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SONNET ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.

Dificilis, querulus ;
“ Laudator temporis acti, se puero ;
“ Castigator-censorque minorum.”

Horat.

Tuo'o'er these grey locks many seasons have rolld,
My heart still, as ever, is fearless and bold;
My hand still can open with Sympathy's glee,
And fill a gay bumper to Friendship and thee.

Still-still-I can hail the soft breezes of Spring, When their music, the lark, or the nightingale bring; Still lament the swift march of Autumnal decline,

When no verdure remains, but the frost-bitten pine.

SONNET ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.

79

Still-still-I delight in the din of mankind,
Tho' “ longo,(I fear,) “ intervallo,” behind;
And calm as a Stoic, each pleasure partake,

From the heath-cover'd mountain, or crystalline lake.

Still at midnight my lamp can illumine the scene,
And dispelling each phantom of “ ennui" and spleen ;-
Can recall the bright records of honour and worth,
With the tasteful effusions of fancy and mirth.

From the desolate island of honest De Foe,

(The delight and the solace of infantine woe ;*)

To all the wild fictions of Eastern romance,

An Armida's bower, or a Saladin's lance.

When fatigued with an author, insipid and cold;
My thoughts, free as air, can Elysium unfold;
I can gaze on the scenes that long since have pass’d by,
And sigh o'er the lustre of many a dim eye.

Yet vain to reflect on each Syren-like spell,

Or each Fairy-abode, where the Graces might dwell ;
Where old Hospitality laugh'd at the storm,
And some Sylph on her silver-ton’d harp would perform.

* Into what European language has not Robinson Crusoe been translated ?

For Time with his scythe, and his sand-glass in view, Cries—“ To all these gay objects you must bid adieu ; “How oft, I forewarn'd you, in Life's busy day, “ The roses of youth only bloom to decay.

“How oft! I forewarn’d you, when musing alone, “ To erase from your bosom each arrogant tone, " That the wheel of blind fortune might rapidly turn, “And implor'd you Discretion's sage maxims to learn.

“ What avails now the Poet, and Orator's wreath,

“ With all the proud Ermine and Mitre bequeath? “The lamps are extinguish'd, the curtain descends; “And no thought, but of temporis-acti, attends."

Then farewell, my old comrade, receive a last pray’r,
Let the “ebon-wing'd tyrant return to his lair ;
And most grateful for all a kind Providence gave,
May his bounty and blessing extend to our grave.

FOR A PRIVATE THEATRICAL OF “WHO'S THE DUPE ?”

AT A

COUNTRY SEAT DURING THE WINTER SEASON.

Who but recalls in Life's eventful day,

The buoyant rapture of his earliest play?
When lost in joy he views the splendid scene,
Charm'd with gay Columbine's attractive mien;

Charm'd with the hero of the motley vest,

And all the feats his magic wand attest ;

The quick transition, from a gloomy cell,
To stately castles, rear'd by witchcraft's spell ;
Dwarfs, clowns, and spectres, in succession glide,
While pasteboard Navies stem the canvass tide.
And if no wealth is drawn from Shakespeare's hoards,
In this poor effort of our humble boards,

VOL. II.

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To chase the gloom of pale December's hour,
We feebly try Thalia's playful power,
Prepare our shafts to wake the slumb'ring pit,
Through a fair Author's unoffending wit ;*
In sprightly “ Gradus,"-man of fashion turn'd,
And “ Alma-mater,for St. James's spurn’d ;
With honest “ D’Oiley," whom in days gone by,
Censorious critics, lauded to the sky,
When as a mirror, the once crowded stage,
Explored each folly of the passing age,
Yet if dull care we banish from this dome,
Or light the wintry paradise of home;"
(A home by friendship to each guest endeard,
With talent, beauty, and good humour cheerd)

* Mrs. Cowley.

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