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Pensive he treads the destin'd way,
And dreads to go, nor dares to stay;
Till on some neighb'ring mountain's brow
He stops, and turns his


There, melting at the well-known view,
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu :
So I, thus doom'd from thee to part,
Gay queen of Fancy and of Art,
Reluctant move, with doubtful mind,
Oft stop, and often look behind.

Companion of my tender age,
Serenely gay and sweetly sage,
How blithesome were we wont to rove
By verdant hill or shady grove,
Where fervent bees, with humming voice,
Around the honey'd oak rejoice,
And aged elms with aweful bend
In long cathedral walks extend !
Lulled by the lapse of gliding floods,
Cheer'd by the warbling of the woods,
How blest my days, my thoughts how free,
In sweet society with thee !
Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years unheeded rolled along;
But now the pleasing dream is o'er,
These scenes must charm me now no more:
Lost to the field, and torn from you —
Farewell! - a long, a last adieu.

Me wrangling courts and stubborn Law
To smoak and crowds and cities draw:
There selfish Faction rules the day,
And Pride and Av'rice throng the way;
Diseases taint the murky air,
And midnight conflagrations glare;

Loose Revelry and Riot bold
In frighted street their orgies hold;
Or when in silence all is drown'd,
Fell murder walks her lonely round:
No room for Peace, no more for you;
Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu !

Shakespeare no more, thy sylvan son,
Nor all the art of Addison,
Pope's heav'n strung lyre, nor Waller's ease,
Nor Milton's mighty self must please ;
Instead of these, a formal band
In furs and coifs around me stand:
With sounds uncouth and accents dry,
That grate the soul of harmony,
Each pedant sage unlocks his store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore,
And points with tott'ring hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.

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In that pure spring the bottom view,
Clear, deep, and regularly true,
And other doctrines thence imbibe
Than lurk within the sordid scribe;
Observe how parts with parts unite
In one harmonious rule of right;
See countless wheels distinctly tend
By various laws to one great end;
While mighty Alfred's piercing soul
Pervades and regulates the whole.

Then welcome business, welcome strife,
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life,
The visage wan, the pore-blind sight,
The toil by day, the lamp at night,
The tedious forms, the solemn prate,
The pert dispute, the dull debate,
The drowsy bench, the babbling Hall, -
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all !

Thus, though my noon of life be past,
Yet let my setting sun at last
Find out the still, the rural cell
Where sage Retirement loves to dwell!
There let me taste the home-felt bliss
Of innocence and inward peace:
Untainted by the guilty bribe,
Uncurs'd amid the harpy tribe,
No orphan's cry to wound my ear,
My honour and my conscience clear,
Thus may I calmly meet my end,
Thus to my grave in peace descend."

The same agreeable poet wrote “The Lawyer's Prayer:

“ Ordain'd to tread the thorny ground,

Where very few, I fear, are sound,
Mine be the conscience void of blame,
The upright heart, the spotless name,
The tribute of the widow's pray'r,
The righted orphan's grateful tear!
To Virtue and her friends a friend,
Still may my voice the weak defend!
Ne’er may my prostituted tongue
Protect th’ oppressor in his wrong,
Nor wrest the spirit of the laws
To sanctify the villain's cause !
Let others, with unsparing hand,
Scatter their poison through the land,
Enflame dissention, kindle strife,
And strew with ills the path of life;
On such her gifts let Fortune shower,
Add wealth to wealth, and power to power:
On me may favouring Heaven bestow
That peace which good men only know,
The joy of joys by few possess'd, -
The eternal sunshine of the breast!
Power, fame, and riches I resign-
The praise of honesty be mine,
That friends may weep, the worthy sigh,
And poor men bless me when I die!"

CHATTERTON, I suspect, hints at the state of the law of libel under Mansfield, and at Mansfield, when he says, in “The Whore of Babylon,"

“Complaints are libels, as the present age

Are all instructed by a law-wise sage,
Who, happy in his eloquence and fees,
Advances to preferment by degrees;

Trembles to think of such a daring step
As from a tool to Chancellor to leap:
But lest his prudence should the law disgrace,
He keeps a longing eye upon the mace.”

He at any rate referred to Mansfield in the following passage from the same poem :

“And who shall douut and false conclusions draw
Against the inquisitions of the law,
With jailors, chains, and pillories must plead,
And Mansfield's conscience settle right his creed.
Is Mansfield's conscience, then, will Reason cry,
A standard block to dress our notions by ?
Why, what a blunder has the fool let fall,-
That Mansfield has no conscience, none at all."

THOMSON, in “The Seasons,” makes an occasional and not flattering reference to law and lawyers :

" Let this through cities work his eager way,
By legal outrage and established guile,
The social sense extinct. ...

Let these
Insnare the wretched in the toils of law,
Fomenting discord, and perplexing right,
An iron race!”

“ The toils of law (what dark insidious men
Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth,
And lengthen simple justice into trade),
How glorious were the day that saw these broke,
And every man within the reach of right!”

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