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THE BROKEN CHINA.
Soon as the sun began to peep
And gild the morning skies,
Unveild her radiant eyes.
That waited on her still,
With visionary ill.
Exclaim'd the timorous maid:
My Cupid can't be dead!
In dread of some mishap;
And jump'd into her lap.
Her sumptuous table graced :
In beauteous order placed.
To give the morning treat,
And bowing took his seat.
cup; And, tempted by the forfeit kiss,
The bumpkin turn'd it up. .
With transport he demands the prize:
Right fairly it was won:
Fond baits to draw him on.
In such a case as this;
To force the forfeit kiss.
(And yet with grief I must) The table turn'd-the china fell,
A heap of painted dust! • O fatal purport of my dream!
(The fair, afflicted, cried) Occasion d (I confess my shame)
By childishness and pride:
No mischief could be found;
My china had been sound.'
Does true felicity on grandeur wait?
Delights she in the pageantry of show? Say, can the glittering gewgaws of the great
An hour of inborn happiness bestow? He that is just, benevolent, humane,
In conscious rectitude supremely bless'd, O’er the glad hearts of multitudes shall reign,
Though the gay star ne'er blazed upon his breast. Ye happy children of the hoary North,
Hail the glad day that saw your patron born; Whose private virtues and whose public worth
Might the rich seats of royalty adorn.
ON THE DEATH OF LORD GRANBY.
For private loss the lenient tear may flow,
And give a short, perhaps a quick relief; While the full heart, o'ercharged with public woe,
Must labour through a long protracted grief. This sudden stroke ('twas like the lightning's
blast) The sons of Albion can't enough deplore; Think, Britons, think on all his triumphs past, And weep-your
Warrior is-alas! no more. Blight, we are told, respects the Conqueror's
tree, And through the laurel grove with caution flies: Vague—and how vain must that assertion be,
Cover'd with laurels when a Granby dies!
ON THE DEATH OF MR.
Go, breath of Sorrow; go, attending sighs!
Acquaint the natives of the northern shore, The man they loved, the man they honour'd dies,
And Charity's first steward is no more.
Where shall the poor a friendly patron find?
Who shall relieve them from their loads of pain ? Say, has he left a feeling heart behind,
So gracious-good-so tenderly humane? Yes-there survives his darling offspring-young,
Yet in the paths of virtue, steady-sure! 'Twas the last lesson from his parent's tongue
• Think, (O remember) think upon my poor.'
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. SLEIGH,
OF STOCKTON. Much loved, much honour'd, much lamented
Sleigh! The kindred virtues had expired with thee, Were it ordain’d the daughters of the sky, Like the frail offspring of the earth, could die; Trembling they stand at thy too early doom, And mingling tears to consecrate thy tomb.
ON A VERY YOUNG LÁDY.
SEE, how the buds and blossoms shoot;
If, in the morning of her years,
TO THE HON. MASTER BSENT WITH A CHOICE COLLECTION OF BOOKS, Though, gentle youth! thy calm untainted mind
Be like a morning in the Spring serene, Time may commit the passions unconfined
To the rude rigour of a noontide reign. Then in the morn of placid life be wise,
And travel through the groves of science soon; There cull the plants of virtue, that may
rise A peaceful shelter from that sultry noon.
ON SEEING W. R. CHETWOOD
CHEERFUL IN A PRISON.
SAY, loved Content-fair goddess! say,
Or trace thy secret way?
Love pointed out a pleasing scene, Where nought but beauty could be found, With roses and with myrtles crown'd,
And named thee for its queen.