But, lo! his wonder did not hold him long-
Soft from a bufh below, divinely clear,
A modeft warble melted on his ear,

A plaintive, foothing, folitary fong

A ftealing, timid, unprefuming found,
Afraid dim Nature's deep repofe to wound;

That hufh'd (a death-like paufe) the rude Sublime,
This was a novelty to Mag indeed,

Who, pulling up his fpindle-thanks with speed,
Dropp'd from his turret, half-devour'd by Time,
A-la-Françoife, upon the spray,

Where a lone Red-breaft pour'd to eve his lay.
Staring the modeft minstrel in the face;
Familiar, and with arch grimace,

He conn'd the dusky warbler o'er and o'er,
As though he knew him years before,
And thus began, with feeming great civility,
All in the Paris cafe of volubility :-

What Bobby! dam'me, is it you,

That thus your pretty phiz to mufick screw, "So far from hamlet, village, town, and city, "To glad old battlements with dull pfalm ditty?

'Sdeath! what a pleasant, lively, merry scene! "Plenty of bats, and owls, and ghofts, I ween; "Rare midnight fcreeches, Bob, between you all: Why, what's the name on 't, Bobby Dismal Hall? "Come, to be serious curfe this queer old fpot, And let thy owlish habitation rot!

"Join me, and foon in riot we will revel:

I'll teach thee how to curfe, and call folks names,
And be expert in treafon, murder, flames,

"And most divinely play the devil.

"Yes, thou fhalt leave this fpectred hole,

And prove thou haft a bit of foul

"Soon fhalt thou fee old ftupid London dance:

There fhall we fhine immortal knaves;

"Not fteal unknown, like cuckoos, to our graves,

"But imitate the geniuses of France.

"Who'd be that monkish, cloister'd thing, a muscle § Importance only can arise from buftle!

"Tornado, thunder, lightning, tumult, ftrife; "These charm, and add a dignity to life.

"That thou should't choose this spot, is monstrous odd ; "Foh, pohl thou canst not like this life, by G!”

Sir!" like one thunder-stricken, ftaring wide-
Can you be serious, Sir ?" the Robin cried.
"Serious!" rejoin'd the Magpie, "aye, my boy➡
"So come, let's play the devil, and enjoy."

"Flames!" quoth the Robin-" and in riot revel!
Call names, and curfe, divinely play the devil!
"I cannot, for my life, the fun discern."-

No!-blush then, Bob, and follow me, and learn.”
"Excufe me, Sir," the modeft Hermit cried-
"Hell's not the hobby-horse I wish to ride!"
"Hell!" laugh'd the Magpie, "hell no longer dread;
"Why, Bob, in France the Devil's lately dead :
"Damnation vulgar to a Frenchman's hearing,-
"The word is only kept alive for fwearing.
"Against futurity they all proteft;

And God and Heav'n are grown a standing jeft.

"Brimftone and fin are downright out of fashion; "France is quite alter'd-now a thinking nation: "No more of penitential tears and groans!

Philofophy has crack'd Religion's bones.

As for your Saviour of a wicked world,
"Long from his confequence has he been hurl'd:
"They do acknowledge fuch a man, d'ye fee;
"But then they call him fimple Monfieur Chrift.
"Bob, for thy ignorance, pray blush for shame-
"Behold, thy DOCTOR PRIESTLEY fays the fame.

"Well! now thou fully art convinc'd-let's go."—
"What curfed doctrine!" quoth the Robin, "No→→→→
"I won't go-no! thy fpeeches make me shudder."-
Poor Robin!" quoth the Magpie, "what a pudder!
"Be damn'd then, Bobby !"-flying off, he rav'd-
"And (quoth the Robin) Sir, may you be fav'd!”?
This faid, the tuneful fprite renew'd his lay;
A sweet and farewel hymn to parting day.-

In Thomas Paine the Magpie doth appear
That I'm Poor Robin, is not quite fo clear.

DESCRIPTION

FR

DESCRIPTION of the SEA SHORE.
By DR. AIKIN.

REQUENT along the pebbly beach I pace,
And gaze intent on Ocean's varying face.
Now from the main rolls-in the fwelling tide,
And waves on waves in long proceffion ride;
Gath'ring they come, 'till, gain'd the ridgy height,
No more the liquid mound fuftains its weight;
It curls, it falls, it breaks, with hideous roar,
And pours a foamy deluge on the shore.
From the bleak pole now driving tempefts fweep,
Tear the light clouds, and vex the ruffled deep:
White on the fhoals the spouting breakers rife,
And mix the wafte of waters with the fkies:
The anch'ring veffels, ftretch'a in long array,
Shake from their bounding fides the dashing fpray;
Lab'ring they heave, the tighten'd cables ftrain,
And danger adds new horror to the main:
Then shifts the scene, as to the Western gales
Delighted Commerce fpreads her crowded fails.
A clufter'd groupe the diftant fleet appear,
That, fcatt'ring, breaks in varied figures near.
Now, all-illumin'd by the kindling ray,
Swan-like, the ftately veffel cuts her way:
The full-wing'd barks now meet, now swiftly pafs,
And leave long traces in the liquid glass:
Light boats, all fail, athwart the currents bound,
And dot with fhining fpecks the furface round.
Nor with the day the fea-born fplendours cease:
When ev'ning lulls each ruder gale to peace,
The rifing moon with filv'ry luftre gleams,
And fhoots across the flood her quiv'ring beams,
Or, if deep gloom fucceed the fultry day,
On Ocean's bofom native meteors play,

Flash from the wave, purfue the dipping oar,

And roll in flaming billows to the fhore.

DESCRIPTION of MORNING: From Poems by the Author of the VILLAGE CURATE, and ADRIANO.

AT length a breeze

Blew from the east, and rent the fable clouds
That all night long had veil'd the ftarry Heavens.
From many a cheerful loop-hole, thro' the gloom,

Peeps

Peeps the clear azure with its living gems.
Faft flies the fcud; and now the glowing dawn
Stands unobscur'd upon the mountain's top,
Her lovely forehead with a waning moon
And her own brilliant day-ftar grac'd. The clouds,
Still floating overhead, touch'd by the beam
Of the flow fun emerging from the deep
(But to Ophelia's eye not yet reveal'd),
Are fleeces dipt in filver, dappled pearl,
And feathers smoother than the cygnet's down;
Here red and fiery as the ferret's eye,
Here dun and wavy as the turtle's breast.
The fainting stars withdraw, the moon grows pale,
And the clear planet, meffenger of light,
Hides in the fplendor of returning day.

The mountains are on fire. The foreft burns
With glory not to be beheld. The Heavens
Are ftreak'd with rays from the relumin'd East,
As from the center of a flaming wheel,

Shot round. The fun appears. The jovial hills
Rejoice and fing, the chearful vallies laugh.
All Nature utters from her thankful heart
Audible gratitude.

The PATRIOT FAIR, a SONG.

By the late CHRISTOPHER SMART, M. A. of Pembroke-Hall, Cambridge**

WHEN young and artless as the lamb,

That plays around the fondling dam,
Brifk, buxom, pert, and filly;

I flighted all the manly fwains,

And put my virgin heart in chains
For fimple, finock-fac❜d Billy.

But when experience came with years,
And rais'd my hopes, and quell'd my fears,
My blood grew blythe and bonny;

I turn'd off ev'ry beardless youth,
And gave my love, and fix'd my truth
Ön honeft, sturdy Johnny.

But when at wake I faw the 'Squire,
For lace I felt a new defire,

Not inferted in his works.

Fond

Fond to out-fhine my Mammy;

I figh'd for fringes, frogs, and beaux,
And pig-tail'd wigs, and powder'd clothes,
And filken Mafter Sammy.

For riches next I felt a flame,
When to my cot old Gripus came
To hold an am'rous parley;
For mufic now I chanc'd to burn,
And fondly liften'd in my turn

To warbling, quavering Charley,

Thus all alike, the fools and wits,
Fops, fidlers, foreigners, and cits,

All charm'd me by rotation:
Then learn from me, ye Patriot Fair,
Ne'er make one fingle man your care,
But figh for all the nation.

*SOLILOQUY of the Princefs PERRIWINKLE, fola, attended by fourteen Maids of great honour.

SURE fuch a wretch as I was never born,
By all the world deferted and forlorn ;
This bitter-fweet, this honey-gall to prove,
And all the oil and vinegar of love.
Pride, Love and Reafon will not let me reft,
But make a dev'lish buftle in my breast.

To wed with Fizgig, Pride, Pride, Pride denies;
Put on a Spanish padlock, Reajon cries:
But tender gentle Love with every wish complies.
Pride, Love and Reafon fight till they are cloy'd,
And each by each in mutual wounds deftroy'd,
Thus when a Barber and a Collier fight,
The Barber beats the lucklefs Collier-white;
The dufty Collier heaves his pond'rous fack,
And, big with vengeance, beats the Barber-black;
In comes the Brickduft-man, with grime o'erfpread,
And beats the Collier and the Barber-red.
Black, red, and white, in various clouds are toft,
And in the duft they raise the combatants are loft.

From a Comedy called, "A Trip to Cambridge, or the Grateful Fair.

PROLOGUE