HORACE IN LONDON.

BOOK I. ODE VIII.

ΤΟ ROWLAND HILL.

Lydia dic per omnes, &c.

By those locks so lank and sable Which adown thy shoulders hang; By thy phiz right lamentable,

And thy humming nasal twang;
ROWLAND HILL, thou queer fanatic,
Tell me why thy love and grace,
Thus invade my servant's attic,
To unfit him for his place.

For the new light ever pining,
Thomas groans and hums and ha's,
But, alas! the light is shining,
Only through his lanthorn jaws.
May-pole pranks and fiddle-scrapers,
In his eye.sight change their hue,
Sable Athanasian vapours

Cloud his brain with devils blue,

From his fellows far asunder,

Tom enjoys his morning stave; Works are but a Heathen blunder,

Faith alone has power to save.

From young Hal the tavern-waiter,
Oft the boxing prize he'd carry;
Now the pious gladiator

Only wrestles with old HARRY.
Potent once at quoits and cricket,
Head erect and heart elate;
Now alas! he heeds no wicket,
Save John Bunyan's wicket-gate.
As some clown, to shun the battle,
Maims himself and courts disease,
So by Watt's tittle-tattle,

Tom expects to live at ease.

But if such his pious rage is,

Let it be its own reward

I'll no longer pay his wages,

Me he serves not, but the Lord!

ON SEEING VENONI, OR THE NOVICE OF ST. MARK'S.

'Tis madness all! here Monk and Nun,

In sad confusion jostle,

The play is christen'd too, for fun,

After the wrong Apostle.

Dear LEWIS, list to my remarks,
Correct the press, adzooks!
And for the Novice of St. Mark's,
Read-Novice of ST. LUKE'S!

THE FAVOURITE BLACKBIRD

OF CABIN-HILL.

TO M. M.

BY DR. DRENNAN.

THE Hermit Bird, with yellow bill,
And plumes of darkest hue;
In the lov'd haunt of Cabin-Hill,
Prepares his note for You.

Sweet note! that link'd to Nature's charms,
The Heart to Nature draws;
Suspended the vain world's alarms

In its melodious pause!

"I court the silence of retreat,

"Conceal'd in thickest wood;

"More strongly love, and sing more sweet,

"From sense of solitude.

"Across the garden walk I spring "So social, yet so shy,

"And the quick shudder of the wing "Now tells my inward joy.

"My welcome to the dawning light

"Shall soon be heard by thee;

"And at the fall of dewy night,

"My Hymn to Liberty.

"O for one burst of noble rage
"Which tyrants might appal,
"That Birds and Men could break their cage,
"And live at Nature's call!

"The prison'd man, the prison'd note,
"In sad effect combin'd:
"All tuneless grows the vocal throat,
"And music of the mind.

"But wood-notes wild I careless fling,
"Attach the virtuous ear;

"They harbinger the warmth of spring,
"They wake the torpid year.

"On them the pensive pleasures hang,
"When other songsters close;
"And e'en o'er Mem'ry's sharpest pang,
"A soft oblivion throws.

66

Departed worth shall mix and blend
"With every tender tone,

"And scenes that call the buried friend
"Shall seem again his own.

"Thy ev'ning life, of widow'd hue,
"May still be fancy blest!
"Return! 'tis time to build anew
"Our long abandon'd nest."

EPIGRAM.

SOME-kisses, dear Nymph like the lightning are fleet,
They just touch the lips and depart!

But thine, O my Chloe, like nectar are sweet,
And they go from the lips, to the heart.

DAMON.

DIRGE

Written in 1804, on walking over the graves of the crew of the Royal George, who were cast ashore in 1782, and buried on the Strand near Ryde, in the Isle of Wight.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

To those who fall in manhood's prime;
Who danger's path undaunted brave;
Who form no estimate of time,

But as it leads to glory's grave:

To those, so lov'd, so justly priz'd,
Whose fate enlarg'd their country's debt;
Be no memorial frail devis'd,

Whose claims no Briton can forget!
But far remov'd their adverse lot,
Unknown, beneath this sod who sleep;
No funeral rite, no hallow'd spot,
Inurn'd the victims of the Deep.

In safety's lap on Albion's coast,
By careless confidence betray'd,
Down sudden sunk our Navy's boast,
And crowds the fatal call obey'd!

And of this multitude tho' few,

Like KEMPENFELDT, to fame were known;
Tho' pale oblivion veil the crew,

And wandering shades demand a stone;