TO SOME CHILDREN LISTENING TO A LARK. See the lark prunes his active wings, When the declining orb of light Shall birds instructive lessons teach, No, ye dear nestlings of my heart, Go, act the wiser songster's part: Spurn your warm couch at early dawn, To him your evening song direct; TO A LITTLE GIRL. Fairest flower, all flowers excelling, Mark, my Polly, how the roses How the bud its sweets discloses Lilies are by plain direction Emblems of thy fair complexion, But, dear girl, both flowers and beauty Then pursue good sense and duty, TO A LADY ON HER BIRTH-DAY. Youth gives the hope of many a lovely spring, Of cheerful suns, and skies without a cloud :--What to the ills of life can solace bring O'er the torn. heart where cares unnumber'd crowd? Elate with joy and smiles we glide along But when the summer of our years is gone, When ardour chills, and vigour fades away; Oft must we wander comfortless alone, And in NOVEMBER-look in vain for MAY. The nightingale, with breast against a thorn, May that kind power who thus auspicious gave, From every grief and care my favorite save, While some dear youth shall share MATILDA'S heart, Her cares partake, her tenderness repay; The bard shall oft invoke the Muse's art, To give these hours the bloom of love and May. ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Plain sober truth invokes no flattering lay, Talks of no rapturous flames, no venom'd dart, Beauty's blue eye will lose all power to charm, Loves dimpled smiles excite no soft alarm, When care and pain, press heavy on the breast,” And wearied passion seeks its place of rest. Ah! this the hour when reason loves to see Those fruits, those flowers, which bloom mature in thee; The tender care to soothe a parent's heart, The fond desire to act a sister's part; To shew each relative, remote or near, Their hopes, their honour, and their interests dear. This be thy praise, ELIZA, this the theme FALSE GREATNESS. Mylo, forbear to call him blest That only boasts a large estate, Should all the treasures of the west Meet and conspire to make him great. I know thy better thoughts, I know Thy reason can't descend so low. Let a broad stream with golden sands He's but a wretch with all his lands, F |