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Fair Science poured the light of truth,
And Genius shed his rays. See! with united wonder cried
Th' 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 bestowed was just and wise ;
He sprang impetuous forth,
Attends superior worth.
Ere yet he starts is known,
What all had deemed his own.
ODE TO PEACE.
I am out of humanity's reach,
Must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own. The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man, O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth. Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word ! More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appeared. Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Of a land I shall visit no more.
A wish or a thought after me?
Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest iteelf lags behind,
And the swift winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair. But the seafowl is gone to her nest,
The beast has laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
Come, peace of mind, delightful guest ! Return, and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart: Nor riches I nor power pursue, Nop holą forbidden joys in view;
We therefore need not part.
And pleasure's fatal wiles ?
The banquet of thy smiles ?
And wilt thou quit the stream
To be a guest with them?
Whate'er I loved before;
Farewell! we meet no more?
PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ. To the Lord High Chancellorship of England. Round Thurlow's head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
Weak and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;
And it revives again.
Finds out his weaker part;
But pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.
And dangers little known,
Man vainly trusts his own.
To reach the distant coast; The breath of heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.
In vain, recorded in historic page,
So when a child, as playful children use,
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.
THE MODERN PATRIOT.
REBELLION is my theme all day;
I only wish 't would come
A little nearer home.
On t'other side th' Atlantic,
But most so when most frantic.
That man shall be my toast,
Who bravely breaks the most.
The choicest flowers she bears, Who constitutionally pulls
Your house about your ears. 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. A rope! I wish we patriot had
Such strings for all who need 'emWhat! hang a man for going mad!
Then farewell British freedom.
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. So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of
learning; While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly
find, That the Nose has had spectacles always to wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind. Then holding the spectacles up to the courtYour lordship observes they are made with a
straddle As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. Again, would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be
again) That the visage or countenance had not a nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles
On the whole it appears, and my argument shows,
With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how,)
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes; But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without one if or but That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight-Eyes should be shut!
ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RE
CORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA.
08, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot!
ON THE BURNING
LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY,
TOGETHER WITH HIS M88.,
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!
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.
The loss was his alone;
The burning of his own.
May taste, what'er his inclination,
You laugh—'tis well.— The tale applied
ON THE SAME.
When wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,
And bid us fear the same.
O’er Murray's loss the Muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm, Yet blest the guardian care that kept
His sacred head from harm.
ON THE DEATH
There Memory, like the bee, that's fed
From Flora's balmy store,
Had treasured up before.
Have done him cruel wrong;
The honey on his tongue.
MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.
O share Maria's grief!
Assassined by a thief.
And, though by nature mute,
Of flagelet or fute.
His bosom of the hue
To sweep away the dew.
A bove, below, in all the house,
The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower,
And weighed down its beautiful head.
The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seemed to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I snapped it, it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resigned.
Might have bloomed with its owner awhile;
And the tear that is wiped with a little address,
May be followed perhaps by a smile.
REASONING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.
One silent eve I wandered late,
And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus addressed her mate,
And soothed the listening dove :
Our mutual bond of faith and truth
No time shall disengage,
Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age:
While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,
Shall fill the circle of those eyes,
And mine can read them there
Those ills that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,
Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shared with thee.
When lightnings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hovering near,
And know no other fear.
'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Death never shall divide.
But oh! if fickle and unchaste,
(Forgive a transient thought) Thou couldst become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot. No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak; Denied the endearments of thine eye,
This widowed heart would break.
The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Alike irrevocable both when past,
Thus sang the sweet sequestered bird,
Soft as the passing wind; And I recorded what I heard,
A lesson for mankind.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
With gentle yet prevailing force,
A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
TO MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON. Maria! I have every good
For thee wished many a time,
But never yet in rhyme.
More prudent or more sprightly,
From temper-flaws unsightly.
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire ?
MORAL. 'Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours: Safety consists not in escape From dangers of a frightful shape; An earthquake may be bid to spare The man, that's strangled by a hair. Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread; Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine; There dwells some wish in every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish, on some fair future day,
Which Fate shall brightly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may,)
I wish it all fulfilled.