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The Child of a Tar.

IN a little blue garment, all ragged and torn, With scarce any shoes to his feet,

His head quite uncover'd, a look quite forlorn, And a cold stony step for his seat;

A boy cheerless sat, and as passengers pass'd,
With a voice that might avarice bar,

Have pity, he cry'd, let your bounty be cast
To a poor little child of a tar.

No mother I have, and no friend I can claim, Deserted and cheerless I roam;

My father has fought for his country and fame, But alas! he may never come home!

Pinch'd by cold, and by hunger, how hapless my fate,

Distress must all happiness mar;

Look down on my sorrows, and pity the fate
Of a poor little child of a tar.

By cruelty drove from a neat rural cot,
Where once with contentment we dwelt;
No friend to protect us, my poor mother's lot,
Alas! too severely she felt!

Bow'd down by misfortune,death made her his own,
And snatch'd her to regions afar ; -

Distress'd and quite friendless, she left me to moan, A poor little child of a tar,

Thus plaintive he mourn'd, when a sailor that pass'd Stopp'd a moment to give him relief;

He stretch'd forth his hand, and a look on him cast,* A look full of wonder and grief!

What! my William, he cry'd, my poor little boy! With wealth I've return'd from the war;

Thy sorrows shall cease, nor shall grief more annoy The poor little child of a tar.

When Phoebus peeps over the Hills.

WHEN Phoebus begins just to peep o'er the hills, With horns we awaken the day

And rouse brother sportsmen, who sluggishly sleep, With hark! to the woods! hark away!

See the hounds are uncoupled in musical cry,
How sweetly it echoes around;

And high-mettled steeds with their neighings all

seem

With pleasure to echo the sound,

Behold where sly Reynard, with panic and dread, At distance o'er hillocks doth bound;

The pack on the scent fly with rapid career ; Hark! the horns! O how sweetly they sound! Now on to the chase, p'er hills and o'er dales, All dangers we nobly defy;

Our nags are all stout, and our sports we'll pursuě, With shouts that resound to the sky.

But see how he lags, all his arts are in vain ;
No longer with swiftness he flies;
Each hound in his fury determines his fate;
The traitor is seiz'd on, and dies.

With shouting and joy we return from the field,
With drink crown the sports of the day;
Then to rest we recline, till the morn calls again;
Then away to the woodlands, away!

The Birth of Liberty.

WHEN first infant Liberty dropp'd upon earth,

The mountains and forests then cradled her

birth:

Nurs'd by Nature, she dwelt among savages wild, Whilst numerous nations adopted the child.

Her mind was for ages as dark as the night";
Her form unadorn'd, wander'd naked to sight;
She in huts and in cottages only was found,
Reposing at ease on the grass-clothed ground.

But banish'd from earth by a profligate race, Long time she conceal'd both her grief and disgrace; Till heroes demanding a charter of laws,

Recall'd her from heaven to enlist in their cause: In Britain she landed, delighted to see

Men firm to their king, yet resolved to be free; Then in England for ever may Liberty reign, The queen of the isles, and the queen of the main,

Feelings of Man

LET the Epicure boast the delight of his soul, In the high-season'd dish and the full flowing bowl;

Can they give such true joys as benevolence can, Or as charity feels, when it benefits man

Let him know the kind impulse that suffers with

grief;

Let him taste the delight of affording relief;
Let him serve the great Author of Nature's great

plan,

Who design'd man to act as the brother of man.

Think the chapter of life oft reverses the scene, And the rich man becomes what the poor man bás

been;

Think that chapter must end, for but short is the

span

That will give us the power to benefit man,

Sully Roy.

FAIR Sally, once the village pride,
Lies cold and wan in yonder valley ;
She lost her lover, and she died;

Grief broke the heart of gentle Sally.
Young Valiant was the hero's name :
For, early valour fir'd the boy;
Who barter'd all his love for fame,
And kill'd the hopes of Sally Roy.

Swift from the arms of weeping love,
As rag'd the war in yonder valley,
He rush'd his martial pow'r to prove,
While faint with fear sunk lovely Sally,
At noon she saw the youth depart;
At eve, she lost her darling joy;
Ere night, the last throb of her heart
Declar'd the fate of Sally Roy,

The virgin-train in tears are seen,
When yellow moon-light fills the valley,
Slow stealing o'er the dewy green,
Towards the grave of gentle Sally.

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