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TO SOME CHILDREN LISTENING TO A

LARK.

See the lark prures his active wings,
Rises to heaven, and soars and sings,
His morning hymns, his mid-day lays
Are one continued song of praise :
He speaks his makér all he can,
And shames the silent tongue of man,

When the dechning orb of light
Reminds him of approaching night,
His warbling vespers swell his breast,
And as he sings he smiks to rest.

Shall birds instructive lessons teach,
And we be deaf to what they preach?

No, ye dear nestlings of my heart,
Go, act the wiser songster's part :
Spurn your warm couch at early dawn,
And with your God begin the morn :
To bim your grateful tribute pay,
Thro' every period of the day:

To him your evening song direct;
His eye shall watch, his arm protect.
Tho' darkness reign, He's with you still
Then sleep, my babes, and fear no ill.

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TO A LITTLE GIRL.

Fairest flower, all flowers excelling,

Which in Milton's page we see; Flowers of Eve's embower'd dwelling

Are, my fair one, types of thee.

Mark, my Polly, how the roses

Emulate thy damask cheek; How the bud its sweets discloses

Buds thy opening bloom bespeak,

Lilies are by plain direction

Emblems a double kind; Emblems of thy fair complexion,

Emblems of thy fairer mind.

But, dear girl, both flowers and beauty

Blossom, fade, and die away; Then pursue good sense and duty,

Evergreens! which ne'er decay.

TO A LADY ON HER BIRTH-DAY,

Youth gives the hope of many a lovely spring,

Of cheerful suns, and skies without a cloud : What to the ills of life can solace bring O'er the torn. heart where cares unnumber'd

crowd?

Elate with joy and smiles we glide along

O'er many a fragrant, many a flowery plain; Nor heed the Moralist's cold warning song,

Which talks of sorrow, suffering, and pain.

But when the summer of our years

is

gone, When ardour chills, and vigour fades away; Oft must we wander comfortless alone,

And in NOVEMBER-look in vain for MAY.

The nightingale, with breast against a thorn,

Expiring sings her last melodious strains ; The Muse thus hails MATILDA's natal morn, · Proud of her friendship long as life remains;

May that kind power who thus auspicious gave,

A inind so gentle to a form so fair ;
From every grief and care my favorite save,

From every breath of fortune's ruder air.

Wliile some dear youth shall share MATILDA's

heart, Her cares partake, her tenderness repay; The bard shall oft invoke the Muse's art,

To give these bours the bloom of love and May.

ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

Plain sober truth invokes no flattering lay,
To hail Eliza on her natal day,
Talks of no rapturous flames, no venom’d dart,
Piercing with anguish, mild, the willing heart :
Suchi be the lover's task ; the friend, more sure,
Looks for those virtues which through life endure.

Beauty's blue eye will lose all power to charm,
Loves dimpled smiles excite no soft alarm,
When care and pain, press heavy on the breast,
And wearied passion seeks its place of rest.

Ah! this the hour when reason loves to see
Those fruits, those flowers, which bloom mature id

thee;
The tender care to soothe a parent's heart,
The fond desire to act a sister's part;
To shew each relative, remote or near,
Their hopes, their honour, and their interests dear.

This be thy praise, ELIZA, this the theme
Far, sweeter far, than any poet's dream,
To live assured of social virtue's love,
Till Sister angels summon thee above.

FALSE GREATNESS.

Mylo, forbear to call him blest

That only boasts a large estate,
Should all the treasures of the west

Meet and conspire to make him great.
I know thy better thoughts, I know
Thy reason can't descend so low.

Let a broad stream with golden sands

Thro' all his meadows roll,
He's but a wretch with all his lands,

That wears a narrow soul.

F

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