TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

DEAR architect of fine CHATEAUX in air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear;

Oh for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!)
A partnership of literary ware!

But I am bankrupt now; and doomed henceforth
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays;
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled worth:
But what is commentator's happiest praise?
That he has furnished lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise.

Nor did you kill that you might eat
And ease a doggish pain;

For him, though chased with furious heat,
You left where he was slain.

Nor was he of the thievish sort,
Or one whom blood allures,
But innocent was all his sport
Whom you have torn for yours.

My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can,

I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble man?

BEAU'S REPLY

SIR, when I flew to seize the bird
In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand.

You cried "Forbear!"--but in my breast
A mightier cried "Proceed!".
'Twas nature, sir, whose strong behest
Impelled me to the deed.

ANSWER TO STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH

BY MISS CATHARINE FANSHAWE, WHO, WHEN FORBIDDEN TO TAKE A COPY OF A POEM BY COWPER, HAD LEARNT IT BY HEART

To be remembered thus is fame,
And in the first degree;
And did the few like her the same,
The press might sleep for me.

So Homer, in the memory stored
Of many a Grecian belle,

Was once preserved—a richer hoard,
But never lodged so well.

TO A LADY WHO WORE A LOCK OF HIS HAIR SET WITH DIAMONDS.

THE star that beams on Anna's breast
Conceals her William's hair;

'Twas lately severed from the rest
To be promoted there.

The heart that beats beneath that breast

Is William's well I know,

A nobler prize and richer far
Than India could bestow.

She thus his favoured lock prefers
To make her William shine;

The ornament indeed is hers,
But all the honour mine.

ON A LETTER OF MISS FANSHAWE

HER pen drops eloquence as sweet
As any Muse's tongue can speak ;
Nor need a scribe like her regret

Her want of Latin or of Greek.

TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA

ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN

VERSE

My rose, Gravina, blooms anew;
And, steeped not now in rain
But in Castalian streams by you,
Will never fade again.

ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE

THE suitors sinned, but with a fair excuse,
Whom all this elegance might well seduce;
Nor can our censure on the husband fall
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.

ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL FROM MR. HAYLEY

I SHOULD have deemed it once an effort vain
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,
But from that error now behold me free,
Since I received him as a gift from thee.

IN A TIME OF GREAT HEAT

TO HAYLEY

AH! brother Poet, send me of your shade,
And bid the zephyrs hasten to my aid!
Or, like a worm unearthed at noon, I go,
Despatched by sunshine, to the shades below.

EPIGRAMS ON HIS GARDEN-SHED

I

BEWARE of building! I intended

Rough logs and thatch, and thus it ended.