Still may some virtues with the months roll round;
Still at my door warm Charity be found:
May soft Humanity, the poor man's friend,
Her aid to sickness and to misery lend;
May all who need it, share my field's increase,
And Heaven so bless me, as I mean to bless!
-Thus let me live, a plain unpractis'd youth,
Who wish no more than honesty and truth,
For airs polite most awkwardly unfit,
And much too dull (I know it) for a wit.
Thus through the world steal bashfully unknown,
Save to my neighbour and my friend alone;
'Tis theirs to tell you, if they tell you true,
Plain tho' my manners, they are gentle too.
Thus let me live, and live without a foc,
The world will spare the man it does not know.
WHY see we Spindle all so sad,
Why in grief's gloomiest trappings clad?
"Sad!" you reply-" With grief I speak,
"My wife's dear brother died last week."
What is the rich Equestrian gone,
Before the age of twenty-one,
From whom your wife inherits clear
At least three thousand pounds a year?
Spindle! 'tis sad-most melancholy.
-I'm sorely vext it should befall ye.
All pierc'd with wounds, and warm in blood,
He dragg'd the breathless body here
In cruel sport; she shriek'd aloud,
And rent with cries the troubled air.
Her fair locks to the winds she gave,
And sought, with frantic grief possess'd,
This guilty stream; the ruthless wave
Clos'd o'er her head, she sunk to rest.
By pious hands this stone was laid,
By pious eyes 'twas water'd o'er :
Such was her fate. For thee, fair maid,
Heaven keep a happier lot in store.
Intended for a Mausoleum, excavated from a Rock on the Sea Coast in Wales, by a Lady, where she had ordered her Remains to be deposited.
WITHIN this rock, from whose commanding brow,
In the green mirror of the sea below,
Now placid, now with angry winds at strife,
She mark'd the sad vicissitudes of life,
And to herself applied the checquer'd scene
(For much was her's of boisterous and serene,)
Maria sleeps-who, many a danger past,
Finds the calm haven of the grave at last;
And, sleeping safe, the world's last storm defies,
By Faith's firm anchor fasten'd to the skies.
Quid Romæ faciam ?—JUVENAL.
New vixit male qui natus moriensque fefellit-HORAT.
Mix with the world, the polish'd world, you cry,
Nor waste thy prime in dull obscurity;
Go, join assemblies of the great and gay,
Thy worth, thy wit, thy genius there display;
In towns, in courts, the road to greatness find,
Improve thy manners, and enlarge thy mind,
A place, a pension, or high-portion'd dame
Thy fortune shall repair and sinking name.
-Hold, hold my friend! and first consult with care
What suits my genius, what my strength will bear;
To education we our manners owe;
And as you bend the twig the tree will grow.
The mind once-form'd, distort it how you will,
Plain simple nature will be nature still.
'Twere strange to see a horse with human head;
As strange that I, a rustic born and bred,
My life half spent shou'd now embrace the town,
A mongrel beau engrafted on a clown:
They who in wondering at the beast concurr'd,
Would hiss at me, a mixture more absurd.
Shall I, an enemy to noise and strife,
Who cannot relish turtle for my life,
Who sleep at midnight and by daylight dine,
Who hate French manners, and abhor French wine,
'Tis not that look of anguish, bath'd in tears,
O, Poverty! thy haggard image wears-
'Tis not those famish'd limbs, naked, and bare
To the bleak tempest's rains, or the keen air
Of winter's piercing winds, nor that sad eye
Imploring the small boon of charity-
"Tis not that voice, whose agonizing tale
Might turn the purple cheek of grandeur pale;
Nor all that host of woes thou bring'st with thee,
Insult, contempt, disdain, and contumely,
That bid me call the fate of those forlorn,
Who 'neath thy rude oppression sigh and mourn:
But chief, relentless pow'r! thy hard control,
Which to the earth bends low th' aspiring soul;
Thine iron grasp, thy fetters drear, which bind
Each gen'rous effort of the struggling mind!-
Alas! that Genius, melancholy flow'r,
Scarce op'ning yet to Even's nurt'ring show'r,
Shou'd, by thy pitiless and cruel doom,
Wither, ere nature smiles upon her bloom;
That Innocence, touch'd by thy dead'ning wand,
Shou'd pine, nor know one outstretch'd guardian hand! For this, O Poverty! for them I sigh,
The helpless victims of thy tyranny!
For this, I call the lot of those severe,
Who wander 'mid thy haunts, and pine unheeded there!
"Twas yet the dawn of youth's gay hour
Ere mild content had fled my bower:
Joy's rosy orb illum'd my sky,
And Fancy lit my roving eye;
I laugh'd at Danger's whisper'd threat,
With maddest hopes my vain heart beat;
"Twas then that Prudence cross'd my way,
And often, often would she
"Check thy wild course, and follow me.”,
I murmur'd at her harsh command,
I would not take her offer'd hand.
What! (I exclaim'd,) already come,
All my best feelings to benumb?
Grant to my prayers a short delay,
Oh call again some other day;
Full soon will Time my minutes steal,
And on my forehead fix his seal :
Then, then, cold Nymph, I'll follow thee."
She sigh'd and went;-I dropt a tear,-
But still pursued my mad career.
While thus I joyous skipt along,
I heard a soft and melting song;
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