Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-wink'd justice, who shall tell thy audit?

Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio; Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings. 'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more pre

cious Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain !Oh! let it not elude thy grasp; but, like The good old patriarch upon record, Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

SOME HASTY RHYMES ON SLEEP.
MYSTERIOUS deity, impart
From whence thou comest, and what thou art.
I feel thy power, thy reign I bless,
But what I feel, I can't express.
Thou bind’st my limbs, but canst not restrain
The busy workings of the brain.

All nations of the air and land
Ask the soft blessing at thy hand.
The reptiles of the frozen zone
Are close attendants on thy throne;
Where painted basilisks infold
Their azure scales in rolls of gold.

The slave, that's destined to the oar,
In one kind vision swims to shore;
The lover meets the willing fair,
And fondly grasps impassive air.
Last night the happy miser told
Twice twenty thousand pounds in gold.

The purple tenant of the crown Implores thy aid on beds of down: While Lubin and his healthy bride Obtain what monarchs are denied.

The garter'd statesman thou wouldst own, But rebel conscience spurns thy throne; Braves all the poppies of the fields, And the famed gum' that Turkey yields.

While the good man, oppress'd with pain, Shall court thy smiles, nor sue in vain : Propitious thou'lt his prayer attend, And

prove his guardian and his friend. Thy faithful hands shall make his bed, And thy soft arm support his head.

SONG.

Tell me, my Cælia, why so coy;

Of men so much afraid; Cælia, 'tis better far to die

A mother than a maid.

The rose, when past its damask hue,

Is always out of favour;
And when the plum bath lost its blue,

Its loses too its flavour.

To vernal flowers the rolling years

Returning beauty bring;
But faded once, thou 'lt bloom no more,

Nor know a second spring.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY,

WHOSE FAVOURITE BIRD WAS ALMOST KILLED BY A

FALL FROM HER FINGER.

As Tiney, in a wanton mood,
Upon his Lucy's finger stood,

Ambitious to be free;
With breast elate he

eager

tries By flight to reach the distant skies,

And gain his liberty.

Ah! luckless bird, what though caress'd,
And fondled in the fair one's breast,

Taught e'en by her to sing;
Know that, to check thy temper wild,
And make thy manners soft and mild,

Thy mistress cut thy wing.

The feather'd tribe who cleave the air,
Their weights by equal plumage bear,

And quick escape our power;
Not so with Tiney, dear delight,
His shorten’d wing repress'd his flight,

And threw him on the floor.

Stunn’d with the fall, he seem'd to die,
For quickly closed his sparkling eye,

Scarce heaved his pretty breast;
Alarmed for her favourite care,
Lucy assumes a pensive air,

And is at heart distress'd.

The stoic soul, in gravest strain,
May call these feelings light and vain,

Which thus from fondness flow;
Yet, if the bard arightly deems,
'Tis nature's fount which feeds the streams

That purest joys bestow.

So, should it be fair Lucy's fate,
Whene'er she wills a change of state,

To boast a mother's name;
These feelings then, thou charming maid,
In brightest lines shall be display'd,

And praise uncensured claim."

TO THE REV. JAMES HERVEY,

ON HIS MEDITATIONS.

To form the taste, and raise the nobler part,
To mend the morals, and to warm the heart;
To trace the genial source we Nature call,
And
prove

the God of Nature friend of all; Hervey for this his mental landscape drew, And sketch'd the whole creation out to view.

The' enamel'd bloom, and variegated flower, Whose crimson changes with the changing hour; The humble shrub, whose fragrance scents the

morn, With buds disclosing to the early dawn; The oaks that grace Britannia's mountains' side, And spicy Lebanon's superior pride';

I The Cedar.

All loudly sovereign excellence proclaim,
And animated worlds confess the same.

The azure fields that form the extended sky,
The planetary globes that roll on high,
And solar orbs, of proudest blaze, combine
To act subservient to the great design:
Men, angels, seraphs, join the general voice,
And in the Lord of Nature all rejoice.
His the

gray

winter's venerable guise, Its shrouded glories, and instructive skies 2; His the snow's plumes, that brood the sickening

blade: His the bright pendant that impearls the glade; The waving forest, or the whispering brake; The surging billow, or the sleeping lake. The same who pours the beauties of the spring, Or mounts the whirlwind's desolating wing. The same who smiles in Nature's peaceful form, Frowns in the tempest, and directs the storm.

"Tis thine, bright teacher, to improve the age; "Tis thine, whose life's a comment on thy page; Thy happy page! whose periods sweetly flow, Whose figures charm us, and whose colours glow: Where artless piety pervades the whole, Refines the genius, and exalts the soul. For let the witling argue all he can, It is Religion still that makes the man: "Tis this,my friend, that streaks our morning bright; 'Tis this that gilds the horrors of the night. When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few; When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue; 'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, Disarms affliction, or repels its dart;

Referring to the Winter Piece.

2