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A SONNET.

“ Oft the young and giddy say,
“ Poor Anacreon ! thou art grey ;
“ Yet this I know, without being told,
56 'Tis time to live when I grow old,
“Of what remains, the best to make,
And wisely manage my last stake.”

Cowley.

Whence is it the beauties so blooming and young,

In whom talent and grace were combin'd; Or the stage where our Poets harmoniously sung,

Oh! say, why their empire declin’d ?

Whence is it the dinner at B **, and W **,

Appears in each winter less gay ;
That the ball, or the gala, no longer delights,

And we steal to our pillow away?

A SONNET.

145

Whence is it, less deeply, and pensive we grieve,

Or with angry emotions we foam, Should a Statesman, his long-cherish'd principles leave,

In the paths of promotion to roam ?

Or should Monarchs combine, with the scymeter girt,

To render despotic their laws;

Or some artful Demagogue reason pervert,

(Profaning fair Liberty's cause !)

Our spirit and buoyancy, Time has subdued,

Diminish'd each arrogant view;
A lesson inflicted from gravity's mood,

That robs the bright scene of its hue.

Then ye! who have travers’d the mazes of life,

Partaken of pleasure and pain ;

Encounter'd of fortune the versatile strife,

Or cross’d the wide ocean for gain.

Has the friend you entrusted, the nearest your heart,

Each trouble on whom could

repose ;

Ever wing’d at your bosom, Ingratitude's dart,

That bitter, and deadly of blows ?

VOL. II.

L

Have you follow'd a Parent's remains to the grave,

The refuge and guide of your youth ?
Have you wept when no medical effort could save,

(A tribute to Nature, and Truth ?)

Has the female, you fondly imagin'd, your own,

The anguish what mortal can tell ?

From her vows and her promises shamefully flown,

While Angels have blush'd as she fell.

What cheer'd up the spirits, and brighten'd the soul,

With sorrow when ready to break ? It was Sympathy's voice, and the mirth-stirring bowl,

Which neither betray nor forsake.

From shipwreck, old Noah, preserv'd in the Ark,

Rejoicing each wave to escape ;
Dispatch'd—(as his courier)—a pigeon or lark,

And then began planting the Grape.

The Grape that enlivens both Hero and Sage,

The Lawyer, Physician, and Priest;

Whatever the Senate or Council engage,

Great Bacchus !—thy charms are not least.

A SONNET.

147

Tho' banish Silenus and Comus's crew,

With all that is gross or obscene,

Keep. taste and decorum for ever in view,

While we worship the Muse for our Queen.

Yet her mandates reject, nor acknowledge supreme,

If she singly would govern the mind;
Let her empire be shar'd and illum'd by a beam

Of Venus the lovely and kind.

And gratefully viewing the pleasures now past,

Each comfort and blessing enjoy'd ;
Admire the gay visions of life while they last,

And leave the rich banquet uncloy'd.

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