A REFLECTION

ON THE FOBEGOING ODE.

And is this all? Can Reason do no more,
Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore?
Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea,
The Christian has an art unknown to thee.
He holds no parley with unmanly fears;
Where Duty bids, he confidently steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,
And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all.

THE LILY AND THE ROSE.

I.

The nymph must lose her female friend,

If more admir'd than she—
But where will fierce contention end,

If flow'rs can disagree?

II.

Within the garden's peaceful scene

Appear'd two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,

The Lily and the Rose.

III.

The Rose soon redden'd into rage,

And, swelling with disdain,
Appeal'd to many a poet's page

To prove her right to reign.

IV.

The Lily's height bespoke command,

A fair imperial flow'r;
She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand,

The sceptre of her pow'r.

V.

This civil bick'ring and debate

The goddess chanc'd to hear, And flew to save, ere yet too late,

The pride of the parterre;

VI.

Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,

And yours the statelier mien; And, till a third surpasses you,

Let each be deem'd a queen.

VII.

Thus, sooth'd and reconcil'd, each seeks

The fairest British fair.
The seat of empire is her cheeks,

They reign united there.

IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.

I.

Heu inimicitias quoties parit aemula forma,
Quam raro pulchrae pulchra placere potest?

Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.

II.

Hortus ubi dulces prabet tacitosque recessus,
Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas;

Hie sibi regales Amaryllis Candida cultus,
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa.

III.

Ira Rosam et meritis qustsita superbia tangunt, Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu

Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatuin, Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.

IV.

Altior emicat illa, et celso vertice nutat,
Ceu flores inter non habitura parem,

Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus
Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat.

V.

Nee Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixse,
Cui curse est pictas pandere ruris opes.

Deliciasque suas numquam non prompta tueri,
Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest.

VI.
Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit;

Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color;
Et donee vincat quaedam formosior ambas,

Et tibi reginae nomen, et esto tibi.

VII.

His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham, Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit;

Hanc penes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, buj us Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis.

THE POPLAR FIELD.

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade, And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.