ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1790. Ne commonentem recta sperne.-BUCHANAN. HE who sits from day to day Where the prisoned lark is hung, Heedless of his loudest lay, Hardly knows that he has sung. Where the watchman in his round So your verse-man I, and clerk, Yearly in my song proclaim Death at hand-yourselves his mark— And the foe's unerring aim. Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloud— But the monitory strain, Seems to sound too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears. Can a truth, by all confessed Of such magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft expressed, Trivial as a parrot's prate? Pleasure's call attention wins, Hear it often as we may; New as ever seem our sins, Though committed every day. Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell These alone, so often heard, No more move us than the bell When some stranger is interred. Oh then, ere the turf or tomb Cover us from every eye, Spirit of instruction! come Make us learn that we must die. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1792. Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari!-VIRG. Happy the mortal who has traced effects THANKLESS for favours from on high, Man thinks he fades too soon; Though 'tis his privilege to die, Would he improve the boon. But he, not wise enough to scan To ages in a world of pain, Strange fondness of the human heart, Strange world, that costs it so much smart, And still has power to charm. Whence has the world her magic power? The cause is Conscience ;--Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews : Then, anxious to be longer spared, Man mourns his fleeting breath: And evils then seem light, compared With the approach of Death. 'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear That prompts the wish to stay: He has incurred a long arrear, And must despair to pay. Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid : His death your peace ensures; Think on the grave where He was laid, And calm descend to yours. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1793. De sacris autem hæc sit una sententia, ut conserventur.-Cic. de Leg. But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be inviolate. IMPROMPTU, ON WRITING A LETTER WITHOUT HAVING ANYTHING TO SAY. So have I seen the maids in vain They bite the lip and scratch the head, And cry, The deuce is in the thread!" They torture it and jerk it round, Till the right end at last is found; And what was work is changed to play. ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, THE NIGHT OF THE George took his seat again, WHEN, long sequestered from his throne, By right of worth, not blood alone, Entitled here to reign; Then Loyalty, with all her lamps New trimmed, a gallant show, Chasing the darkness and the damps, Set London in a glow. 'Twas hard to tell of streets or squares Which formed the chief display; These most resembling clustered stars, Those the long milky way. Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, And rockets flew, self-driven, So, fire with water to compare, Had all the pageants of the world For no such sight had England's Queen Where George recovered made a scene, Sweet always, doubly sweet. It was a scene in every part Like those in fable feigned, But other magic there, she knew, That cordial thought her spirits cheered, So, ancient poets say, serene Yet let the glories of a night Like that, once seen, suffice; Heaven grant us no such future sight, Such previous woe the price! THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND. MUSE, hide his name of whom I sing, Lest his surviving house thou bring For his sake into scorn; Nor speak the school from which he drew The much or little that he knew, Nor place where he was born. That such a man once was, may seem Worthy of record (if the theme Perchance may credit win), For proof to man what man may prove, If grace depart, and demons move The source of guilt within. This man (for since the howling wild In social talk and ready jest Possessed of every kind. Methinks I see him powdered red, With bushy locks his well-dressed head Winged broad on either side, The mossy rosebud not so sweet; Can such be cruel? Such can be Cruel as hell, and so was he; A tyrant entertained With barbarous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight 'Twixt birds to battle trained. One feathered champion he possessed, His darling far beyond the rest, Which never knew disgrace, Nor e'er had fought but he made flow The life-blood of his fiercest foe, The Cæsar of his race. It chanced at last, when on a day He doomed his favourite dead. He seized him fast, and from the pit Flew to the kitchen, snatched the spit, And "Bring me cord!" he cried: The cord was brought, and, at his word, To that dire implement the bird Alive and struggling tied. THE straw-stuffed hamper with his ruthless steel Forth came The rustling package; first, bright straw of wheat, Or oats, or barley; next a bottle, green, Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distilled Drop after drop odorous, by the art Of the fair mother of his friend-the Rose. Sept. 11, 1789. ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 1789. O SOVEREIGN of an isle renowned Wherever o'er yon gulf profound Her navies wing their way; With juster claim she builds at length Her empire on the sea, And well may boast the waves her strength, Which strength restored to thee. |