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Eleven years may vastly change :
No more the Provinces he'll range ;
No more with humid eyes entreat,
And wait his doom at Beauty's feet;
Married and grave, he'll spend his time

Far from the idleness of rime;

Forgetting oranges and myrtle,
Will drink his port and eat his turtle ;
Perhaps with country justice sit,

And turn his back on thee and Wit.

For thee, my friend, whose copious vein
Pours forth at will the polished strain,
With every talent formed to please,
Each fair idea quick to seize ;-

Who knows within so long a space

What scenes the present may efface,
What course thy stream of life

of life may take, What winds may curl, what storms may shake, What varying colours, gay or grave, Shall tinge by turns the passing wave; Of objects on its banks what swarms,

The loftier or the fairer forms

Shall glide before the liquid glass,
And print their image as they pass ?

Let Fancy then and Friendship stray
In Pleasure's flowery walks today,
Today improve the social hours,
And build today the Muse's bowers ;
And when life's pageant on will go,
Try not to stop the passing show;
But give to scenes that once were dear,
A sigh, a farewell, and a tear.

TO THE BARON DE STONNE,

WITH AIKIN'S ESSAY ON SONG-WRITING.

To Gallia’s gay and gallant coast
Haste, little volume, speed thy flight;
And proudly there go make thy boast

How Britons love--how Britons write.

Say, Love can hold his torch as high

Beneath our heaven deformed with showers,

As in her pure and brilliant sky,

By vine-clad hills or myrtle bowers :

Ask if her damsels bloom more fair;

Ask if her swains can love as true ;

And urge her poets' tuneful care

To sing their praise in numbers due.

TO THE MISS WEBSTERS,

WITH DR. AIKIN'S “WISH,” WHICH THEY EXPRESSED

A DESIRE TO HAVE A COPY OF.

Not this the Wish in life's first, gayest page,

Becomes your opening years and golden prime;
Not these the hopes should your soft thoughts engage,
Whose buds of joy are yet uncropt by Time.

When blood begins to creep, when fled is youth,
And nature verges toward lethargic rest,
Gardens and groves the languid mind may soothe,
And fire-side comforts satisfy the breast.

For you, quick Fancy spreads her brightest stores,
Paints high the colour of each opening joy,
Enthusiastic hope to rapture soars,
And untried scenes the busy thoughts employ.

O may her soft enchantment late prolong
The fond romance of innocence and youth!
To elder life no happier hours belong,
No richer cordial dealt by hoary Truth.

Nor fear, while you the gaudy dream pursue,

Life's serious aim and sober joys to miss :
While fluttering pulses dance, and scenes are new,
Your Wish is transport, and your Hopes are bliss.

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