APPENDIX.

No. 1.

ORIGINAL POEMS.

To JOHN JOHNSON,

ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE

BUST OF HOMER.

KINSMAN belov'd, and as a son by me!
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,

The sculptur'd form of my old fav'rite bard!
I rev'rence feel for him, and love for thee.

Joy too, and grief! much joy that there should be Wise men, and learn'd, who grudge not to reward With some applause my bold attempt, and hard, Which others scorn: Critics by courtesy !

The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine

I lose my precious years, now soon to fail! Handling his gold, which howsoe'er it shine,

Proves dross when balanc'd in the Christian scale!

Be wiser thou !-like our fore-father DONNE,

Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone!

To the Reverend Mr., NEWTON,

ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE,

THAT ocean you of late survey'd,

Those rocks I too have seen,

But I, afflicted and dismay'd,

You, tranquil and serene,

You from the flood-controuling steep
Saw stretch'd before your view,
With conscious joy, the threat'ning deep,
No longer such to you.

To me, the waves that ceaseless broke
Upon the dang'rous coast,
Hoarsely, and ominously, spoke
Of all my treasure lost.

Your sea of troubles you have past,
And found the peaceful shore;

I tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last,

Come home to port no more.

LOVE ABUSED.

WHAT is there in the vale of life,

Half so delightful as a wife,

When friendship, love, and

peace

combine

To stamp the marriage-bond divine?
The stream of pure and genuine love
Derives its current from above;

And earth, a second Eden shows,
Where'er the healing water flows;
But ah, if from the dykes and drains
Of sensual nature's fev'rish veins,
Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood,
Impregnated with ooze and mud,
Descending fast on ev'ry side
Once mingles with the sacred tide,
Farewell the soul-enliv'ning scene!
The banks that wore a smiling green,
With rank defilement overspread,
Bewail their flow'ry beauties dead.
The stream polluted, dark, and dull,
Diffused into a Stygian pool,
Through life's last melancholy years
Is fed with ever flowing tears:
Complaints supply the zephyr's part,
And sighs that heave a breaking heart.

EPITAPH

On Mr. CHESTER, of Chicheley.

TEARS flow, and cease not, where the good man lies,

"Till all who knew him follow to the skies.

Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep;
Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, weep—
And justly-few shall ever him transcend
As husband, parent, brother, master, friend.

EPITAPH

On Mrs. M. HIGGINS, of Weston.

LAURELS may flourish round the conqueror's tomb, But happiest they, who win the world to come : Believers have a silent field to fight,

And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. They in some nook, where little known they dwell, Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of Hell; Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine,

And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine.

To Count GRAVINA,

On his translating the author's song on a Rose

INTO ITALIAN VERSE.

My rose, Gravina, blooms anew,

And steep'd not now in rain,

But in Castalian streams by you,
Will never fade again.

INSCRIPTION

For a Stone erected at the sowing of a Grove of Oaks,

At Chillington, the seat of T. Giffard, Esqr. 1790.

Which shall longest brave the sky,

Storm and frost-these oaks or I?

Pass an age or two away,

I must moulder and decay,

But the years that crumble me

Shall invigorate the tree,