« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man, O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.
Resides in that heavenly word!
Or all that this Earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smild when a sabbath appear'd.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report
Of a land, I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
Compard with the speed of it's fight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
The beast is laid down in his lair;
And I to my cabin repair. There's inercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
ON THE PROMOTION OF
EDWARD THURLOW, Esq.,
TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP
ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
And Genius shed his rays.
See! with united wonder cried
Th' experienc'd and the sage,
With all the skill of age?
Proclaim him born to sway.
And bear the palm away.
He sprang impetuous forth
Attends superior worth. '
So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known, And does but at the goal obtain
What all had deem'd his own.
ODE TO PEACE.
1 I. COME, peace of mind, delightful guest! Return and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart: Nor riches I nor pow'r pursue, Nor hold fobidden joys in view;
We therefore need not part.
And pleasure's fatal wiles?
The banquet of thy smiles ?
III. The great, the gay, shall they partake The Heav'n that thou alone canst make?
And wilt thou quit the stream, That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove and the sequester'd shed,
To be a guest with them?
For thee I panted, thee I prizd,
Whate'er I lov'd before;
Farewell! we meet no more?.