What profits that at distance, I behold My wealthy neighbour's fragrant smoak ascend, If still the griping cormorants withhold The fruits which rain and genial seasons send? If those fell vipers of the public weal In every port the vessel rides secure, Which wafts our harvest to a foreign shore; While we the pangs of pressing want endure, The sons of strangers, riot on our store. O generous Chatham, stop those fatal sails, save; The unheeding crew, but waits for favouring gales, So may thy languid limbs with strength be braced, Then, joy to thee, and to thy children peace The grateful hind shall drink from plenty's horn: And while they share the cultured land's increase, The poor shall bless the day when Pitt was born. THE ENTAIL. A Fable. In a fair summer's radiant morn, On the rich bosom of a Rose. The palace pleased the lordly guest; What insect own'd a prouder nest? The dewy leaves luxurious shed Their balmy odours o'er his head, And with their silken tap'stry fold His limbs enthroned on central gold, He thinks the thorus embattled round To guard his lovely castle's mound, And all the bush's wide domain Subservient to his fancied reign. Such ample blessings swell'd the Fly. Yet in his mind's capacious eye, He roll'd the change of mortal things; These manors ne'er shall pass to snails, I swear' And then he smote his ermine These towers were never built for vermine.' A Caterpillar grovell'd near, A subtile slow conveyancer, Who summon'd, waddles with his quill Each leaf he binds, each bud he ties When lo! how Fortune loves to teaze And eager ran to seize the prey- DUNCAN'S WARNING. As o'er the heath, amid his steel-clad Thanes Where, full to view, high topp'd with glittering vanes, Macbeth's strong towers o'erhung the mountain's side. In dusky mantle wrapp'd, a grisly form Stop, O King' thy destin'd course, Hear'st thou not the raven's croak? See'st thou not the blasted oak? Lo, yon' castle banners glare Murder, like an eagle, waits Let not plighted faith beguile; Honour s semblance, beauty's smile: Fierce Ambition's venom'd dart Rankles in the fest'ring heart. Treason, arm'd against thy life, Now 'tis time; ere guilty night Closes round thee, speed thy flight. If the threshold once be crost, Duncan! thou'rt for ever lost. |