"He once or twice had penn'd a fonnet;

Yet hoped, that he might fave his bacon : Numbers would give their oaths upon it, He ne'er was for a conj'rer taken.”

The ghostly prudes with hagged face
Already had condemn'd the finner.

My lady rofe, and with a grace—

She smiled, and bid him come to dinner.

Jefu-Maria! Madam Bridget,

Why, what can the Viscountess mean ?” (Cried the fquare-hoods in woful fidget) "The times are alter'd quite and clean!

"Decorum's turn'd to mere civility;

Her air and all her manners show it. Commend me to her affability!

Speak to a commoner and a poet!"

[Here five hundred ftanzas are loft.]

And fo God fave our noble king,

And guard us from long-winded lubbers,

That to eternity would fing,

And keep my lady from her rubbers.

ODE

ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM

VICISSITUDE.'

OW the golden morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing,

With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She woos the tardy spring:

Till April starts, and calls around

The fleeping fragrance from the ground;

And lightly o'er the living scene

Scatters his fresheft, tendereft green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,

Frisking ply their feeble feet;

Forgetful of their wintry trance

The birds his presence greet:

But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling extafy;

And, leffening from the dazzled fight,

Melts into air and liquid light.

Rise, my foul! on wings of fire,

Rife the rapt'rous choir among;

Hark! 'tis nature ftrikes the lyre,

And leads the genʼral song:
"Warm let the lyric transport flow,
Warm as the ray that bids it glow;
And animates the vernal grove

With health, with harmony, and love."

Yesterday the fullen year

Saw the fnowy whirlwind fly;

Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by :
Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday nor morrow know;
'Tis man alone that joy defcries

With forward, and reverted eyes.

Smiles on paft misfortune's brow

Soft reflection's hand can trace;

And o'er the cheek of forrow throw

A melancholy grace;

While hope prolongs our happier hour, Or deepest shades, that dimly lower And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day.