TO MRS. H. M. BOWDLER.

1801.

"A clerk, foredoomed his Father's soul to cross,
"Who pens a stanza when he should engross."

POPE." Prologue to Satires."

Too long, dear Aunt, has cold neglect delay'd, What earlier gratitude perchance had paid;

But Law's dark chain, with leaden link, confin'd
Each free excursion of the willing mind;
The scene swift-shifting, yet for ever new,
Still ling'ring duty robb'd you of your due.

At length, by Christmas torn from Pagan toil, (That proud encroacher on his sacred soil,) From converse sweet to snatch a transient bliss, Or scribble nonsense on a theme like this:Joyous I seize the quill;-the quill, so late Bane of my hopes, and emblem of my fate; Now pleas'd, in silence aids my artless song, Spontaneous quiv'ring as it shoots along.

* The variety of business in an attorney's office.

But ah! what unthought merit can excuse
This bold intrusion of an infant Muse?

Should Genius, conscious of superior power,
Deride the flimsy trifles of an hour,

No arts she knows, whose magic may defy
The nice discernment of the critic eye;
Unskill'd to trace, in this licentious age,

Each borrow'd folly of our mimic stage;
The thund'ring verse that shakes the drowsy pit,
Or the gay tinsel of unmeaning wit:-
Enough for her in humbler lays to mourn
Panthea's doom, or Warton's honour'd urn;

Tune the soft verse, or drop a silent tear,

O'er the lost moments of an ill-spent year.

Hard is his lot, whom luckless Fate commands To the low labour of the drudging hands,

By hopeless poverty condemn'd to pore
With leaden eye the lengthen'd parchment o'er;
While languid Hope with flagging wing repines
At the dull desert of a thousand lines.

There no gay sweets or clust'ring roses grow,
To cheer the wand'rer in the waste of woe;
But uncouth thoughts, in barbarous lingo dight,
Cloy the pall'd taste, and wear the aching sight.
How chang'd since late immur'd in classic shade,
Pleasing and pleas'd on Itchin's bank I stray'd;

Bless'd in the present, careless of the past,
Methought each day fled swifter than the last;
My lightsome heart presag'd no future gloom,
Nor reck'd the fortune of the years to come:
Her silken wings obsequious Fancy spread,
And Hope still follow'd as the fairy led;
No thoughtful hand her airy flight to guide,
She wander'd gaily, tho' she wander'd wide.
Adieu, dear hours of bliss! whose humbler joys
Outvie these scenes of insolence and noise;
For ah! the Muse no more can warble here,
'Mid fearful larums thund'ring in her ear;
Here where rude oaths my puny soul appal
And Riot reigns from Grub-street to the Mall;
Where murky mists the cheerless morn disclose,
And howling watchmen lull me to repose.

Yet think not thus, tho' labour be my share,

I mean to murmur at the toils I bear;
Ye pow'rs of duty to whose call I bow,

Oh! better teach me human bliss to know;
Since e'en, tho' varied scenes our life employ,
Still every state has something to enjoy:
Some fav'rite hope to all but that denied,
Some fonder object, or some dearer pride;—
And e'en these seats of pamper'd wealth among,
His goodly gifts kind Providence has flung,

And humble Gratitude, with cheerful heart,
May hail the mercies which his hands impart;
Ten thousand blessings shower'd in pity down,
To gild the horrors of a sinful town.

Oh! thankless he, beyond the serpent tooth, That gnaws the bosom which had nurs'd its growth, Who dares to murmur in this world of woes, At the kind fate a gracious God bestows;Ungrateful wretch! go look each nation thro', From the proud Pagan to the slighted Jew: Mark the rude pangs that tortur'd life assail, Toil thro' the camp, the city, and the jail; Trace panting Sorrow to her last retreat; Wants of the mean, and passions of the great; Then, if thou dar'st, Eternal Pow'r arraign, That gives not pleasure unalloyed by pain: Whence are thy claims such favours to demand? Hast thou from ruin snatch'd a sinking land? Say, can'st thou boast a genius born to bless? Thy virtues greater? or thy vices less? Oh! if thou must omniscient Heav'n despise, Rush to thy ruin, and be bold in vice, To madd'ning passion give unbridled sway, Burst ev'ry bond as Phrenzy leads the way: Crush trembling nations with a tyrant rod,Be any thing, but thankless to thy God.

And see another year's returning bloom Proclaims the glories of a life to come;

Another year! behind whose awful veil,

All-seeing Justice lifts her equal scale;

From whose dread balance hangs each tott'ring throne,

And Europe's safety center'd in our own.

To pierce those volumes to what eye is given,

Yet unrecorded in the books of Heaven:

May He, whose penetrating eye pervades
E'en dark futurity's ambiguous shades,
To British valour deign a gracious smile,
And save the relics of a falling isle:
Enough for me with unprophetic view,
Duty's broad path right onward to pursue;
And firm in zeal my willing heart prepare
To meet the dangers which we all may share.
Yet oh! for thee may each returning spring
Waft the rich stores of pleasure on its wing;
Peace o'er thy head her balmy odours show'r,
And gentle Friendship gild each smiling hour;
Long may'st thou live in every virtue blest,
The good caressing, by the good caress'd,
Till transient years for thee shall change no more,

And Faith irradiate whom she lov'd before.