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ELEGY

IN IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.

WHERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of joy?
Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest;
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart-knawing cares corrode my pensive breast.

Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With festive souls beguile the fleeting hour,
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,
Or press her wanton in love's roseate bow'r.

For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead,

Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue, Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd 'wall,

And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew.

There, leagu'd with hopeless anguish and despair,
Awhile in silence o'er my fate repine:

Then, with a long farewell to love and care,
To kindred dust my weary limbs resign.

Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear
On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest?
Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love sincere,
And bid the turf lie easy on my breast?

Smollet.

EPITAPH

ON A POOR, BUT HONEST MAN.

STOP, reader, here, and deign a look

At one without a name,
Ne'er enter'd in the ample book
Of fortune or of fame.

Studious of peace, he hated strife,
Meek virtues fill'd his breast;
His coat of arms, a spotless life,
An honest heart his crest.

Quarter'd therewith was innocence;
And thus his mottó ran:
A conscience void of all offence,
Before both God and man.

In the great day of wrath, tho' pride
Now scorns his pedigree,

Thousands shall wish they'd been ally'd
To this great family.

Anonymous.

THE MODERN PATRIOT.

REBELLION is my theme all day;
I only wish 'twould come
(As who knows but perhaps it may?)
A little nearer home.

Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
On t'other side th' Atlantic,

I always held them in the right,
But most so when most frantic.

When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.

But oh! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flow'rs she bears,

Who, constitutionally, pulls

Your house about your ears.

Such civil broils are my delight;

Though some folks can't endure 'em, Who say the mob are mad outright, And that a rope must cure 'em.

A rope! I wish we patriots had
Such strings for all who need 'em-
What! hang a man for going mad?
Then farewell British freedom.

ODE TO WISDOM.

Cowper.

THE solitary bird of night

Thro' the pale shades now wings his flight,
And quits the time-shook tow'r,
Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day,
In philosophic gloom he lay,

Beneath his ivy bow'r.

With joy I hear the solemn sound,
Which midnight echoes waft around,
And sighing gales repeat :

Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend,

And, faithful to thy summons, bend
At Wisdom's awful seat.

She loves the cool, the silent eve,
Where no false shows of life deceive,
Beneath the lunar ray:

Here folly drops each vain disguise,
Nor sports her gaily colour'd dyes,
As in the glare of day.

O Pallas! queen of ev'ry art,

"That glads the sense, or mends the heart," Blest source of purer joys;

In ev'ry form of beauty bright,
That captivates the inental sight
With pleasure and surprise;

To thy unspotted shrine I bow,
Assist thy modest suppliant's vow,

That breathes no wild desires;
But, taught by thy unerring rules,
To shun the fruitless wish of fools,
To nobler views aspires.

Not fortune's gem, ambition's plume,
Nor Cytherea's fading bloom,

Be objects of my prayer:
Let av rice, vanity, and pride,
Those glitt'ring envied toys divide,

The dull rewards of care.

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