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bless,

On earth, in ocean, and in air,
Love is the fou'reign bliss, the universal prayer.

'Tis love sustains the starry choir,
Love is the elemental fire ;
Ah! naught in thy mortality,
Nor ev’n in our eternity,
Like love can charm, like love can
The sun and soul of happiness;

Love is to ev'ry Muse allied,
Touches each tuneful chord, and spreads the chorus wide.

'Tis ours to waft the lover's fighs,
Swift to the nymph for whom they rise ;
And gently as we strike the string,
Convey the nymph's on rosy wing.
Absence, tho' it wounds, endears,
Soft its forrows, sweet its tears ;

Pains that please, and joys that weep,
Trickle like healing balm, and o'er the bosom creep.

Love and Sorrow, twins, were born
On a shining show'ry morn,
'Twas in prime of April weather,
When it shone and rain'd together;
He who never Sorrow knew,
Never felt affections true ;

Never felt true paflion's power,
Love's sun and dew combine, to nurse the tender flow'r.

O DE

to

PE TER PINDA R.

A

(From PETER PINDAR’s Lyric Odes, for the Year 1785.}

Thousand frogs, upon a summer's day,

Were sporting 'midst the sunny ray, In a large pool, reflecting every face ;

They show'd their gold-lac'd cloaths with pride,

In harmless fallies, frequent vied,
And gambol'd through the water with a grace.
It happen'd that a band of boys,

1 Observant of their harmless joys, Thoughtless, refolv'd to spoil their happy sport;

One frenzy seiz'd both great and small,

On the poor frogs the rogues began to fall, Meaning to splash them, not to do them hurt.

As Milton quaintly fings, the itones 'gan pour,'

Indeed, an Otaheite show'r !
The consequence was dreadful, let me tell ye ;

One's

One's eye was beat out of his head,

This limp'd away, that lay for dead, -
Here mourn'd a broken back, and there a belly.
Amongst the smitten, it was found

Their beauteous queen receiv'd a wound;
The blow gave ev'ry heart a figh,

And drew a tear from ev'ry eye :-
At length king Croak got up, and thus begun-

My lads, you think this very pretty fun!
“ Your pebbles round us fly as thick as hops,
Have warmly complimented all our chops ;-
To you, I guess that these are pleasant stones!

And so they might be to us frogs,

You damn'd, young, good-for-nothing dogs!
But that they are so hard,—they break our bones."
Peter! thou mark'ít the meaning of this fable
So put thy Pegasus into the stable;
Nor wanton, thus with cruel pride,
Mad, Jehu-like, o'er harmless people ride.

To drop the metaphor-the Fair *,

Whose works thy Muse forbore to spare, Is bleft with talents Envy must approve;

And didst thou know her heart, thou’dst say

" Perdition catch the idle lay!”
Then strike thy lyre to Innocence and Love.
6 Poh! poh! cry'd Satire, with a smile,
“ Where is the glorious freedom of our isle,

If not permitted to call names ?"
Methought the argument had weight-

Was logical, conclufive, neat ;-
So once more forth, volcanic Peter flames !

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On earth, in ocean, and in air,
Love is the sov'reign bliss, the universal prayer.

'Tis love fustains the starry choir,
Love is the elemental fire;
Ah! naught in thy mortality,
Nor ev'n in our eternity,
Like love can charm, like love can bless,
The fun and soul of happiness;

Love is to ev'ry Muse allied,
Touches each tuneful chord, and spreads the chorus wide.

'Tis ours to waft the lover's fighs,
Swift to the nymph for whom they rise ;
And gently as we strike the string,
Convey the nymph's on rosy wing.
Absence, tho’ it wounds, endears,
Soft its sorrows, sweet its tears ;

Pains that please, and joys that weep,
Trickle like healing balm, and o'er the bosom creep.

Love and Sorrow, twins, were born
On a shining show'ry morn,
'Twas in prime of April weather,
When it shone and rain'd together ;
He who never Sorrow knew,
Never felt affections true ;

Never felt true passion's power,
Love's fun and dew combine, to nurse the tender flow'r.

ODE

to

PETER PINDA R.

(From Peter Pindar's Lyric Odes, for the Year 1785.)

A

Thousand frogs, upon a summer's day,

Were sporting 'midst the funny ray, In a large pool, reflecting every face ;

They show'd their gold-lac'd cloaths with pride,

In harmless fallies, frequent vied,
And gambol'd through the water with a grace.

It happen'd that a band of boys,

Observant of their harmless joys, Thoughtless, resolv'd to spoil their happy sport;

One frenzy feiz'd both great and small,

On the poor frogs the rogues began to fall, Meaning to splash them, not to do them hurt.

As Milton quaintly fings, the itones 'gan pour,'

Indeed, an Otaheite show'r !
The consequence was dreadful, let me tell ye;

One's

Besides this great advantage_if in debt,
You'll have with creditors no tête-à-tête :

So leave the bull-dog bailiffs all behind;
Who hunt you, with what nose they may,
Must hunt for needles in a stack of hay.

The SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS COMPASSIONATED, but

chiefly OMAI.

E

(From the “ Talk,” in the Second Volume of Mr. CowPER's Poems.)

V'N the favor'd isles

So lately found, although the constant fun
Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile,
Can boast but little virtue ; and inert
Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain
In manners, victims of luxurious case.
These therefore I can picy, placed remote
From all that science traces, art invents,
Or inspiration teaches ; and inclosed
In boundless oceans never to be pass'a
By navigators uninformed as they,
Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again.
But far beyond the rest, and with most cause,
Thee, gentle savage *, whom no love of thee
Or thine, but curiofity perhaps,
Or elle vain-glory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee here
With what superior skill we can abuse
The gifts of Providence, and squander life.
The dream is past. And thou hast found again
Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams,
And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But halt thou found
Their former charms ? And having seen our state,
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports,
And heard our music; are thy simple friends,
Thy fimple fare, and all thy plain delights,
As dear to thee as once ? And have thy joys
Loft nothing by comparison with ours?
Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude
And ignorant, except of outward show)
I cannot think thec yet so dull of heart
And spiritless, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.
Methinks I see thee straying on the beach,
And alking of the surge that bathes thy foot,

Nymph of my soul! forgive my fighs,

Forgive the jealous fires I feel ;
Nor blame the trembling wretch, who dies

When others to thy beauties kneel.
Lo! theirs is ev'ry winning art,

With Fortune's gifts—unknown to me!
I only boast a fimple heart,

In love with Innocence and Thee,

PETER PINDAR's most wholesome ADVICE to LANDSCAPE

PAINTERS,

W

[From the fame Publication.]
HATE’ER your wish, in landscape to excel,

London's the very place to mar it;
Believe the oracles I tell,

There's very little landscape in a garret.
Whate'er the flocks of fleas you keep,
'Tis badly copying them for goats and Neep;
And, if you'll take the poet's honest word,
A bug must make a miserable bird.
A rush-light winking in a bottle's neck,

Ill represents the glorious orb of morn;
Nay, tho'it were a candle with a wick,

'Twould be a representative forlorn.
I think too, that a man would be a fool,
For trees, to copy legs of a joint-tool;

Or ev'n by them to reprelent a 1tump:
As also broom-sticks,—which tho' well he rig
Each with an old fox-colour'd wig,

Muit make a very poor autumnal clump.
You'll say—" Yet fuch ones, oft a person fecs
In many an artist's trees;
And in some paintings, we have all beheld;
Green bays hath surely fat for a green field;
Bolsters for mountains, hills, and wheaten mows;
Cats for ram-goats ;--and curs, for bulls and cow's.'

All this, my lads, I freely grant;
But better things from you I want.
As Shakspeare lays, (a bard I much approvc)
• List, liit, Oh! liit,'-if thou dost Painting love,

Claude painted in the open air !--
Therefore to Wales at once repair ;
Where scenes of true magnificence you'll find :

Besides

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