Aptly the manling's tongue, I deem,
Can argue on a lofty theme,-
Which damsel hath the merrier eye,
Which fop the better-fancied tie,
Which perfume hath the sweetest savor,
Which soup the more inviting flavor;
And Fashion, at Sir Philip's call,
Ordains the collar's rise and fall,
And shifts the Brummel's varying hue,
From blue to brown, from brown to blue.

And hence the motley crowd whoe'er Bear Fashion's badge, or wish to bear, From Hockley-Hole to Rotten-Row Unite to dub Sir Philip-beau.

And such is Fashion's empty fameSquire Robert loathes the very name; The rockets hiss, the bonfires blaze, The peasants gape in still amaze; The field unplough'd-the ox unyok'd, The farmer's mouth with pudding chok'd, The sexton's vest of decent brown, The village maiden's Sunday gown, In joyful union seem to say, "Squire Robert is of age to-day."

The bumpkins hurry to the Bell, And clam'rous tongues in riot swell;

Anger is hot-and so is liquor;

They drink confusion to the Vicar-
And shout and song from lad and lass,
And broken heads-and broken glass,
In concert horrible, declare
Their loyal rev'rence for the heir.

Right justly may the youthful squire These transports in his slaves inspire; At every fireside through the place He's welcome as the curate's grace; He tells his story, cracks his joke, And drinks his ale "like other folk," Fearless he risks that cranium thick At cudgelling and single-stick;

And then his stud!-why! far and wide

It is the county's chiefest pride!

Ah! had his steed no firmer brains

Than the mere thing that holds the reins, Grief soon would bid the beer to run Because the squire's mad race was done, Not less than now it froths away, Because "the squire's of age to-day."

Far different pomp inspir'd of old The youthful Roman's bosom bold, Soon as a father's honored hand Gave to his grasp the casque and brand, And off the light prætexta threw,

And from his neck the bulla drew,

Bade him the toga's foldings scan,
And glory in the name of "Man.”
Far different pomp lit ardour high
In the young German's eager eye,
When, bending o'er his offspring's head,
An aged sire, half-weeping, said,—
"Thy duty to thy father done,

Go forth-and be thy country's son."
Heavens! how his bosom burn'd to dare
The grim delight of manhood's war,
And brandish in no mimic field
His beaming lance and osier shield:
How his young bosom longed to claim
In war's wild tumult manhood's name,
And write it, 'midst the battle's foam,
In the best blood of trembling Rome!

Such was the hope, the barbarous joy,
That nerved to arms the German boy;
A flame as ardent, more refin'd,
Shall brightly glow in Julio's mind;
But yet I'd rather see thee smile
Grimly on war's embattled file,

I'd rather see thee wield in strife
The German butcher's reckless knife,
Thinking thy claims to manhood grow
From each pale corse that bleeds below;-
I'd rather view thee thus,-than see

A modern blockhead rise in thee.

Is it a study for a Peer

To breathe soft vows in lady's ear,
To choose a coat-or leap a gate,
To win an heiress-or a plate?

Far nobler studies shall be thine-
So Friendship and the Muse divine:
It shall be thine, in danger's hour,
To guide the helm of British power,
And 'midst thy country's laurell'd crown
To mix a garland all thine own.
Julio, from this auspicious day,
New honors gild thine onward way;
In thee Posterity shall view

A heart to faith and feeling true,

And Fame her choicest wreaths shall blend,

For Virtue's, and the poor man's friend.

**

TO JULIA,

PREPARING FOR HER FIRST SEASON IN TOWN.

JULIA, while London's fancied bliss

Bids you despise a life like this,

While Chiswick and its joys you leave,

For hopes, that flatter to deceive,

You will not scornfully refuse,

(Though dull the theme, and weak the Muse,) To look upon my line, and hear

What Friendship sends to Beauty's ear.

Four miles from Town, a neat abode
O'erlooks a rose-bush, and a road;
A paling, clean'd with constant care,
Surrounds ten yards of neat parterre,
Where dusty ivy strives to crawl
Five inches up the whiten'd wall.
The open window thickly set
With myrtle, and with mignionette,
Behind whose cultivated row

A brace of globes peep out for show;