1

The well inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,

And hopes, in spite of pain;
If Winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth,

And Nature laughs again.
What if thine Heav'n be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last;

Expect a brighter sky.
The God, that strings the silver bow,
Awakes sometimes the muses too,

And lays his arrows by.
If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy strength be seen;
But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail
With more than a propitious gale,
Take half thy canvass in.

Cowper.

Reflection on the foregoing Ode.
AND is this all ? Can reason do no more,
*Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore?
Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea,
The Christian has an art unknown to thee.
He holds no parley with unmanly fears ;
Where duty bids, he confidently steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,,
And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED

IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd
The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin'd,
Gazd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd ;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purr'd applause.
Still had she gaz'd; but ’midst the tide
Two angel fornis were seen to g!ide,

The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view

Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
A whisker first, and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize,
What female heart can gold despise ?

What cat's averse to fish ?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulf between :
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smild)
The slippery verge her feet beguild,

She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat’ry god,

Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard,

A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ;

Nor all that glisters gold.

Gray.

FALSE FRIENDS AND TRUE.*

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made:
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring;
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn ;

* This poem, from its excellence, has been attributed to Shakspeare.

And there sung the doleful'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, nor would she cry; Teru, teru, by and by; That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain ; For her griefs, so lively shown, Made me think upon mine own. Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ; None takes pity on thy pain : Sepseless trees, they cannot hear thee, Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee. King Pandion, he is dead; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead ; All thy fellow-birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing! Whilst, as fickle Fortune smil'd, Thou and I were both beguil'd. Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery. Words are easy like the wind ; Faithful friends are hard to find, Every man will be thy friend Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; But if store of crowns be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigal, Bountiful they will him call ; And with such like flattering, * Pity but he were a king.' If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice; If to women he be bent, They have at commandement;

But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown;
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need;
If thou sorrow, he will weep,
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:
Thus, of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

Barnfield.

TO THE MOON.

Thou silent Moon, that look'st so pale,

So much exhausted, and so faint, Wandering over hill and dale,

Watching oft the kneeling saintHearing his groans float on the galeNo wonder thou art tir'd and pale.

Yet have I often seen thee bring

Thy beams o'er yon bare mountain's steep i Then, with a smile, their lustre fling

Full on the dark and roaring deep; When the pilgrim's heart did fail, And when near lost the tossing sail.

Sure, that passing blush deceives;

For thou, fair nymph, art chaste and cold ! Love our bosoms seldom leaves;

But thou art of a different mould.