Unlike the enigmatic line, So difficult to fpell, Which fhook Belshazzar at his wine Soon watery grew her eyes and dim, It was a scene in every part And feem'd by some magician's art But other magic there, fhe knew, To raise fuch wonders in her view, That cordial thought her fpirits cheer'd, Convey'd her calm along. So, ancient poets fay, ferene The fea-maid rides the waves, And fearless of the billowy scene Her peaceful bofom laves. With more than aftronomic eyes She view'd the sparkling show; One Georgian star adorns the skies, She myriads found below. Yet let the glories of a night Like that, once feen, fuffice, THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.* USE hide his name of whom I fing, Nor Place where he was born. men. * Written on reading the following in the obituary of the Gentleman's Magazine for April 1789.-" At Tottenham, John Ardesoif, Esq., a young man of large fortune, and in the splendour of his carriages and horses rivalled by few country gentleHis table was that of hospitality, where, it may be faid, he facrificed too much to conviviality; but, if he had his foibles, he had his merits also, that far outweighed them. Mr. A. was very fond of cock-fighting, and had a favourite cock, upon which he had won many profitable matches. The last bet he laid upon this cock he loft; which fo enraged him, that he had the bird tied to a spit and roafted alive before a large fire. The screams of the miferable animal were fo affecting, that fome gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so enraged Mr. A. that he seized a poker, and with the moft furious vehemence declared, that he would kill the first man who interpofed; but, in the midst of his paffionate affeverations, he fell down dead upon the spot. Such, we are affured, were the circumftances which attended the death of this great pillar of humanity." That fuch a man once was, may seem For proof to man, what Man may prove, This man (for fince the howling wild Gentle he was, if gentle birth Could make him fuch; and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow. In focial talk and ready jeft Illuftrious in the eyes of those Methinks I see him powder'd red, The moffy rofe-bud not so sweet; Can fuch be cruel? Such can be A tyrant entertain'd With barbarous fports, whofe fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight "Twixt birds to battle train'd. One feather'd champion he poffeff'd, Nor e'er had fought but he made flow It chanced at laft, when on a day, The Master storm'd, the prize was lost, He doom'd his favourite dead. He seized him faft, and from the pit The horrid sequel asks a veil; And all the terrors of the tale That can be shall be funk Led by the sufferer's screams aright All, fuppliant, beg a milder fate For the old warrior at the grate : Death menacing on all. But vengeance hung not far remote, Big with a curfe too closely pent, 'Tis not for us with rafh furmife, "Tis hard to read amifs. May, 1789. TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. By an old Schoolfellow of his at Westminster. ASTINGS! I knew thee young, and of a mind While young humane, converfable, and kind, |