On Wednesday she ficken'd, I griev'd and was fad,
To nurse her, in vain I effay'd;

For ftill fhe grew worfe, and on Sunday fo bad,
For her death I moft ardently pray'd.

Death came to her aid, and her breath the refign'd,
And left me her aid to deplore;

For oh! fhe was beautiful, gentle, and kind,
But now I muft fee her no more.

At the end of the garden we made her a grave,
And with lilacs entwin'd it around;

Where, free from all trouble and grief fhe is laid,
And refteth within the cold ground.

I

THE WISH.

MMORTAL Gods, my prayers befriend,
And to a fuppliant maid attend;

Let not my days pafs calm and ftill,
But chequer them with good and ill;
And let my life for ever be,
A mixture of variety;

For when misfortune well I know,
I then fhall feel for others' woe,
Join'd to courage, knowledge, truth,
Let honeft virtue crown my youth;
Give me that pride which will be free,
And fcorns to crouch to tyranny;
My cheek ne'er know the blush of shame,
And add to this a well-earn'd fame!

Oh! grant, ye gods, it be my lot,
That when I'm dead I'm not forgot;
My first great with is glorious fame!
Let future ages know my name!
To crown the whole, ye gods above!
Let me not know what 'tis to love!

C. B.

S.

YR

THE HUSBANDMAN.

E pamper'd great, who proudly ride In gilded coaches, as ye glide Among the vulgar crew;

Scorn not the man who tills the fields,
Who reaps the fruits which autumn yields,
That man's as good as you.

Tho' fortune adverfe, for his home
Has rais'd in ftate no fplendid dome,
Nor fpread upon his board
Delicious dainties-and his name,
Unblazon'd in the rolls of fame,
Is ftill among the crowd;

Yet calm content around his head,
Will still her genial influence shed,
He envies not your lot;

When day declining, night returns,
And on his hearth one faggot burns,
He haftens to his cot.

His infants, fportive round the fire,
In lifping accents greet their fire,
(While each alike's his care);
With wanton gamb'lings ftrive to please,
And eager climb his honour'd knees,
The envied kiss to share:

The greeting o'er-to rest he goes,
Ambition breaks not his repose,
Nor robs his foul of reft;
For envy, hate, corroding care,
The dire effects of fell defpair,
Are ftrangers to his breast.

Can all your wealth-can all your pow'r,
Thofe glitt'ring playthings of an hour,
Bring happiness like this?
Can pompous titles and eftates,
The fleeting gifts of blinded fates,

Be reckon'd equal blifs?

No! hence ye vain delufive toys,
Ye poor, fantaftic, fhort-liv'd joys,
Give me a confcience pure;
Give me a mind content, ferene,
No cloud of guilt to intervene,
My joys will ftill endure.

VERNAL BEAUTIES,

OR

RURAL FELICITY.

HE little warblers of the spring

TH

Their fweet melodious accents raise;
They make the hills and dales to ring,
In warbling out their Maker's praise.
The black-bird, wood-lark, and the thrush,
Unite with those of feebler voice;
Whose chaunts refound from bush to bush,
To rouse all nature to rejoice;

Whilft nature seems to hear the found,

Flowers, herbs, fhrubs, trees, put forth their heads; To ask what have you, warblers, found

To make you fing; is winter fled?

"Sweet yes," the nightingale replies;
"For I'm the harbinger of fpring;
"And to confirm the fame," the cries,
"Hark! don't you hear yon cuckoo fing?”

Oh, joyful found with one accord

They all embrace their welcome guest;

Creation, and its earthly lord,

With fecond paradise are blest.

Ruckings, Kent.

JOHN FRANCIS,

VERSES

WROTE ON A CALM SUMMER'S EVENING.

WID

IDE o'er the farther weft the trembling beam
Sheds on departing day its latent gleam;
Now flow and folemn, filver clad on high,
The young moon lifts her crefcent in the sky;
Around her orb how foft a radiance glows,
And O! how fweet the foothing prospect shows.
Ah! 'tis a facred hour, a ftilly scene,

And more than filence rules the wide ferene;
A mighty grandeur lifts my foaring thought,
With all the mufes' inspiration fraught;
Far in the world of fancy led, I rove,
My glowing fentiments new charms improve.
I wish beyond the nether world to foar,
I wish the fource of being to explore;
Fain would I fly from orient eaft to west,
Where earth on boundless ocean leans her breast-
Dive into chaos, reach that stern abode,
Where, clad in terror, rules the gloomy god;
Thence, borne on rapid wing, direct my flight,
And view the fhrines of uncreated light.

Such are the themes that ev'ning's charms infuse,
And fuch the effort of my artless muse.

JOHN JONES.

THE VANITY OF LIFE.

BY THE LATE BISHOP HORNE.

We all do fade as a leaf.

EE the leaves around us falling,
Dry and wither'd to the ground;
Thus, to thoughtless mortals calling,
With a fad and folemn found:

"Sons of Adam, once in Eden,
"Blighted when like us you fell;
"Hear the lecture we are reading,
"Tis, alas! the truth we tell,

"Virgins! much, too much prefuming,
"In your boafted white and red;
"View us late in beauty blooming,
"Number'd now among the dead.
"Griping mifers! nightly waking,
"See the end of all your care;
"Fled on wings of our own making,
"We have left our owners bare.
"Sons of honour! fed on praifes,
"Flutt'ring high on fancied worth;
"Lo! the fickle air that raifes,
"Brings us down to parent earth.
"Learned fophs! in fyftems jaded,
"Who for new ones daily call;
"Ceafe, at length by us perfuaded,
"Every leaf must have a fall.

"Youths! though yet no loffes grieve you,
"Gay in health and manly grace;
"Let not cloudlefs fkies deceive you,
"Summer gives to autumn place..

"Venerable Sires! grown hoary,
"Hither turn th' unwilling eye;
"Think amidst your falling glory,
"Autumn tells a winter nigh.
"Yearly in our course returning,
"Meffengers of shortest stay,
"Thus we preach this truth unerring,
"Heaven and earth fhall pafs away!

On the Tree of life eternal,
"Man! let all thy hopes be ftaid;
Which alone, for ever vernal,

"Bears a leaf which ne'er fhall fade.”