The praise bestow'd was just and wise;

He sprang impetuous forth
Secure of conquest, where the prize

Attends superior worth.

So the best courser on the plain

Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain

What all had deem'd his own.


COME, peace of mind, delightful guest! Return and make thy downy nest

Once more in this sad heart: Nor riches I nor pow'r pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view;

We therefore need not part.


Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From av’rice and ambition free,

And pleasure's fatal wiles ?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,

The banquet of thy smiles ?

III. The great, the gay, shall they partake The Heav'n that thou alone canst make?

And wilt thou quit the stream, That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove and the sequester'd shed,

To be a guest with them?

For thee I panted, thee I priz'd,
For thee I gladly sacrific'd

Whate'er I lov'd before;
And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say-

Farewell! we meet no more?


Weak and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to day, Woven with pains into his plan, To morrow rends away.

II. The bow well bent, and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain; But Passion rudely snaps the string, .. And it revives again.

III. . Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent,

But Pleasure wins his heart.

[ocr errors]

'Tis here the folly of the wise

Through all his art we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies,

His conscience owns it true.

[ocr errors]

Bound on a voyage of awful length,

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail,

To reach the distant coast;
The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail,

Or all the toil is lost...


Rebellion is my theme all day;

I only wish 'twould come
(As who knows but perhaps it may ?)

A little nearer home.

Yon roaring boys who rave and fight

On t'other side th’ Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,

But most so when most frantic.

When lawless mobs insult the court,

That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.

Buc O! for him my fancy culls

The choicest flow'rs she bears,
Who constitutionally pulls
Your house about your ears.

Such civil broils are my delight,

Though some folks can't endure them,
Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure them.

A rope! I wish we patriots had

Such strings for all who need 'em-
What! hang a man for going mad!

Then farewell British freedom.

« ForrigeFortsett »