Six gentlemen upon the road

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With post-boy scampering in the rear,

They rais'd the hue and cry:—

Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that pass'd that way
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before,

That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up

He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he;
And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!




A Stranger's purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise.
To give the creature the Creator's due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or ev'n to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by Craft for folly's use design'd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briars in his road. The world may dance along the flow'ry plain, Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain, Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, With unshod feet they yet securely tread, Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent upon pleasure, heedless of its end. But he, who knew what human hearts would prove, How slow to learn the dictates of his love, That hard by nature and of stubborn will, A life of ease would make them harder still,In pity to the sinners be designed
To rescue from the ruins of mankind,
Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, "Go spend them in the vale of tears."
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air,
Gh salutary streams that murmur there,
These flowing from the fount of grace above,
Those breathed from lips of everlasting love!
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys,
And sudden sorrow nips their springing joys,
An envious world will interpose its frown
To mar delights superior to its own,
And many a pang, experienc'd still within,
Reminds them of their hated inmate, sin;
But ills of every shape and every name
Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim;
And ev'ry moment's calm, that sooths the breast.
Is giv'n in earnest of eternal rest.

All, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste!
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear,
But the chief Shepherd is for ever near;
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain;
Thy tears all issue from a source divine,
And ev'ry drop bespeaks a Saviour thine—
Twas thus in Gideon's fleece the dews were found,
And drought on all the drooping herbs around.

.TO THB ^ , ...


I. . .

Unwin, I should but ill repay

The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay

As ever friendship penned,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a vicious age.


An union formed, as mine with thee,

Not rashly, nor in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,

And faithful in it's sort,
And may as rich in comfort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.


The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose, Adorns, though differing in its kind.
The stock whereon it grows, With flow'r as sweet, or fruit as fair,

As if produc'd by nature there.


Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,

And place it in this first essay,
Least this should prove the last.

Tla wkere it should be—*iri a plan,

That holds in view the good of man.

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,

Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame .

Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend,




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