And, were I call'd to prove the assertion true,
One proof should serve a reference to you.
Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life,
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none ?
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch?
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and over wed
Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
"Go, fellow!-whither ?"-turning short about-
Nay-stay at home-you're always going out.”
""Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end."-
"For what?”- "An' please you, sir, to see a friend."
"A friend!" Horatio cried, and seem'd to start-
"Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.
And fetch my cloak; for though the night be raw,
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw."
I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child;
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose:
Perhaps, his confidence just then betray'd,
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made;
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language in my mind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralise too much, and strain
To prove an evil of which all complain,
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun ;)
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done :
Once on a time an emperor, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once, should ever after wear
But half a coat, and shew his bosom bare.
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within, and all found out.
Oh happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
Else, could a law like that which I relate,
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Some few, that I have known in days of old,
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold;
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow
Might traverse England safely to and fro,
An honest man, close-button'd to the chin,
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within.
Within its customary nook,
And, staff in hand, set forth to share
The sober cordial of sweet air,
Like Isaac, with a mind applied
To serious thought at evening-tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,
And from the trees, that fringed his
hill
hades slanting at the close of day
Chill'd more his else delightful way,
Distant a little mile he spied
A western bank's still sunny side,
And right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimblest pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,
Just reach'd it when the sun was set.
Your hermit, young and jovial sirs!
Learns something from whate'er
And hence, he said, my mind computes
The real worth of man's pursuits. His object chosen, wealth or fame, Or other sublunary game,
Imagination to his view
Presents it deck'd with every hue,
That can seduce him not to spare
His powers of best exertion there,
But youth, health, vigour to expend
On so desirable an end.
Ere long approach life's evening shades,
The glow that fancy gave it fades ; And, earn'd too late, it wants the
That first engaged him in the chase.
True, answer'd an angelic guide, Attendant at the senior's side,But whether all the time it cost, To urge the fruitless chase be lost, Must be decided by the worth Of that which call'd his ardour forth. Trifles pursued, whate'er the event, Must cause him shame or discontent; A vicious object still is worse, Successful there he wins a curse; But he, whom even in life's last stage Endeavours laudable engage, Is paid at least in peace of mind, And sense of having well design'd; And if, ere he attain his end, His sun precipitate descend, A brighter prize than that he meant Shall recompense his mere intent. No virtuous wish can bear a date Either too early or too late.
ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains
That, to the wrong side leaning,
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning;
Ah, why since oceans, rivers, streams
That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,
In constant exhalations;
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now,
THE greenhouse is my summer seat; | The open windows seem'd to invite My shrubs displaced from that retreat The freeman to a farewell flight;
Enjoy'd the open air; Two goldfinches, whose sprightly
song Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there. They sang as blithe as finches sing That flutter loose on golden wing, And frolic where they list; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never miss'd.
But nature works in every breast,
With force not easily suppress'd;
And Dick felt some desires, That, after many an effort vain, Instructed him at length to gain A pass between his wires.
But Tom was still confined; And Dick, although his way was clear, Was much too generous and sincere To leave his friend behind.
So settling on his cage, by play,
And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say,
You must not live alone;
;-
Nor would he quit that chosen stand
Till I, with slow and cautious hand,
Return'd him to his own.
Oh ye, who never taste the joys Of friendship, satisfied with noise, Fandango, ball, and rout! Blush when I tell you how a bird A prison with a friend preferr'd To liberty without.
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE.
THE lady thus address'd her spouse-For
"What a mere dungeon is this house!
By no means large enough; and was
it,
Yet this dull room, and that dark
closet,
Those hangings with their worn-out graces,
Long beards, long noses, and pale
faces,
Are such an antiquated scene,
They overwhelm me with the spleen."
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
Makes answer quite beside the mark:
"No doubt, my dear, I bade him
one slight trespass all this stir ?
What if he did ride whip and spur,
'Twas but a mile-your favourite
horse
Will never look one hair the worse.' "Well, I protest 'tis past all bear
ing"Child! I am rather hard of hearing."
"Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl:
I tell you, you can't hear at all!"
Then, with a voice exceeding low,
" 'No matter if you hear or no."
Alas! and is domestic strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear'd,
As to be wantonly incurr'd,
To gratify a fretful passion,
On every trivial provocation?
The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;
And something every day they live
To pity and perhaps forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish or a sense impair'd,
Are crimes so little to be spared,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,
And tumult, and intestine war.
The love that cheers life's latest
stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserved by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention;
But lives, when that exterior grace,
Which first inspired the flame, decays.
"Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils it would gladly cure;
But angry, coarse, and harsh expres-
Shows love to be a mere profession;
Proves that the heart is none of his,
Or soon expels him if it is.
WHEN the British warrior Queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsels of her country's gods,
Sage beneath the spreading oak,
Šat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief.
Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.
"Rome shall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
"Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.
"Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.
"Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they."
Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow :
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died;
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
OfOther Romans shall arise,
Heaven awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestow'd,
Shame and ruin wait for you.
UNWIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
As ever friendship penn'd,
Thy name omitted in a page,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay, That would reclaim a vicious age.
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