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But gently, my Muse, hush your angry ton'd lyre,
From rows so disgraceful remove, And seated at home by your own parlour fire, Let beauty and claret your numbers inspire,
To melody, laughter, and love.
BOOK 1.ODE XXXVIII.
Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.
HERE, waiter, I'll dine in this box,
I've look'd at your long bill of fare, A Pythagorean it shocks,
To view all the rarities there.
I'm not overburthen'd with cash,
Roast beef is the dinner for me; Then why should I eat calipash,
Or why should I eat calipee?
Your trifles no trifle, I ween,
To customers prudent as I am, Your peas in December are green,
But I'm not so green as to buy 'em. With venison, I seldom am fed,
Go bring me the sirloin, you ninny, Who dines at a guinea a head,
Will ne'er by his head get a guinea.
God save great Johnny Bull,
God save John Bull.
God save John Bull.
[We insert with great cheerfulness the following Anacreontic, and shall at all times be gratified by any further communication from the elegant scholar to whom we are indebted for it.]
MR. OLDSCHOOL, • The following is one of the first attempts of a tiro. He ventures it with diffidence; and should it be found unworthy of your approbation, he will not be disappointed.
Κόραι κάλαι, λέγοτε
Ερως τι έφι μοί: νύν
Φωνής μέν ακρόαων,
FOR THE PORT FOLIO,
BY ROBT. BOLLING, LATE OF BUCKINGHAM CO. VIRGINIA, 1764.
The author's parents suggested the idea of the following canzonet, in which the husband speaks to the wife.
OLD soul, some thirty years ago,
The beauties, which you erst possessid,
FOR THE PORT FOLIO.
· WRITTEN AT THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC.
ALOne on the banks of Passaic I roam’d,
Oh clear flow'd its waters through vallies so green; • O'er bold jutting rocks its wild cataract foam’d,
All Nature combin'd to embellish the scene. O'er hills and through dales, and each wild tanglid wood, .. As onward I wander'd, entranc'd with each view;
Babb’ling Echo replied to the loud roaring flood,
And bright were the flowers bespangld with dew,
So wrapt was my soul in this dream of delight,
My heart in its magic delusion so caught, All worldly reflections were driven to fight,
E’en thou, dear Malvina, one moment forgot. Oh yes! for a moment, thy memory slept,
And Nature triumphant enjoy'd her full sway; But the next, to my heart the remembrance crept,
That thou who gave joy to each scene wert away. Then faded the landscape, and sorrow possest
That heart which before was so joyous and light:-So transient the pleasure that dwells in my breast,
Depriv'd of thy converse my fondest delight. July 29th, 1811.