From many a fhady foreft's length'ning tract,
From many a dark-defcending cataract,
Succeeding tribes fhall come, and o'er the place
Where fleeps the gen'ral friend of human race,
Inftruct their children what a debt they owe;
Speak of the man who trod the paths of woe;
Then bid them to their native woods depart,
With new-born virtue aching at their heart.

When o'er the founding Euxine's ftormy tides,
In hoftile pomp, the Turk's proud navy rides;
If onward to thofe fhores they haply fteer
Where, HOWARD! thy cold duft repofes near;
Whilft o'er the wave the filken pennants ftream,
And, seen far off, the golden crefcents gleam,
Amid the pomp of war, the fwelling breast
Shall feel a ftill unwonted awe impress'd,
And the relenting Pagan turn aside

To think-on yonder thore the Christian dy'd!

But thou, O Briton, doom'd perhaps to roam
An exile many a year and far from home,
If ever fortune thy lone footfteps leads

To the wild Nieper's banks, and whifp'ring reeds,
O'er Howard's Grave thou fhalt impaffion'd bend,
As if to hold fad converfe with a friend.
Whate'er thy fate upon this various scene,
Where'er thy weary pilgrimage has been,

There fhalt thou paufe; and, fhutting from thy heart
Some vain regrets that oft unbidden flart,

Think upon him to ev'ry lot refign'd,

Who wept, who toil'd, who perifh'd for mankind.

A proud, conceited, talking fpark,
With eyes, that hardly ferv'd at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post ;'

Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be feen.flop sit
Returning from his finifh'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before;rf
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell'd fool your mouth will stop,
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow
"I've feen-and fure I ought to know”.
So begs you'd pay a due fubmiffion,
And acquiefce in his decifion.

Two travellers of fuch a caft,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pafs'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then of that,
Difcours'd awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Camelion's form and nature.
"A ftranger animal,” cries one,
"Sure never liv'd beneath the fun:
"A lizard's body, lean and long,
"A fifh's head, a ferpent's tongue.
"Its tooth with triple claw disjoin'd;
"And what a length of tail behind!
"How flow its pace! and then its hue-
"Who ever faw fo fine a blue ?”

"Hold there," the other quick replies, “'Tis green,—I saw it with these eyes, "As late with open mouth it lay, "And warm'd it in the funny ray; "Stretch'd at its ease the beast I'view'd, "And faw it eat the air for food." "I've feen it, Sir, as well as you, "And must again affirm it blue. "At leifure I the beaft furvey'd, "Extended in the cooling fhade."

"'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I affure ye?”—

"Green!" cries the other, in a fury-
"Why, Sir, d'ye think I've loft my eyes

""Twere no great lofs," the friend replies,

"For, if they always ferve you thus,
"You'll find 'em of but little ufe."

So high at laft the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows:

When luckily came by a third
To him the queftion they referr'd; sudv
And begg'd he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

C

"Sirs," cries the umpire, "cease your pother, "The creature's neither one nor t' other. "I caught the animal last night, "And view'd it o'er by candle-light: "I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet"You ftare-but, Sirs, I've got it yet, "And can produce it." "Pray, Sir, do; "I'll lay my life the thing is blue." "And I'll be fworn that, when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." "Well then, at once to ease the doubt," Replies the man, "I'll turn him out; "And, when before your eyes I've fet him, "If you do'nt find him black, I'll eat him."

t

He faid; then, full before their fight,
Produc'd the beaft, and lo!-'twas white.
Both ftar'd, the man look'd wondrous wife-
"My children," the Camelion cries,
(Then firft the creature found a tongue,)
"You all are right, and all are wrong:
"When next you talk of what you view,
"Think others fee, as well as you;
"Nor wonder if you find that none
"Prefers your eye-fight to his own."

TH

TO MY CANDLE.

PINDAR.

THOU lone companion of the spectred night,
I wake amid thy friendly-watchful light,
To fteal a precious hour from lifeless fleep→→
Hark, the wild uproar of the winds! and hark,
Hell's genius roams the regions of the dark,

And fwells the thund'ring horrors of the deep.

7

From cloud to cloud the pale moon hurrying flies;
Now blacken'd, and now flashing through her skies:
But all is filence here-beneath thy beam.

I own I labour for the voice of praise
For who would fink in dull oblivion's ftream?
Who would not live in songs of distant days?

Thus while I, wond'ring, pause o'er Shakespeare's page,
I mark, in vifions of delight, the fage,

High o'er the wrecks of man who ftands fublime;
A column in the melancholy wafte,
(Its cities humbled, and its glories paft,)
Majestic 'mid the folitude of time.

Yet now to sadness let me yield the hour-
Yes, let the tears of pureft friendship fhow'r.

I view, alas! what ne'er fhould die-
A form that wakes my deepest figh;

A form that feels of death the leaden fleepDefcending to the realms of fhade,

I view a pale-eyed panting maid;

I fee the Virtues o'er their fav'rite weep.

Ah! could the Mufe's fimple pray'r
Command the envy'd trump of fame,
Oblivion fhould Eliza fpare:

A world fhould echo with her name.

Art thou departing too, my trembling friend?
Ah! draws thy little luftre to its end?

Yes, on thy frame fate too fhall fix her seal—
O let me, penfive, watch thy pale decay;
How faft that frame, fo tender, wears away!

How fast thy life the reftlefs minutes fleal!

How flender now, alas! thy thread of fire!
Ah! falling, falling, ready to expire!

In vain thy ftruggles-all will foon be o'er.
At life thou fnatcheft with an eager leap:
Now round I fee thy flame fo feeble creep;
Faint, lefs'ning, quiv'ring, glimm'ring-now no more.
Thus fhall the funs of fcience fink away,

And thus of beauty fade the faircft flow'rFor where's the Giant who to Time fhall fay, "Destructive tyrant! I arreft thy pow'r?"

SONNET.

ROBINSON.

THE chilling gale that nips the rofe, murning finks to foft repole:

The fhadowy vapours fail away,
Upon the filv'ry floods of day;
Health breathes on ev'ry face I fee,
But, ah! fhe breathes no more on me!
The woodbine wafts in odours meek
To kifs the rofe's glowing cheek;
Pale twilight sheds her vagrant fhow'rs
To wake Aurora's infant flow'rs:
May fmiles on ev'ry face I fee,
But, ah! fhe fmiles no more on me!

Perchance, when youth's delicious bloom
Shall fade unheeded in the tomb,
Fate may direct a daughter's eye
To where my mould'ring reliques lie;
And, touch'd by facred fympathy,
That eye may drop a tear for me!

Betray'd by love; of hope bereft ;
No gentle gleam of comfort left;
Bow'd by the hand of forrow low;
No pitying friend to weep my woe;
Save her who, fpar'd by heav'n's decree,
Shall live to figh, and think on me!

Oh! I would wander, where no ray
Breaks through the gloom of doubtful day;
There would I court the wintry hour,
The ling'ring dawn, the midnight show'r;
For cold and comfortless fhall be

Each future scene-ordain'd for me!

#

ON THE DEITY.

BARBAULD.

Read God's awful name emblazon'd high, With golden letters, on th' illumin'd sky;