(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.

She thus maintains divided sway

With yon bright regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phoebus aiding,
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading.

My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

Oh solitude! where are the charms,

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man,

Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!

My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of

age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

VOL. I.

X

Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell-
These vallies and rocks never heard,
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore

Some cordial endearing report

Of a land, I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me?

O 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's mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

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 poured the light of truth,
And genius shed his rays.

See! with united wonder cried
The experienced and the sage,
Ambition in a boy supplied

With all the skill of age!

Discernment, eloquence, and grace,

Proclaim him born to sway

The balance in the highest place,

And bear the palm away.