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Unlike the enigmatic line,
So difficult to spell,

Which shook Belshazzar at his wine,
The night his city fell.

Soon watery grew her eyes and dim,
But with a joyful tear,

None else, except in prayer for him,
George ever drew from her.

It was a scene in every part
Like those in fable feign'd,

And seem'd by some magician's art
Created and sustain❜d.

But other magic there, she knew,
Had been exerted none,
To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone.

That cordial thought her spirits cheer'd,

And through the cumbrous throng, Not less unworthy to be fear'd, Convey'd her calm along.

So ancient poets say, serene

The sea-maid rides the waves, And, fearless of the billowy scene, Her peaceful bosom laves.

With more than astronomic eyes

She view'd the sparkling show;

One Georgian star adorns the skies,
She myriads found below.

Yet let the glories of a night

Like that, once seen, suffice;

Heaven grant us no such future sight,

Such previous woe the price!

THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.

[MAY, 1789.]

MUSE- Hide his name of whom I sing,
Lest his surviving house thou bring
For his sake into scorn,

Nor speak the school from which he drew
The much or little that he knew,

Nor place where he was born.

That such a man once was, may seem
Worthy of record (if the theme

Perchance may credit win)

For proof to man,

what Man may prove,

If grace depart, and demons move

The source of guilt within.

This man (for since the howling wild Disclaims him, Man he must be styled) Wanted no good below,

Gentle he was, if gentle birth

Could make him such, and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow.

In social talk and ready jest
He shone superior at the feast,
And qualities of mind

Illustrious in the eyes of those
Whose gay society he chose
Possess'd of every kind.

Methinks I see him powder'd red,
With bushy locks his well-dress'd head
Wing'd broad on either side,

The mossy rose-bud not so sweet;
His steeds superb, his carriage neat
As luxury could provide.

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With barbarous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight

'Twixt birds to battle train'd.

One feather'd champion he possess'd,
His darling far beyond the rest,

Which never knew disgrace,

Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow
The life-blood of his fiercest foe,
The Cæsar of his race.

It chanced, at last, when, on a day,
He push'd him to the desperate fray,
His courage droop'd, he fled.
The master storm'd, the prize was lost,
And instant, frantic at the cost,

He doom'd his favourite dead.

He seized him fast, and from the pit
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit,

And, "Bring me cord," he cried;
The cord was brought, and, at his word,
To that dire implement the bird,
Alive and struggling, tied.

The horrid sequel asks a veil,

And all the terrors of the tale

That can be, shall be, sunk

Led by the sufferer's screams aright His shock'd companions view the sight And him with fury drunk.

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate
For the old warrior at the grate :
He, deaf to pity's call,

Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel
His culinary club of steel,

Death menacing on all.

But vengeance hung not far remote,

For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat
And heaven and earth defied,

Big with a curse too closely pent
That struggled vainly for a vent,
He totter'd, reel'd, and died.

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise,
To point the judgments of the skies,
But judgments plain as this,
That, sent for man's instruction, bring
A written label on their wing,
'Tis hard to read amiss.

ON THE

BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING,

IN THE YEAR 1789.

O Sovereign of an isle renown'd
For undisputed sway

Wherever o'er yon gulf profound
Her navies wing their way,

With juster claim she builds at length
Her empire on the sea,

And well may boast the waves her strength
Which strength restored to thee.

MORTUARY STANZAS FOR 1789.

- Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit.-VIRG. There calm at length he breathed his soul away.

"O MOST delightful hour by man
Experienced here below,

The hour that terminates his span,
His folly, and his woe!

"Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

Again life's dreary waste,

To see again my day o'erspread
With all the gloomy past.

"My home henceforth is in the skies,
Earth, seas, and sun, adieu!
All heaven unfolded to my eyes,

I have no sight for you."

So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd
Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breathed his soul into its rest,

The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's side;

And all his strength from Scripture drew, To hourly use applied.

That rule he prized, by that he fear'd,
He hated, hoped, and loved;

Nor ever frown'd or sad appear'd,

But when his heart had roved.

For he was frail, as thou or I,
And evil felt within:

But when he felt it, heaved a sigh,
And loathed the thought of sin.

Such lived Aspasio; and at last
Call'd up from earth to heaven,
The gulf of death triumphant pass'd,
By gales of blessing driven.

"His joys be mine,” each reader cries, "When my last hour arrives :" They shall be yours, my verse replies, Such only be your lives.

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