CCCV. DEAR FANNY. "SHE has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool; She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so: Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, 'Tis not the first time I have thought so. "She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; 'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season; Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny That Love reasons much better than Reason, Dear Fanny? Love reasons much better than Reason. Thomas Moore. CCCVI. TO LADY ANNE HAMILTON. Too late I stay'd! forgive the crime, How noiseless falls the foot of Time, What eye with clear account remarks When all its sands are diamond sparks, Ah! who to sober measurement Honble. William R. Spencer. CCCVII. THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS. Two nymphs, both nearly of an age, The worth of each had been complete But one, altho' her smile was sweet, And in her humour, when she frown'd, The other was of gentler cast, From all such frenzy clear, Her frowns were seldom known to last, To poets of renown in song The nymphs referr'd the cause, And, strange to tell, all judged it wrong, They gentle call'd, and kind and soft, And tho' she changed her mood so oft No judges, sure, were e'er so mad, In short, the charms her sister had Then thus the god, whom fondly they Was heard, one genial summer's day, "Since thus ye have combined," he said, The minx shall, for your folly's sake, Shall make your scribbling fingers ache, William Cowper. CCCVIII. THE MERMAID TAVERN. SOULS of Poets dead and gone, I have heard that on a day Sipping beverage divine, And pledging with contented smack Souls of Poets dead and gone, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? John Keats. CCCIX. EPITAPH UPON THE YEAR 1806. 'Tis gone, with its thorns and its roses, With the dust of dead ages to mix; Time's charnel for ever encloses The year Eighteen hundred and six ! Though many may question thy merit, Thy portion of sunshine and storm! My blame and my blessing thou sharest, If thine was a gloom the completest One hand gave the balmy corrector 'Tis gone, with its thorns and its roses! Honble. William R. Spencer. CCCX. MINERVA'S THIMBLE. YOUNG Jessica sat all the day, With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining; So active once !-now idly shining. Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts That love and mischief are most nimble; The safest shield against the darts Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. The child, who with a magnet plays, And laughing, says, "we'll steal it slily." Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle, And off, at length, elopes the needle. Now, had this needle turn'd its eye Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. Thomas Moore. CCCXI. ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. Oн, fond attempt to give a deathless lot |