be

A great advance to my felicity:
Well-born, of humors suited to my own,
Discreet, and men as well as books have
known:

Brave, generous, witty, and exactly free
From loose behaviour, or formality:
Airy and prudent; merry, but not light;
Quick in discerning, and in judging right:
Secret they should be, faithful to their trust;
In reasoning cool, strong, temperate, and
just:

Obliging, open, without huffing, brave,
Brisk in gay talking, and in sober, grave:
Close in dispute, but not tenacious; try'd
By solid reason, and let that decide:
Not prone to lust, revenge, or envious hate;
Nor busy meddlers with intrigues of state:
Strangers to slander, and sworn foes to spite;
Not quarrelsome, but stout enough to fight:
Loyal, and pious; friends to Cæsar, true
As dying martyrs to their Maker too.
In their society I could not miss
A permanent, sincere, substantial bliss.
I'd be concern'd in no litigious jar;
Belov'd by all, not vainly popular.
Whate'er assistance I had power to bring,
T'oblige my country, or to serve my king,
Whene'er they call, I'd readily afford
My tongue, my pen, my counsel, or my sword
Law-suits I'd shun with as much studious care
As I would dens where hungry lions are;
And rather put up injuries, than be
A plague to him, who'd be a plague to me.
I value quiet at a price too great,
To give for my revenge so dear a rate:
For what do we by all our bustle gain,
But counterfeit delight for real pain!

If Heaven a date of many years would
give,

Thus I'd in pleasure, ease, and plenty live.
And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
Whilst I did for a better state prepare.
Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd,
Nor have the evening of my days perplex'd;
But, by a silent and a peaceful death,
Without a sigh resign my aged breath,
And when committed to the dust, I'd have
Few tears, but friendly, dropt into my grave;
Then would my exit so propitious be,
All men would wish to live and die like me.

$200. To my Candle. PETER PINDAR.

THOU lone companion of the spectred night, I wake amid thy friendly watchful light,

To steal a precious hour from lifeless sleepHark, the wild uproar of the winds! and hark,

Hell's genius roams the regions of the dark, And swells the thund'ring horrors of the deep.

flies;

Now blacken'd, and now flashing through her skies,

But all is silence here-beneath thy beam.
I own I labor for the voice of praise-
For who would sink in dull oblivion's stream?
Who would not live in songs of distant days?
Thus while I wond'ring pause o'er Shakspeare's

page,

I mark, in visions of delight, the Sage,

High o'er the wrecks of man, who stands sublime;

A column in the melancholy waste (Its cities humbled, and its glories past),

Majestic 'mid the solitude of time. Yet now to sadness let me yield the hourYes, let the tears of purest friendship show'ṛ. I view, alas! what ne'er should dieA form that wakes my deepest sigh;

A form that feels of death the leaden sleepDescending to the realms of shade,

I view a pale-ey'd, panting maid,

I see the Virtues o'er their fav'rite weep. Ah! could the Muse's simple pray'r Command the envied trump of faine, Oblivion should Eliza spare:

A world should echo with her name. Art thou departing too, my trembling friend? Ah! draws thy little lustre to its end?

Yes, on thy frame Fate too shall fix her seal

O let me, pensive, watch thy pale decay; How fast that frame, so tender, wears away!

How fast thy life the restless minutes steal! How slender now, alas! thy thread of fire! Ah! falling, falling, ready to expire!

In vain thy struggles-all will soon be o'er. At life thou snatchest with an eager leap: Now round I see thy flame so feeble creep,

Faint, less'ning, quiv'ring, glimm'ring-now no more!

Thus shall the sons of science sink away,

And thus of beauty fade the fairest flow'rFor where's the giant who to Time shall say, "Destructive tyrant, I arrest thy pow'r?"

$201. Presented together with a Knife by the Rev. SAMUEL BISHOP, Head Master of Merchant Taylors School, to his Wife on her Wedding Day, which happened to be her Birth Day and New Year's Day.

A KNIFE, dear girl, cuts love, they say
Mere modish love perhaps it may;
For any tool of any kind

Can sep rate what was never join'd.
The knife that cuts our love in two
Will have much tougher work to do:
Must cut your softness, worth, and spirit
Down to the vulgar size of merit ;
To level yours with modern taste,
Must cut a world of sense to waste;
And from your single beauty's store,
Clip what would dizen out a score.

The self-same blade from me must sever
Sensation, judgement, sight for ever!
All mem'ry of endearments past,
All hope of comforts long to last,
All that makes fourteen years with you
A summer and a short one too:
All that affection feels and fears,
When hours, without you, seem like years.—
Till that be done (and I'd as soon
Believe this knife will clip the moon)
Accept my present undeterr'd,
And leave their proverbs to the herd.
If in a kiss-delicious treat!
Your lips acknowledge the receipt;
Love, fond of such substantial fare,
And proud to play the glutton there,
All thoughts of cutting will disdain,
Save only cut and come again."

§ 202. By the same, with a Ring.
"THEE, Mary, with this ring I wed,"
So sixteen years ago I said—
Behold another ring! "For what?"
To wed thee o'er again-why not?
With the first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth:
Taste long admir'd, sense long rever'd:
And all my Molly then appear'd.

If she, by merit since disclos'd,
Prov'd twice the woman I suppos'd,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.

Here then to-day (with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when amidst the rites divine
I took thy troth, and plighted mine)
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring,
A token and a pledge I bring;
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
These virtues, which, before untry'd,
The wife has added to the bride;
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience' sake, as well as love's.

For why? They show me hour by hour Honor's high thought, affection's pow'r, Discretion's deed, sound judgement's sentence; And teach me all things—but repentance.

§ 203. The Family Fireside. BISHOP. "HOME's home, however homely," wisdom says,

And certain is the fact, though coarse the phrase:

To prove it, if it need a proof at all,
Mark what a train attends the Muse's call;
And as she leads the ideal group along,
Let your own feelings realize the song.

Clear then the stage! no scen'ry we re-
quire,

Save the snug circle round the parlour fire;
And enter marshall'd in procession fair
Each happier influence that predominates
there.

First love, by friendship mellow'd into bliss, Lights the glad glow, and sanctifies the kiss; When fondly welcom'd to the accustom'd seat In sweet complaisance wife and husband

meet,

Look mutual pleasure, mutual purpose share,
Repose from labors, but unite in care.
Ambition!-does ambition there reside?
Yes! when the boy in manly mood astride,
Of headstrong prowess innocently vain,
Canters, the jockey of his father's cane.
While emulation in the daughter's heart
Bears a more mild, tho' not less powerful part;
With zeal to shine her fluttering bosom

warms,

And in the romp the future housewife forms.
Or both perchance to graver sport incline,
And art and genius in their pastime join,
This the cramp riddle's puzzling knot invents,
That rears aloft the card-built tenements.
Think how joy animates intense though meek
The fading roses on the grandame cheek,
When proud the frolic progeny to survey,
She feels and owns an interest in their play,
Adopts each wish their wayward whims un-
fold,

And tells at every call, the story ten times told.

Good-humoured dignity endears meanwhile The narrative grandsire's venerable style. If haply feats achiev'd in prime of youth, Or pristine anecdote, or historic truth, Or inaxim shrewd, or admonition bland, Affectionate attention's ear command.

To such society, so form'd, so blest, Time, Thought, Remembrance, all impart a zest,

And Expectation, day by day, more bright, Bound every prospect throws increasing light. The simplest comforts act with strongest force;

Whate'er can give them, can improve, of

course.

All this is common-place, you'll tell me :-
True!

What pity 'tis not common fashion too.
Roam as we will, plain sense at last will find
'Tis only seeking—what we left behind.
Domestic virtues give the largest scope;
If individual good engage our hope,
If plans of public eminence we trace,
Domestic virtues are its surest base.
Would great example make these truths more
clear,'

The greatest of examples shall appear.

Is there a man whom general suffrage owns An honour to the majesty of thrones? Is there a man whom general love's acclaim Greets with each noblest and each dearest

name?

He, 'midst the glare of state, and pomp of power,

Courts the soft sympathies of the family hour; Not less illustrious at his own fireside,

Byprivate merit's sterling standard tried, [spring, Than when the cares from royal worth that Call forth the people's father, and the king.

$204. Flowers.

UNEQUAL to my theme with desperate feet
I sought the Muse's bow'r;
Anxious to see though all asham'd to meet
Some bland inspiring power;
When fleet along the rising gale
The queen fair Fancy past;
And through her rainbow-tinged veil
A glance benignant cast!
Then beck'ning to a secret glade,

"Come see," she cry'd," the train, Who own beneath this mystic shade, My visionary reign !"

Proud to obey the glad command,
I took with awe my stand:-
Meanwhile, in many a varying vest
Of rich expression aptly dress'd,
Ideal myriads seem'd to rove
Promiscuous through the cultur'd
And each, as inbred impulse led,
From flow'r-embroider'd bed
every
Some certain plant, whose blossoms rose
Significantly pleasing, chose.

grove :

Merit like hers might well assume, Preferr'd to every juster claim

The lowly Daisy's simple bloom.

Some bauble each moment arranging,
Admiring, exploding, or changing,

The coquet Affectation skimm'd wantonly by;

On her breast a Narcissus she bore,
As if with Narcissus of yore.
Heedless of the scorner's joke,
Smiling at the ruffian's stroke,
Persevering Patience stood,
Conqu❜ring evil still with good!
Binding for her brow the while
Artless wreaths of Camomile,
Hardy plant whose vigorous shoot
Springs beneath the trampler's foot.
Pure constant Love (whose hallow'd fires
Time still exalts, and truth inspires,

In spite of absence, grief, or pain)
Approv'd the faithful Marigold,
Whose leaves their saffron blaze unfold,

When first the sun asserts his reign,
Hail his glad progress through the day,
Close gradual with his parting ray,
Nor
open, till he shines again.

A chaplet of Monkshood she pluck'd for her head,

And Rosemary sprigs for the graves of the dead.

Tiptoe o'er the level plain,

Ardent Hope all panting flew ;
Prompt her eager eye to strain
Far beyond the present view;
Quick from hint to hint to stray,
She the Primrose held most dear;
First-born of returning May,

Promise of the future year.

Ill-nature to a corner stole,
And taught her bloodshot eyes to roll,
As if she long'd to blight

Each flower of happier scent and hue,
For none she chose of all that grew,

Save pois'nous Aconite.

Hand in hand, for they never asunder are seen,
All cheerful their features, all easy their mien,
Contentment and Innocence tript it along;
By the soft virgin Snow-drop was Innocence

known:

Books, my dear girl, when well design'd,
Are moral maps of human kind;
Where, sketch'd before judicious eyes,
The road to worth and wisdom lies.
Serene Philosophy portrays

The steep, the rough, the thorny ways:
Cross woods and wilds, the learned tribe,
A dark and doubtful path describe:
But Poesy her votaries leads

O'er level lawns, and verdant meads;
And if, perchance, in sportful vein,
Through Fable's scenes she guides her train,
All is at once enchanted ground,
All Fancy's garden glitters round.

I, Sally! (who shall long to see,
In you, how good your sex can be,)
Before you range with curious speed,
Where'er that garden's beauties lead ;

And mark how Moore could once display
A scene so varied, and so gay!
Beg you, for introduction's sake,
A short excursive trip to take,
O'er one poor plat, unlike the rest,
Which my more humble care hath drest;
Where if a little flowret blows,
From pure affection's root it grows.

A virgin rose, in all the pride Of spring's luxuriant blushes dy'd, Above the vulgar flow'rs was rais'd, And with excess of lustre blaz'd. In full career of heedless play, Chance brought a Butterfly that way; She stopp'd at once her giddy flight, Proud on so sweet a spot to light; Spread wide her plumage to the sun, And thus in fancy-strain begun : "Why but to soften my repose, Could nature rear so bright a rose? Why but on roses to recline, Make forms so delicate as mine? Fate destin'd by the same decree, Me for the rose-the rose for me!"

A tiny Bug, who close between Th' unfolding bloom had lurk'd unseen, Heard, and in angry tone address'd This rude invader of his rest: "For thee, consummate fool, the rose! No-to a nobler end it blows: :The velvet o'er its foliage spread, Secures to me a downy bed: So thick its crowding leaves ascend To hide, to warm me, and defend. For me those odours they exhale, Which scent at second-hand the gale; And give such things as thee to share What my superior claim can spare!"

While thus the quarrel they pursu'd, A Bee the petty triflers view'd; For once reluctant rais'd her head A moment from her toil, and said, "Cease, abject an'mals, to contest! They claim things most who use them best. Would nature finish works like these, That butterflies might bask at ease? Or bugs intrench'd in splendor lie, Born but to crawl, and dose, and die? The rose you vainly ramble o'er, Breathes balmy dews from ev'ry pore; Which yield their treasur'd sweets alone To skill and labor like my own: With sense as keen as yours, I trace The expanding blossom's glossy grace; Its shape, its fragrance, and its hue, But while I trace, improve them too : Still taste; but still from hour to hour Bear home new honey from the flow'r."

Conceit may read for mere pretence, For mere amusement, indolence; True spirit deems no study right, Till profit dignify delight.

HAIL! Contemplation! grave majestic dame, In thee glad Science greets a parent's name : Thine is each art of speech, each rapt'rous strain,

The Graces lead, the Virtues fill thy train !
From all of evil, life or dreads or knows,
Its real trifles, and its fancied woes,

O lead thy votary! pensive, yet serene,
To some lone seat, thy favorite, hallow'd scene,
Where his calm breast may every pow'r em-
ploy,

Feel self-born peace and independent joy.
And see! the Library my steps invites ;
Fraught with true profit and with pure de-
lights:

Calls to a feast, whose elegance and love,
The man must relish, and the heart approve.

How awful is the spot!-each honor'd name, Each theme of modern praise, and early fame; Bards, statesmen, sages, lov'd, reverd, admir'd, Whom sense enlighten'd and whom glory

fir'd,

rais'd,

Survives coeval with the worth he prais'd.
If deeds exalted gave his breast to glow,
Or pity bade him sympathize with woe;
If sweetly soft he chose the lover's part,
Or truth to satire urg'd his honest heart;
His verse still lives, his sentiment still warms,
His lyre still warbles, and his wit still charms.
Here by the past to form the rising age,
The grave historian spreads his ample page;
Whose faithful care preserves the hero's fame,
Or damns to infamy the traitor's name;
Whose records bid fair virtue ever live,
And share immortal in the life they give.

Here the firm patriot, on whose winning

tongue

The snow-soft dews of mild persuasion hung,
Who knew to lead in spirit, and control
The ductile passions, and usurp the soul;
Still pleads, still rules; now lively, now se-