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. VI. 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. to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lairs 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 PROMOTIOΝ ΟΙ EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ. TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP I. ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth, Fair science poured the light of truth, II. Seel with united wonder cried III: Discernment, eloquence, and grace IV. The praise bestowed was just and wise; He sprang impetuous forth Secure of conquest, where the prize Attends superior worth. V. So the best courser on the plain ODE TO PEACE. I. COME, peace of mind, delightful guest! Return and make thy dowuy nest Once more in this sad heart: Nor riches I nor power pursue, II. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, And pleasure's fatal wiles? III. The great, the gay, shall they partake The heaven, that thou alone canst make? And wilt thou quit the stream, That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove and the sequestered shed, To be a guest with them? IV. For thee I panted, thee I prized, And shall I see thee start away, HUMAN FRAILTY. I. WEAK and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away. The bow well bent, and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain; And it revives again. Virtue engages his assent, But pleasure wins his heart. IV. 'Tis here the folly of the wise And, while his tongue the charge denies, V. Bound on a voyage of awful length A stranger to superior strength, VI... But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of heaven must swell the sail, THE MODERN PATRIOT. REBELLION is my theme all day; (As who knows but perhaps it may?) |