The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear:
And something, every day they live,
To pity, and perhaps forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish or a sense impaired,
Are crimes so little to be spared,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,
And tumult, and intestine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage, Proof against sickness and old age, Preserved by virtue from declension, Becomes not weary of attention; But lives, when that exterior grace, Which first inspired the flame, decays. 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, To faults compassionate or blind, And will with sympathy endure Those evils it would gladly cure: But angry, coarse, and harsh expression, Shows love to be a mere profession; Proves that the heart is none of his, Or soon expels him if it is.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. FORCED from home and all its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn;

To increase a stranger's treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though slave they have enrolled me
Minds are never to be sold.

Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion

Can not forfeit Nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black the same.

Why did all creating Nature

Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,

Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards;
'Think how many backs have smarted

For the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there one who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne the sky?

Ask him, if your knotted scourges,

Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means that duty urges
Agents of his will to use?

Hark! he answers-wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks;
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks
He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo,
Fixed their tyrant's habitations
Where his whirlwinds answer-no

By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries that we tasted,

Crossing in your barks the main; By our suffering since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart; All, sustained by patience, taught us Only by a broken heart:

Deem our nation brutes no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Ere you proudly question ours!

PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS

'Video meliora proboque,

Deteriora sequor.?—

I own I am shocked at the purchase of slaves, And fear those who buy them and sell them are knaves;

What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and

groans,

Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see?

What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea?
Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes,
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains;
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will,
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still.

If foreigners likewise would give up the trade, Much more in behalf of your wish might be said; But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks, Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks? Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind A story so pat, you may think it is coined,

go;

Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread,
Then think of his children, for they must be fed.'

'You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;
If you will go with us, you shall have a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.'

They spoke, and Tom pondered-' I see they will go:

Poor man! what a pity to injure him so!

Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could, But staying behind would do him no good.

'If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang, till they dropped from the

Some clouds which had over us hung, Fled, chased by her melody clear, And methought while she liberty sung, 'Twas liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultured island we came, Where a demon, her enemy, stood— Oppression his terrible name. In his hand, as the sign of his sway,

A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey

From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But soon as approaching the land

That goddess-like woman he viewed, The scourge he let fall from his hand, With the blood of his subjects imbrued. I saw him both sicken and die,

And the moment the monster expired, Heard shouts that ascended the sky,

From thousands with rapture inspired.

Awaking how could I but muse

At what such a dream should betide?

But soon my ear caught the glad news,

Which served my weak thought for a guideThat Britannia, renowned o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has shown, To the black-sceptered rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own.

THE

THE MORNING DREAM. "Twas in the glad season of spring, Asleep at the dawn of the day,

I dreamed what I can not but sing,
So pleasant it seemed as I lay.
I dreamed, that, on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the westward I sailed,
While the billows high-lifted the boat,
And the fresh-blowing breeze never failed.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impressed me with awe, Ne'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side

Shed light, like a sun on the waves And, smiling divinely, she cried

'I go to make freemen of slaves.' Then raising her voice to a strain

The sweetest that ear ever heard, She sung of the slave's broken chain, Wherever her glory appeared.

M

NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with a song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the selfsame power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine,
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night

The songster heard this short oration,
And warbling cut his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else!
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern;

That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other:
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case
The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name,
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace, both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.

ON A GOLDFINCHI,

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

TIME was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,
My drink the morning dew;
I perched at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new.

But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel, were all in vain,

And of a transient date;

For caught, and caged, and starved to death, In dying sighs my little breath

Soon passed the wiry grate.

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close

And cure of every ill;
More cruelty could none express;
And I, if you had shown me less,
Had been your prisoner still.

THE PINE-APPLE AND BEE.

THE pine-apples, in triple row,
Were basking hot, and all in blow;
A bee of most discerning taste,
Perceived the fragrance as he passed,
On eager wing the spoiler came,
And searched for crannies in the frame,
Urged his attempt on every side,
To every pane his trunk applied;
But still in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light;
Thus having wasted half the day,
He trimmed his flight another way.
Methinks, I said, in thee I find
The sin and madness of mankind.

To joys forbidden man aspires,
Consumes his soul with vain desires;
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit.
While Cynthio ogles, as she passes,
The nymph between two chariot glasses,
She is the pine-apple, and he

The silly unsuccessful bee.

The maid, who views with pensive air
The show-glass fraught with glittering ware,
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But sighs at thought of empty pockets;
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah, the cruel glass between!

Our dear delights are often such,
Exposed to view, but not to touch;
The sight our foolish heart inflames,
We long for pine apples in frames;
With hopeless wish one looks and lingers
One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers
But they whom truth and wisdom lead,
Can gather honey from a weed.

HORACE. BOOK II. ODE X. RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach, So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse Fortune's power; Not always tempt the distant deep, Nor always timorously creep

Along the treacherous shore. .

He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between

The little and the great,

Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door
Imbittering all his state.

The tallest pines feel most the power
Of winter blasts; the loftiest tower

Comes heaviest to the ground;

The bolts, that spare the mountain's side, His cloud-capt eminence divide,

And spread the ruin round.

The well-informed philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,

And hopes, in spite of pain;
If Winter bellow from the north,

Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth
And Nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky.

The God that strings the silver bow,
Awakes sometimes the muses too,
And lays his arrows by.

THE LILY AND THE ROSE.
THE nymph must lose her female friend,
If more admired than she-
But where will fierce contention end,
If flowers can disagree?

Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appeared two lovely foes
Aspiring to the rank of queen
The Lily and the Rose.

The Rose soon reddened into rage,
And, swelling with disdain,
Appealed to many a poet's page
To prove her right to reign.

The Lily's height bespoke command,
A fair imperial flower;

She seemed designed for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her power.

This civil bickering and debate

The goddess chanced to hear, And flew to save, ere yet too late,

The pride of the parterre.

Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,
And yours the statener mien;
And, till a third surpasses you,

Let each be deemed a queen.

Thus, soothed and reconciled, each seeks

The fairest British fair:

The seat of empire is her cheeks,
They reign united there.

IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. HEU inimicitias quoties parit æmula forma, Quam raro pulchræ pulchra placere potest

| Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.

Hortus ubi dulces præbet tacitosque recessus,
Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas;
Hic sibi regalis Amaryllis candida cultus,
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa,

Ira Rosam et meritis quæsita superbia tangunt,
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu,
Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum,
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.

Altior emicat illa, et celso vertice nutat,

Ceu flores inter non habitura parem, Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus

Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat.

Nec Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixæ,
Cui curæ est pictas pandere ruris opes,
Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri,
Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest.

Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit;
Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color;
Et donec vincat quædam formosior ambas,
Et tibi reginæ nomen, et esto tibi.

His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham, Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit; Hancpenes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, hujus

Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis.

THE POPLAR FIELD.

THE poplars are felled, farewell to the shade,
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade;
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view

Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew;

And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat,

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,

And the scene where his melody charmed me be

fore,

Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more,

My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead,

"Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man:
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.*

IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.
POPULÆ cecidet gratissima copia silvæ,
Conticuere susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra.
Nulle jam levibus se miscent frondibus auræ,
Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago.

Hei mihi! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos,
His cogor silvis suetoque carrere recessu,
Cum sero rediens, stratasque in gramine cernens,
Insedi arboribus, sub queis errare solebam.

Ah ubi nunc merula cantus? Felicior illum
Silva tegit, duræ nondum permissa bipenni;
Scilicet exustos colles camposque patentes
Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit.

Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse,
Et prius huic parilis quàm creverit altera silva
Flebor, et, exquiis parvis donatus, habebo
Defixum lapidum tumulique cubantis acervum.

Tam subito periisse videns tam digna manere,
Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata—
Sit licit ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbræ,
Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas.

VOTUM.

O MATUTINI rores auræque salubres,
O nemora, et læta rivis felicibus herbæ,
Graminei colles, et amœnæ in vallibus umbræ !
Fata modò dederint quas olim in rure paterno
Delicias, procul arte, formidine novi.

Quàm vellem ignotus, quod mens mea semper avebat,

Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam,

Tum demùm, exactis non infeliciter annis,
Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut sub cespite condi!

TRANSLATION OF

PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit,

Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes;

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

THE DIVERTING

HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN.

Showing how he went farther than he intended, and cane safe home again.

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,

A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding day,

And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister's child,

Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horsebark after we.

He soon replied, I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go.

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.