MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ
DEAR JOSEPH,-Five-and-twenty years ago—
Alas, how time escapes !-'tis even so-
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet!
As some grave gentleman in Terence says
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days),
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings-.
Strange fluctuation of all human things!

True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only cannot change the heart:
And, were I call'd to pro.e the assertion true,
One proof should serve--a reference to you.
Whence comes it then, that, in the wane of life,
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,.
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none?
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch?
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed

Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
Go, fellow !-whither?-turning short about-
Nay-stay at home-you're always going out.
'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end.-
For what?-An plea e you, sir, to see a friend.-
A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start-
Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.
And fetch my cloak; for though the night be raw,
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child;
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.

V

Perhaps, his confidence just then betray'd,

His grief might prompt him with the speech he made;
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralise too much, and strain
To prove an evil of which all complain
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun);
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.
Once on a time an emperor, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once, should ever after wear
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare.
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within, and all found out
Oh, happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
Else, could a law like that which I relate
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Some few, that I have known in days of old,
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold;
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow,
Might traverse England safely to and fro,
An honest man, close-button'd to the chin,
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within.

THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK IN

ESSEX.

As addressed to a Country Clergyman, complaining of the disagreeableness of the dav annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage.

COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest,

To laugh it would be wrong,
The troubles of a worthy priest,
The burden of my song.

This priest he merry is and blithe
Three quarters of a year:
But oh! it cuts him like a scythe,
When tithing time draws near.

He then is full of fright and fears,
As one at point to die,
And long before the day appears,
He heaves up many a sigh.

For then the farmers come jog, jog,
Along the miry road,

Each heart as heavy as a log,

To make their payments good.

In sooth the sorrow of such days
Is not to be express'd,

When he that takes and he that pays
Are both alike distress'd.

Now all unwelcome at his gates
The clumsy swains alight,

With rueful faces and bald pates --
He trembles at the sight.

And well he may, for well he knows
Each bumpkin of the clan,
Instead of paying what he owes,
Will cheat him if he can.

So in they come each makes his leg,
And flings his head before,

And looks as if he came to beg,

And not to quit a score.

"And how does miss and madam do,

The little boy and all?"

"All tight and well. And how do you Good Mr What-d'ye-call?"

The dinner comes, and down they sit;
Were e'er such hungry folk?
There's little talking, and no wit;
It is no time to joke.

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,
One spits upon the floor,

Yet, not to give offence or grieve,
Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they are dull

And lumpish still as ever;

Like barrels with their bellies full,
They only weigh the heavier.

At length the busy time begins,

Come, neighbours, we must wag The money chinks, down drop their chins Each lugging out his bag.

One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms of hail,

And one of pigs that he has lost
By maggots at the tail.

Quoth one,

66 A rarer man than you In pulpit none shall hear : But yet, methinks, to tell you true,

You sell it plaguy dear.'

O why are farmers made so coarse,
Or clergy made so fine?

A kick, that scarce would move a horse,

May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;
"Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum
Without the clowns that pay.

SONNET,

ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ.

On his eniphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of Warren Hastings, Esq., in the House of Lords.

COWPER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard, Legends prolix delivers in the ears

(Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, Expending late on all that length of plea Thy generous powers, but silence honour'd thee, Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard.

Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside

Both heart and head; and couldst with music sweet
Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone,

Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide
Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance meet
Of others' speech, but magic of thy own.

LINES ADDRESSED TO DR DARWIN,

AUTHOR OF "THE BOTANIC GARDEN."

Two Poets* (poets, by report,
Not oft so well agree),

Sweet harmonist of Flora's court!
Conspire to honour thee.

"

They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known

The pangs of a poetic birth

By labours of their own.

We therefore pleased, extol thy song,
Though various, yet complete,
Rich in embellishment as strong,
And learned as 'tis sweet.

No envy mingles with our praise,
Though, could our hearts repine
At any poet's happier lays,
They would-they must at thine.
But we, in mutual bondage knit
Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit
With an unjaundiced eye;

Alluding to the poem by Mr Hayley, which accompanied these lines

And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be,

And howsoever known,

Who would not twine a wreath for thee
Unworthy of his own.

ON MRS MONTAGU'S FEATHER-HANGINGS

THE birds put off their every hue
To dress a room for Montagu.

The peacock sends his heavenly dyes,
His rainbows and his starry eyes;

The pheasant plumes, which round enfold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river-blanch'd, the swan his snow.
All tribes beside of Indian name,
That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises, and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dashing shower,
Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower,
Shall drench again or discompose,

But, screen'd from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.

To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,

Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, Which, though new-born, with vigour move Like Pallas springing arm'd from JoveImagination scattering round

Wild roses over furrow'd ground,

Which Labour of his frown beguile,

And teach Philosophy a smile-
Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires, to sacred truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright-
Well tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that to which he keeps confined
The various treasures of his mind-
All these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.

There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit