Silent and chaste she steals along

Far from the world's gay busy throng,

With gentle yet prevailing force

Intent upon her destin'd course,
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where're she goes,
Pure-bofom'd as that wat'ry glass,
And heav'n reflected in her face.

VERSES, Supposed to be written by ALEXANDER SELKIRK, during his folitary Abode in the Island of JUAN FERNANDEZ.

1.

I AM monarch of all I furvey,
My right there is none to dispute,
From the center all round to the fea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Oh folitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

2.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,

Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the found of my own. The beafts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference fee, They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.

3.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man,

Oh had I the wings of a dove,
How foon wou'd I taste you again!
My forrows I then might affuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth.

4.

Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heav'nly word!
More precious than filver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the found of the church going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard,
Ne'er figh'd at the found of a knell,
Or fmil'd when a fabbath appear'd.

5.

Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this defolate shore,

Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends do they now and then fend

A wish or a thought after me?

O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to fee,

6.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compar'd with the speed of its flight,

The tempeft 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.

7.

But the fea fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair,

Ev'n here is a season of reft,

And I to my cabbin repair.

There is mercy in ev'ry place,

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

:

On

On the Promotion of EDWARD THURLOW, Esq. to

the Lord High Chancellorship of ENGLAND.

I.

ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,

And in his sportive days,

Fair science pour'd the light of truth,

And genius shed his rays.

2.

See! with united wonder, cry'd

Th' experienc'd and the fage,

Ambition in a boy supplied

With all the skill of age.

3.

Discernment, eloquence and grace,
Proclaim him born to sway

The balance in th' highest place,

And bear the palm away.

4.

The praise bestow'd was just and wife,
He sprang impetuous forth,

Secure of conquest where the prize

Attends superior worth.