To me the waves that ceaseless broke Upon the dangerous coast, Of all my treasure lost. Your sea of troubles you have past, ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.-WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED. Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, A land-breeze shook the shrouds, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. EPITAPH ON A HARE. Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Though duly from my hand he took He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, And, when his juicy salads failed, Sliced carrot pleased him well. His frisking was at evening hours, But most before approaching showers, Eight years and five round-rolling moons And every night at play. I kept him for his humour's sake, My heart of thoughts that made it ache, But now beneath this walnut shade He, still more agèd, feels the shocks ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. Ye Nymphs, if e'er your eyes were red Her favourite, even in his cage Assassined by a thief. Where Rhenus strays his vines among Or only with a whistle blessed, The honours of his ebon poll Were brighter than the sleekest mole, With which Aurora decks the skies, Above, below, in all the house, No cat had leave to dwell; Well latticed, but the grate, alas! But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, Night veiled the pole; all seemed secure ; A beast forth sallied on the scout, Long backed, long tailed, with whiskered snout, And badger-coloured hide. He, entering at the study door, Its ample area 'gan explore ; And something in the wind Conjectured, sniffing round and round, Food chiefly for the mind. Just then, by adverse fate impressed, A rat fast clinging to the cage, For, aided both by ear and scent, His teeth were strong, the cage was wood.- Oh, had he made that too his prey! Might have repaid him well, I wote, Maria weeps,-the Muses mourn ;- THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE Love. [From the French of Madame Guyon.] Love! if Thy destined sacrifice am I, Come, slay thy victim, and prepare Thy fires; I watch my hours, and see them fleet away; With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. |