Unlike the enigmatic line, Which shook Belshazzar at his wine, Soon watery grew her eyes and dim, None else, except in prayer for him, It was a scene in every part And seem'd by some magician's art But other magic there, she knew, 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, 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, Nor speak the school from which he drew Nor place where he was born. That such a man once was, may seem 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 Illustrious in the eyes of those Methinks I see him powder'd red, The mossy rose-bud not so sweet; With barbarous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight 'Twixt birds to battle train'd. One feather'd champion he possess'd, Which never knew disgrace, Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow It chanced, at last, when, on a day, He doom'd his favourite dead. He seized him fast, and from the pit And, "Bring me cord," he cried; 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 Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel Death menacing on all. But vengeance hung not far remote, For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat Big with a curse too closely pent 'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING, IN THE YEAR 1789. O Sovereign of an isle renown'd Wherever o'er yon gulf profound With juster claim she builds at length And well may boast the waves her strength 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 The hour that terminates his span, "Worlds should not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste, To see again my day o'erspread "My home henceforth is in the skies, I have no sight for you." So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd 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, Nor ever frown'd or sad appear'd, But when his heart had roved. For he was frail, as thou or I, But when he felt it, heaved a sigh, Such lived Aspasio; and at last "His joys be mine,” each reader cries, "When my last hour arrives :" They shall be yours, my verse replies, Such only be your lives. |