II.

This glassy stream, that spreading pine
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.
III.

But fix'd, unalterable Care

Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness ev'ry where, And slights the season and the scene. IV.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,

While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs,

Her animating smile withdrawn,

Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs

V.

The saint or moralist should tread

This moss-grown alley, musing, slow;

They seek like me the secret shade,
But not like me to nourish wo!

VI.

Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam;
These tell me of enjoyments past,

And those of sorrows yet to come.

THE WINTER NOSEGAY

I.

WHAT Nature, alas! has denied

To the delicate growth of our isle,

Art has in a measure supplied,

And winter is deck'd with a smile VOL. I

18

See, Mary, what beauties I bring

From the shelter of that sunny shed,

Where the flow'rs have the charms of the spring, Though abroad they are frozen and dead,

II.

"Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets, Where Flora is still in her prime, A fortress to which she retreats

From the cruel assaults of the clime
While earth wears a mantle of snow,

Those pinks are as fresh and as gay
As the fairest and sweetest, that blow
On the beautiful bosom of May
III.

See how they have safely surviv'd
The frowns, of a sky so severe;
Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd
Through many a turbulent year.
The charms of the late blowing rose
Seem'd grac'd with a livelier huc,
And the winter of sorrow best shows,
The truth of a friend such as you.

MUTUAL FORBEARANCE

NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED

STATE.

THE Lady thus address'd her spouse-
What a mere dungeon is this house!
By no means large enough; and was it,
Yet this dull room, and that dark closet

Those hangings with their worn out graces,
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces,
Are such an antiquated scene,

They overwhelm me with the spleen.
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
Makes answer quite beside the mark:
No doubt, my dear; I bade him come,
Engag'd myself to be at home,
And shall expect him at the door,
Precisely when the clock strikes four.
You are so deaf, the lady cried,

(And rais'd her voice, and frown'd beside,)
You are so sadly deaf, my dear,
What shall I do to make you hear?
Dismiss poor Harry! he replies;
Some people are more nice than wise,
For one slight trespass all this stir?
What if he did ride whip and spur,
"Twas but a mile-your fav'rite horse
Will never look one hair the worse.

Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing-
Child! I am rather hard of hearing-
Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl
I tell you, you can't hear at all!
Then with a voice exceeding low,
No matter if you hear or no.

Alas! and is domestick stife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear'd,
As to be wantonly incurr'd,
To gratify a fretful passion,
On ev'ry trivial provocation?
The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;
And something ev'ry day they live,
To pity, and, perhaps, forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all,

A blemish or a sense impair'd,

Are crimes so little to be spar'd,
Then farewell all, that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,

And tumult, and intestine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage, Proof against sickness and old age, Preserv'd by virtue from declension, Becomes not weary of attention; But lives, when that exteriour grace, Which first inspir'd the flame, decays. 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, To faults compassionate or blind, And will with sympathy endure Those evils, it would gladly cure: But angry, coarse, and harsh expression, Shows love to be a mere profession; Proves that the heart is none of his, Or soon expels him if it is.

THE

NEGRO'S COMPLAINT

FORC'D from home and all its pleasures
Afric's coast I left forlorn;

To increase a stranger's treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;

But though slave they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be sold

Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion,
Cannot forfeit Nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black the same

Why did all-creating Nature

Make the plant for which we toilSighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters, iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,

Is there one, who reigns on high? Has he bid you buy and sell us,

Speaking from his throne, the sky? Ask him, if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use?

Hark! he answers-wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations

Afric's sons should undergo,
Fix'd their tyrants' habitations
Where his whirlwinds answer-No.

By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks receiv'd the chain;

By the mis'ries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main,