And if no miracle prolong'd thy breath,
For whom shall mercy check the dart of death?
To teach its sufferers, who, like us, deplore
Life's sweetest flower cut down to bloom no more, -
A transient date to excellence is given,
To wean from earth—and raise our hopes to heaven.

Mortal atiend! if that

among

the blest
Thou hop'st to join him, ever keep in sight
His manly virtues--stamp them on thy breast,
And trace his passage to the realms of light.

MARY ANNA.

A wight,

A wight, by hungry fiend made bold,
To farmer Fitz Maurice's fold
Did slily creep,

Where num'rous flocks were quiet laid
In th' arms of sleep.

No doubt the sheep he meant to steal;
But, hapless, close behind his heel
Was ploughman Joe,

Who just arriv'd in time to stop
The murderous blow.

May ill luck on ill actions wait!
The felon must to justice straight
Be dragg'd perforce,

Where prosecutors urge his guilt
Without remorse.

With fear o'erwhelm'd the victim stands,
Anticipates the dread commands
From th' elbow chair,

Where justice sits in solemn state,
With brow austere.

'Rogue! what excuse hast thou for this! For to old Gilbert Fitz Maurice

Thou knew'st full well

The sheep within that fold belong'd:
Come, quickly tell:

Confess thy crime, 'twill nought avail
To say, the mark above the tail
Thou didst not heed;

For G. F. M. in letters large,
Thou plain might'st read."

"Tis true, I did,' the thief replies, But man is not at all times wise; As I'm a glutton,

I clearly thought that G. F. M.

Meant Good Fat Mutton.

LINES

Sent by the unfortunate Joseph Gerrald*, with a Bouquet, to a Lady.

[From the same.]

HOUGH from thy bank of velvet borne,
Hang not, fair flow'r! thy drooping crest;

Maria's bosom thou shalt find

The softest, sweetest bed of rest.

Though from mild zephyr's kiss no more
Ambrosial balms thou shalt inhale-
Her gentle breath, whene'er she sighs,
Shall fan thee with a purer gale.

But be thou thankful for that bliss

For which in vain a thousand burn;
And, as thou stealest sweets from her,
Give back thy choicest in return.

BRITAIN'S GENIUS TRIUMPHANT.

A LYRIC ESSAY.

(The Scene is supposed to lie in the North of Germany.)

""Tis now the very witching time of night,

When church-yards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to the world!"

DAY

TRAVELLER.

Shak. Hamlet,

is fled;-these heaths and moors
Yield no shelter, dreary, vast;

Howls the wind, the fierce rain pours,
Torrents stream along the waste!

3 S

Danger

Danger gathers;-baste, my steed;

Gain some dwelling;-hah! that light! Angels help me!-what foul deed Brings thee, Spectre, to my sight?

Crimson'd is thy robe with blood!
Round thy head fell serpents play!
Stains thy dagger the pure flood,
Welt'ring from the heart away?

Where the battle's thunder peals,
Steeled hoofs impetuous dash,
Blaze the cannon, bound the wheels,
Swords with swords opposing clash!

Is thy drink the widow's tear?

Music thine the orphan's moan Thou dost chill, my breast with fear,— Dark, bewilder'd, and alone!

Swift thou'rt fled!-o'er Alpine clouds
To eclipse the orb of night,
That unearthing, wrapt in shrouds,
Phantoms sad the world affright.

High above yon vap'ry wall,
Flame-edg'd, I thy visage see;
View thy huge hand, hear thy call
For Demoniac revelry!-

SPECTRE.

Subjects of the realm of fire,

Leave your day-conceal'd abode !

Sway'd by evil, fell desire,

Each pursue th' appointed road.

Some to strangle the new birth;

Some to prompt the murd❜rer's hand; Robbers some;-or plague, or dearth, Baleful spread throughout the land.

Take my most unholy charm,

Bind it round yon western isle; Long, too long, devoid of harm, Haughty do those Britons smile.

Dive beneath the ocean's bed,

Raise up rocks, and vex the wave;
Sink their floating bulwarks, dread

Of my Gallic warriors brave!

By those ever-during fires

Of th' avenging gulf below;
By a spirit's fierce desires,

Working human nature woe,

That proud freedom-fost'ring place,

Albion, coop'd up by the sea,
Would I whelm in foul disgrace,

Would į bend to slavery.

Then should my Napoleon's fame

Soar on eagle-wings sublime!
While pale Britain mouru'd in fiame,

Fatal as the wreck of Time! [A sudden blaze of light is seen to arise from that part of the hori

zon immediately over England, in which the tutelary Genius of Britain appears, with the mirror, of Truth in his hand; he approaches, and speaks.]

GENIUS.
Thou! of demons most accurst,

Vain thy wishes, vain thy spell;
In the lap of honour nurst,

Freedom shall with Britain dwell.

She Ambition's art defies,

Round her thro' the tempest roars ;
Calm, as when in summer skies

Dies the gale along her shores !

[The light of the mirror is thrown on the spectre : he vanishes.]

TRAVELLER.
Genius! lend thy pow'rful art;

Draw a magic circle round,
That the fiend nò ill impart

Where Germania's sons are founde

GENIUS.
Mortal! vain you ask my aid;

Lo! the work of mischief done;
Limbs thro' strife supinely laid,
Bring the body's ruin on,

Can