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6. The denoument must needs be droll
“ 'Twere folly not to see the whole."
Presuming thus on future pleasure,
HAYMAN kept poft to wait the sleeper's leisure.

At length our Porter's slumber o'er,
He joggd on, tott'ring as before;
Unconscious
Had eas'd him in his load behind.
Now on the houses turn’d his eye,
As if his journey's end were nigh,
Then read the paper in his hand,
And made a dand
HAYMAN drew near, with eager mein,
To mark the closing of the scene,
Expecting strait a furious din,

His features ready for a grin.
And now we need but mention one thing more,

To Thew how well he must have lik’d the whim, Though drunk, our Porter hit at last the door,

And HAYMAN found the Hare was sent to him.

MORAL.

A wise old Proverb says, “ To others do,
“ E'en as you would those others should to you~"
Now had our Painter mark'd this rule with care,
He, not the Dog, had din'd upon the Hare.

SONG.

Sung at the Blind Asylum, Liverpool.
HARKI
ARK! Sisters, hark! that bursting sigh,

It issu'd from some feeling heart;-
Some pitying ftranger fure is nigh ;-

Tell us, oh! tell us who thou art.
Sad is the lot the fightless know,

We feel indeed, but ne'er complain,

Here gentle toils relieve our woe;

Hark, hark, that piteous sigh again.
If breath'd for us those heaving sighs,

May Heav'n, kind stranger, pity thee !
If starting tears suffuse thine eyes,

Those tears, alas ! we cannot fee.
But ev'ry figh, and ev'ry tear,

And ev'ry boon thy hand has given,
All in full luftre shall appear,

Recorded in the books of Heaven.

THE WILLING SLAVE.

VERSES on an African Woman, whose favorite Boy was

kidnapped by the Crew of a Boat: The Sailors, moved by the Distress of the Mother, would have restored the Child; but the Mate, more judicious, chose to retain him, in hopes that the Distress of the Mother would induce her to become a voluntary Slave rather than part with him.

H, Henry, didst thou hear in vain,

Go, then, and heap the sordid gain,

And sell thy fellow Men for Gold! Yet, when the dingy Mother rov'd

With eager step, and sought her Child, E'en Sailors, stern of heart, were mov'd

With her sad moan and gestures wild. - Give her the Boy, poor fool !" they cry'd:

Why agonize a tender mind?” Harpoon'd, harpoon'd!” the Mate reply'd:

“ Slack sail ;– he'll not be long behind.” 'Twas so;-she kiss'd her Children dear,

Beckon'd the boat acrofs the wave Yielded herself (to share the tear

Of her loft Boy)--a willing Slave !

3

ODE TO TEMPERANCE.

ANONYMOUS.

TH

THOU, dear companion of the wise,
Serene promoter of their joys

By pleasure without sting,
Thou great preservative of health,
Thou gem beyond all pomp of wealth!

To thee I humbly sing.
See, where the rose adorns the cheek,
Where all the modeft virtues speak

A secret, peaceful joy;
No baneful viands load their board,
What Nature simplest doth afford

They use but not destroy. Gouts, gravels, headachs, all attend On luxury, that woeful fiend,

That bane of human bliss;
But those whose sumptuous tables' spread
With season'd meats, wine sparkling red,

Too seldom think of this.
A jovial Bacchanalian core,
A flowing bowl, a midnight (plore,

At distant view may charm,
But fage experience tells the wise,
Their false allurements to despise,

And shun their fatal harm.
Mark the infatuated wretch,
Once gayest at the deep debauch,

Whom dire diseases pine,
What keen remorfe must cut him through
When Temp'rance rises to his view,

All beauteous and divine ?
O Temperance! thou Heaven-born maid!
Be thou my goddess and my guide,

My guardian and reward,
Teach me to relish simple joy,
And from temptations, which destroy,

Be thou my shield and guard.

VERSES,

TO THE MEMORY OF

ROBERT BURNS.

L

ET musing Melancholy drop a tear,
And

gay

fantastic Humour heave a figh; Let no unhallow'd hand approach the bier,

Where low in death his facred reliques lie. Burns, bleft with native vigour, struck the Tyre:

Each heart, affenting, felt the magic found; To soothe the soul the pleasing notes conspire;

From hill and dale the heav'nly notes rebound. Alive to joy, while joy was on the wing;

To playful mirth, to humour void of art; 'Twas Nature's self that taught her bard to sing

The song of joy pour'd genuine from the heart. For Genius gone, let Scotia melt in tears;

Her darling Son no more shall foothe her woes, No more gay hope excite-dispel her fears,

Or tuneful sing her forrows to repose. The foul of harmony, the plaintive strain,

Fall sweetly pleasing on the ravilh'd ear. Nor let unmov'd the hardest heart remain :

In silence drop the softly trickling tear. See where the pledges sweet of mutual love

Are left in pinching penury to pine : 0! if ye hope sweet mercy from above,

Let mercy sweet, to gen'rous deeds incline. A widow's woes, a mother's tears revere,

And helpless babes, their father now no more: The fight of these, alas! belov'd and dear,

His dying breast with bitter anguifh tore. His Jeanie's woes, his helpless babes forlorn,

The prospect dire of penury and want, The insolent contempt, the haughty scorn,

The look disdainful, and the bitter taunt: These, from the unfeeling never cease to fall

With all their weight upon the wretched head; This well he krew:—the thought that heart appall'd

That imild in pain, descending to the dead. O may his stade revisit oft with joy

These scenes which once to rapture rais'd his mind: To glad his shade, your friendly aid employ,

To fuccour those he to your care confign’d. When just about to bid this world adieu

His lait advice ftill rings upon my ear: “ These dying words, I now impart to you,

“O! might the world with due attention hear. “ In fprightly youth of syren vice beware:

“ Learn from my fate the hapless lot of man;
“ With caution learn to snun each gilded snare,
“ O’erlook my faults and all my beauties scan."

EPITAPH.
Confign’d to earth, here refis the lifeless clay,

Which once a vital spark from Heav'n inspir'd.
The lamp of Genius fhone full bright its day,

Then left the world to mourn its light retird. While burns that splendid orb which lights the spheres,

While mountain streams descend to swell the main, While changeful seasons mark the rolling years,

Thy fame, O BURNS! let Scotia fill setain.

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