I am glad that the bridge was indicted, HE. "Nay, never care, "Tis a common affair You'll not be the last, that will set a foot there." SHE. "Let me breathe now a little and ponder I think we shall never get through." HE. "So think I: But, by the bye, We never shall know, if we never should try." SHE. "But should we get there, how shall we get home? Now it is plain That struggling and striving is labor in vain." HE. "Stick fast there while I go and look ;" SHE. "Don't go away, for fear I should fall:" HE. "I have examined it, every nook, And what you see here is a sample of all. Come, wheel round, The dirt we have found Would be an estate, at a farthing a pound." Now, sister Anne,* the guitar you must take, Which critics won't blame, For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the same. ON THE AUTHOR OF LETTERS ON THE Genius of the Augustan age Thou hast, he cried, like him of old And for traducing Virgil's name A perpetuity of fame, That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd. *The late Lady Austen. Nominally by Robert Heron, Esq., but supposed to have been written by John Pinkerton. 8vo. 1785. STANZAS ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS OF MILTON.* ANNO 1790. "ME too, perchance, in future days, "But I, or ere that season come, Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, So sang in Roman tone and style, Who then but must conceive disdain, Of wretches who have dared profane Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones * The bones of Milton, who lies buried in Cripplegate church, were disinterred; a pamphlet by Le Neve was published at the time, giving an account of what appeared on opening his coffin. † Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus, Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri Fronde comas-At ego secura pace quiescam. Milton in Manso. Cowper, no doubt, had in his memory the lines said to have been written by Shakspeare on his tomb: That trembled not to grasp his bones O ill requited bard! neglect As much affronts thee dead. TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. MY DEAR FRIEND, June 22, 1782. power, IF reading verse be your delight, "Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear And he by no uncommon lot I seem no brighter in my wits, Than if I saw, through midnight vapor, Et morbo jam caliginoso! 'Tis here; this oval box well fill'd Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide, Or listening with delight not small "Tis thine to cherish and to feed |