A SONNET. Yet say, our footsteps who can guide, Delusion's dream dispel; Destroy that vanity and pride, Which fill the humblest dell. Pray then, avaunt! ye Cynic crew, Tho' Nature shines in lov'liest hue, If mirth displays her laughing mien, Or honour points to fame. One parting glass, oh! let us share, And former days recall; Again retrace each blooming fair, Again retrace the absent friends, While her soft magic, Mem'ry lends, And scorns the march of Time. 183 The banquet to inspire; Whose smile can each reverse defy, When public contests tire. One parting kiss, oh! don't refuse, A pledge of future joy; Chaste as the fam'd Pierian Muse, Nor Dian could annoy. Dispel the tear that trembling fills, That rapture-beaming eye; Dispel those dark foreboding ills, Bid Hope her golden dream revive, The ling'ring moments will arrive, Each pleasure to renew. And humbly bowing to that Power, Which all admit divine; Long may we brighten each dull hour, With Friendship, Love, and Wine. UPON A SQUIRREL, CLIMBING A TREE, UNDER WHICH A FAVOURITE TERRIER HAD BEEN BURIED. THOU playful tenant of this shelter'd grove, Enjoy that boon, by gracious Heav'n decreed, 186 LINES UPON A SQUIRREL. Survey the copse, explore the flow'ry plain, Fear not thy freedom-dear as India's mine, Nor dread in fetters and restraint to pine. For in this silent, this romantic glade, A long-lov'd fav'rite's cold remains are laid; For him these woods, alas! no more can please, Or when departing from the rustic hall, As rural pastimes and retirement pall, No more his features, downcast and forlorn, With many a flower-the Lares strew'd his mould, |