Of wit, of taste, of fancy, we'll debate,
If Sheridan, for once, is not too late;
But scarce a thought to ministers we'll spare,
Unless on Polish politics with Hare:
Good-natur'd Devon! oft shall then appear
The cool complacence of thy friendly sneer:
Oft shall Fitzpatrick's wit, and Stanhope's ease,
And Burgoyne's manly sense, unite to please.
And while each guest attends our vary'd feats
Of scatter'd covies, and retreating fleets,
Me shall they wish some better sport to gain,
And thee more glory-from the next campaign.
Westminster Magazine.
Inveni portum. Spes et fortuna valete:
Sat me lusistis, ludite nunc alios.
In this retreat my heart shall rest,
To flatt'ring hope and fame farewell;
(In your embraces once how bless'd)
Charm others with your syren spell.
WHEN Chloe try'd her virgin fires,
And first her shafts let fly;
She fill'd my breast with vague desires,-
I thought it was her eye.
When melting strains fell from her mouth,
Which gods might wish to sip;
When all was harmony and truth,-
I thought it was her lip.
But when she danc'd! such air, such grace,
What mortal could escape?
I look'd no longer on her face,
. I swore it was her shape.
When seen by chance, her breast bespoke
The purity within;
Her snowy arm-her iv'ry neck,
'Twas then her lovely skin.
Nor eye, nor shape, nor neck, nor face,
My bosom did enthral :—
'Twas sense I found, the happy grace
That gave a charm to all.
AN ADDRESS TO THE EVENING STAR.
Now twilight from the low-brow'd rock descends, Dusk and more dusk the deep'ning shadows fall; And now the toil of swain and ploughman ends, And now the milk-maid flies the ivy'd wall.
Far have I gone, and far have yet to go,
Nor at the lengthen'd way do I repine,
If you, fair folding star, your circlet shew,
If you to light my darkling footsteps shine.
The glow-worm trails his spangles on the thorn,
The devious bat now flits on plumeless wing;
Against my face the heedless chafer's borne,
And hark! I hear the distant curfew ring.
Long have I mourn'd my too, too dismal fate,
Long watch'd the moment Care would me reprieve;
Fate smil'd at last, Care set me free, tho' late,
Then trim thy golden lamp, sweet eye of eve.
Now at his homely mess the peasant smiles,
Smiling his wife and offspring sit around,
And now with tale and song the night beguiles;
Now, yawning, sinks to sleep, now sleeps profound.
In vain faint hunger calls for new supplies,
I'll triumph o'er faint hunger's irksome call;
And sleep in vain attempts to seal my eyes,
If you, dear orb, illume night's sable pall.
Now nature seems as curtain'd from my sight, Now Negro-darkness mounts her ebon wain; The tomb now renders up the sheeted spright, Around dread horrors and sad silence reign.
Conscience my guard, each evil I defy,
For no bad act I crave thy beamy aid;
The star of Love thou art, his slave am I,
Guide, then, a wand'ring lover to his maid.
Westminster Magazine.
COME learn of me, my rural friends!
Who would the sweets of life enjoy ;
Come, see, where mirth and virtue blends,
And social cares the hours employ.
Come, see around my cheerful fire,
Domestic blessings on me wait;
Whate'er 'tis virtuous to desire,
Here dwells within my peaceful gate.
We know no charms in folly's train;
We feel no pains from envy's dart;
The guilty pleasures of the vain
No wish excite-no joys impart.
Secure within ourselves, we find
Felicity they cannot bring:
The treasure of the virtuous mind,
The golden age which poets sing.
Nor here are social joys forgot;
Some swain, whose heart with freedom glows,
Shares the free comforts of our cot;
The peaceful scene still brighter grows.
Now guiltless mirth our breasts inspire,
O'er many a past delight we rove;
Whilst Lucy wakes the rural lyre,
And tunes its softest notes to love..
Enjoy with me this heart-felt ease,
Leave envy, folly, noise, and strife;
Comforts unmix'd enjoy-like these—
That sooth the rugged path of life.
Like me, be happy, blithe, and gay,
Nor my rich homely joys despise :
"But ere youth's season glides away,
The Shepherd's transports learn to prize."
Myrtle and Vine.
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