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Find out the still, the rural cell,
Where sage Retirement loves to dwell!
There let me taste the homefelt bliss
Of innocence and inward peace;
Untainted by the guilty bribe,
Uncursed amid the harpy tribe;
No orphan's cry to wound my ear;
My honour and my conscience clear;
Thus may I calmly meet my end,
Thus to the grave in peace descend.
ON THE FALLEN CONDITION OF GREECE.
Eternal powers! what ruins from afar Mark the fell track of desolating war! Here Art and Commerce, with auspicious reign, Once breathed sweet influence on ihe happy plain! While o'er the lawn, with dance and festive song, Young Pleasure led the jocund hours along. In gay luxuriance Ceres too was seen To crown the valleys with eternal green. For wealth, for valour, courted and revered, What Albion is, fair Candia then appear'd.Ah! who the flight of ages can revoke? The free-born spirit of her sons is broke; They how to Oitoman's imperious yoke! No longer fame the drooping heart inspires, For rude oppression quench'd its genial fires. But still her fieids, with golden harvests crown'd, Supply the barren shores of Greece around. What pale distress afflicts those wretched isles! There hope ne'er dawns, and pleasure never smiles. The vassal wretch obsequious drags his chain, And hears his famish'd babes lament in vain. These eyes have seen the dull reluctant soil A seventh year scorn the weary labourer's toil. No blooming Venus, on the deseri shore, Now views, with triumph, captive gods adore.
No lovely Helens now, with fatal charms,
Call forth th' avenging chiefs of Greece to arms.
No fair Penelopes enchant the eye,
For whom contending kings are proud to die.
Here sullen beauty sheds a twilight ray,
While sorrow bids her venal bloom decay.
Those charms, so long renown'd in classic strains,
Had dimly shone on Albion's happier plains !
POWER above powers ! O heavenly eloquence!
That with the strong reign of commanding words,
Dost manage, guide, and master th' eminence
Of men's affections, more than all their swords !
Shall we not offer to thy excellence
The richest treasure that our wit affords?
Thou that canst do much more with one pen,
Than all the powers of princes can effect;
And draw, divert, dispose, and fashion mien,
Better than force or rigour can direct !
Should we this ornament of glory then,
As th' unmaterial fruits of shades neglect?
But when he pleased to show't, his speech,
In loftiness of sound, was rich;
A Babylonish dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect.
It was a party-colour'd dress,
Of patch'd and rye-ball’d languages :
'T was English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin.
ENGLAND. England, with all thy faults, I love thee still, My country, and while yet a nook is left Where English names and manners may be found, Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year, most part, deform'd With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's
groves Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers.
Thee therefore still, blame-worthy as thou art,
With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed
By public exigence, till annual food
Falls for the craving hunger of the state,
Thee I account still happy, and the chief
Among the nations, seeing thou art free!
My native nook of earth.
THE SAME SUBJECT.
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still,"
I said at Calais, and have not forgot it;
I like to speak and lubricate my fill;
I like the government (but that is not it;)
I like the freedom of the press and quill ;
I like the “Habeas Corpus” (when we've got it)
I like a parliamentary debate,
Particularly when it is not too late ;
I like the taxes, when they're not too many ;
I like a sea-coal fire, when not too dear;
I like a bref-steak, too, as well as any ;
Have no objection to a pot of beer;.
I like the weather, when it is not rainy,
That is, I like two months of every year.
And so, God save the regent, church and king!
Which means that I like all and every thing.
Our standing army, and disbanded seamen,
Poor's rates, reform, my own, the nation's debt,
Our little riots just to show we're freemen,
Our trifling bankruptcies in the gazette,
Our cloudy climate, and our chilly women,
All these I can forgive, and those forget,
And greatly venerate our recent glories,
And wish they were not owing to the tories.
LET none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O, that estates, degrees, and offices, Were not derived corruptly! and that dear honour Were purchased by the merit of the wearer! How many then should cover, that stand bare ? How many be commanded that command ? How much low peasantry would then be glean'd From the true seat of honour? and ho much honour Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, To be new varnish'd.
A JUGGLER long through all the Town,
Had raised his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends,)
The devil at his fingers' ends.
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill ;
Convinced of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud.
* Is this then he so famed for sleight?
Can this slow bangler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes."
Provoked, the Juggler eried, " "Tis done;
In science I submit to none."
Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd,
By turns this here, that there, convey'd.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.
His little bores change the grain;
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair ;
His fingers spread, and nothing there :
Then bids it rain with showers of gold;
And now his ivory eggs are told!
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.
Vice now stepp'd forth, and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.
“This magic looking-glass (she cries),
(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes."
Each eager eye the sight desired,
And every man himself admired.
Next to a senator addressing,
“See this bank-note ;-observe the blessing
Breathe on the bill. Hey, pass! "T is gone."
Upon his lips a padlock shone.
A second puff the magic broke;
The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles ranged upon the board
All full with heady liquor stored,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.
A purse she to a thief exposed ;
At once his ready fingers closed.