the Atlantic,

I always held them in the right,
But most so, when most frantic.
When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.

But oh! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flow'rs she bears,

Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears.

ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE note. 167

Such civil broils are my delight,

Though some folks can't endure 'em,
Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure 'em.

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.

ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED
IN THE 'BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA.'

OH fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To names ignoble, born to be forgot!
In vain recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age:
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from fame's neglecting hand;
Lethean gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.

So when a child, as playful children use,
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news,
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire,—
There goes my lady, and there goes the squire,
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark,
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.

REPORT

OF AN ADJUDGED CASE NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY

OF THE BOOKS.

BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.