Thus the timorous foe bespoke,
(By way of keeping up the joke:)

"But, gentlemen-hollo! I say—
"Take nothing but yourselves away;
"Ye carry now the jest too far;
"Are these your tricks and spoils of war?
"To leave a man in open air,

66 Waiting on you, sans hat or hair ? "Why, what a plague! what breeding's that? "You, fellow there-return my hat.

"'Tis true I am not very old;

"But, what of that?—I may také cold.”

"Not so, my son" Fame, smiling, said, And clapt the laurel on his head:

66

Beyond the reach of human eye, "Thy warlike beaver waves on high; "Mars saw it fall, and bad it rise "An hat immortal to the skies." The hero to the Goddess bow'd, And saw her vanish thro' a cloud; Then turn'd about his horse's head, And pick'd his way thro' heaps of dead; Within his tent retir'd to rest,

And slept with honor in his breast,

ON

MISS F

APPEARING AT A MASQUERADE IN THE HABIT

OF A JUDGE.

BY VISCOUNT PALMERSTON.

CUPID JEALOUS.

A Nymph of ev'ry charm possest,

To animate the coldest breast

With love's auspicious flame,
Of late her mimic art display'd,
And from a lovely, tender maid,
A rev'rend judge became.

The spreading wig, the solemn hat,
Where venerable dulness sat,

Deceiv'd our wond'ring eyes ;

Her pleasing shape, her easy mien,
Her graceful airs, no more were seen,

In that uncouth disguise.

From that soft tongue was heard no more
The music, which it us'd to pour,

The music of the mind;

Nor could those eyes their beams dispense, Which shine replete with manly sense, And female softness join'd.

Yet say, dear girl, what magic art,

Tho' thus disguis'd, from ev'ry heart

A secret homage drew?

Why round thee press'd the gay, the young,
Forsook the dance, and left the song,
Thy rev'rend form to view?

In vain, tho' every art was try'd,
In vain, alas! you strove to hide
What could not be conceal'd!
Malicious Cupid spoil'd the jest,
And darting swift thro' every breast,
The whole deceit reveal'd.

And is it thus, ungrateful maid,

The god, in jealous anger, said,

My empire you disown?

And could'st thou with love's foes combine,
And bid those eyes no longer shine,
Which best support my throne?

Then give me back each winning grace,
With which I deck'd that lovely face,
And arm'd each sparkling eye;

In whose bright orbs, at my command,
The little loves, a num'rous band,

In secret ambush lie.

My favourite's triumphs to insure,

I

gave

whate'er might best secure, Or most extend her sway;

And can that heart so soon forget
What gratitude, for such a debt,
Should prompt thee to repay?

No let thy gentle bosom prove
Obedient to the voice of love,

And quit this strange disguise;
Nor let the am'rous youths in vain
Lament that thou no more wilt deign
To bless their longing eyes.

The nymph, with smiles consenting, heard,
And in her own bright form appear'd,
To sooth the anxious boy :
Grace led her easy steps along,

And with her came in mystic throng,
Wit, beauty, love, and joy.

Thus breaking from the vernal clouds,
Where oft his radiant beams he shrouds,
The sun appears more bright;
With fresher crimson paints the rose,

And o'er the face of nature throws

A more refulgent light.

ODE XIII.

ON

MISS HARRIET HANBURY,

AT SIX YEARS OLD,

BY SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS.

WHY should I thus employ my time,
To paint those cheeks of rosy hue ?
Why shou'd I search my brains for rhyme,
To sing those eyes of glossy blue?

The pow'r as yet is all in vain ;

Thy num'rous charms, and various graces :

They only serve to banish pain,

And light up joy in parent's faces.

But soon those eyes their strength shall feel; 'Those charms their pow'rful sway shall find: Youth shall in crowds before you kneel,

And own your empire o'er mankind.

Then, when on Beauty's throne you sit,
And thousands court your wish'd-for arms,

My Muse shall stretch her utmost wit,
To sing the vict'ries of your charms ;·