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'Tis granted-and their bloom display'd
To bless my wondering view;
I see them all in-You,
Part of a poem written on Miss Bellamy
WHEN IN DUBLIN.
FROM slavish rules, mechanic forms, untied, She soars, with sacred nature for her guide. The smile of peace—the wildness of despairThe softening sight-the soul-dissolving tear; Each magic charm the boasted Oldfield knew, Enchanting Bellamy! revives in you.
"Tis thine, resistless, the superior art To search the soul, and trace the various heart; With native force, with unaffected ease, To form the yielding passions as you please!
Oldmixon's' charms, by melody impress’d, May gently touch the song-enamour'd breast; But transient raptures must attend the wound Where the light arrow is convey'd by sound!
Or should Mechel? all languishing advance, Her limbs display'd in every maze of dance, (The soul untouch'd) she captivates the sight; But breathing wit with judgment must unite To give the man of reason unconfined delight.
| A lady celebrated for singing. 2 A dancer then in Smock Alley Theatre.
To Mr. Woods,
ARCHITECT OF THE EXCHANGE AT LIVERPOOL,
WHERE Mersey' rolls her wealth-bestowing
waves, And the wide sandy beach triumphant laves; Where naval store in harbour'd safety rides, Unmoved by storms, unhurt by threatening tides; Commerce-paternal goddess! sits serene, Commandant of the tributes of the main.
But yet no temple lifts its high-topp'd spire; Simple her seat—and artless her attire! Around attendant priests in order wait, Guiltless of
pomp and ignorant of state: The godhead's power though unadorn'd they own, And bend with incense-at her low-built throne.
Pallas beheld-she quits the ambient skies, And thus the blue-eyed maid indignant cries• Is it for thee-my Woods!—to sit supine? (Thy genius fraught with every grace of mine) Is it for thee-to whose mysterious band Science-and sister arts obsequious stand, Inglorious thus to let a goddess pine ? No throne-no temple-no superior shrine! Haste, haste! command the well wrought columns
rise, And lift my favourite commerce to the skies.'
| The river Mersey at Liverpool.
ACROSTIC ON POLLY SUTTON. PRAY tell me, says Venus, one day to the Graces (On a visit they came, and had just taken their places).
[faces: Let me know why of late I can ne'er see your Ladies,nothing I hope happen'd here to affright ye; You've had compliment cards every day to invite
ye.' Says Cupid, who guess’d their rebellious pro
ceeding; Understand, dear mamma, there's some mis
chief abreeding : There's
's a fair one at Lincoln, so finish'd a beauty, That your loves and your graces all swerve from their duty
[put on; my life (says dame Venus), I'll not be thus Now I think on’t, last night some one calld me
ACROSTIC ON WIDOW MADDER.
WHERE no ripen’d summer glows,
A CHARACTER ... WITH A PRESENT.
The Muse of a soldier so whimsical sings,
WITH A PRESENT.
LET not the hand of Amity be nice!
tribute from the heart disclaim ; A trifle shall become a pledge of price,
If Friendship stamps it with her sacred name. The little rose that laughs upon its stem,
One of the sweets with which the gardens teem, In value soars above an eastern gem,
If tender'd as the token of esteem.
Had I vast hoards of massy wealth to send,
Such as your merits might demand-their due! Then should the golden tribute of your
friend Rival the treasures of the rich Peru.
LINES SENT TO MISS BELL H.,
WITH A PAIR OF BUCKLES.
HAPPY trifles, can ye bear
Go-ye trifles-gladly fly
Happy there, with waggish play,
FOR DEAN SWIFT'S MONUMENT.
EXECUTED BY MR. P. CUNNINGHAM, STATUARY IN DUBLIN SAY, to the Drapier's vast unbounded fame,
What added honours can the sculptor give? None-'tis a sanction from the Drapier's name
Must bid the sculptor and his marble live.