Though each resemble each in every part, A difference strikes at length the musing heart; ANOTHER. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. SWEET stream that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng, With gentle yet prevailing force VERSES, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, That sages have seen in thy face? I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, The beasts that roam over the plain Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more! My friends, de they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? Oh tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift winged arrows of light.. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair, Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There is mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought! And reconciles man to his lot. ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ. TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND. ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth, And in his sportive days, Fair science pour'd the light of truth, See! with united wonder, cried With all the skill of age. Discernment, eloquence, and grace The praise bestow'd was just and wise; Secure of conquest, where the prize Attends superior worth. So the best courser on the plain ODE TO PEACE. COME, peace of mind, delightful guest! Once more in this sad heart: Nor riches I, nor power pursue, Where wilt thou dwell if not with me, And pleasure's fatal wiles? For whom, alas! dost thou prepare The great, the gay, shall they partake For thee I panted, thee I prized, HUMAN FRAILTY. WEAK and irresolute is man ; The bow well bent and smart the spring, But passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his weaker part, Virtue engages his assent, But pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise Bound on a voyage of aweful length But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast, The breath of heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. THE MODERN PATRIOT. REBELLION is my theme all day, Yon roaring boys who rave and fight When lawless mobs insult the court, But oh! for him my fancy culls Who constitutionally pulls Your house about your ears. Such civil broils are my delight, Though some folks can't endure 'em, Who say the mob are mad outright, And that a rope must cure 'em. |