Th' Almighty heard, and for a while made still
The vengeful purpose of his holy will;
Our sins o'erlook'd, and us the sinners sent,
To punish first his worthless Instrument.
Drinking. An ancient fragment.
There cups of wine a prudent man may take,
The first of these for constitution's sake;
The second to the girl he loves the best,
The third and last to lull him to his rest,
Then home to bed: but, if a fourth he pours,
That is the cup of folly, and not ours.
Loud noisy talking on the fifth attends :
The sixth breeds feuds, and falling out of friends;
Seven begets blows and faces stain'd with gore;
Eight, and the watch-patrole breaks ope the door;
Mad with the ninth, another cup goes round,
And the swill'd sot drops senseless on the ground!
EUBULUS.
Thoughts on a Well-Spent Life.
BY S. ROGERS, ESQ.
Lighter than air Hope's summer visions fly,
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky:
If but a beam of sober Reason play,
Lo! Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away!
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power,
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour?
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight,
Pour round her path a stream of living light;
And gild those pure, and perfect realms of rest,
Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest!
A Loyal Effusion, on the Courier attributing the late abundant harvest, and the overthrow of the French at Moscow, to the vigorous exertions of the Prince Regent and his Counsellors.
That the wisdom and skill of our Prince,
Caused the conflict of ice and of snow,
That at Moscow so puzzled the French,
Is a fact that we all of us know;
All you, then, that smart now with cold,
Let us join in a loyal Address,
That his Highness would please to behold
The frosts that his subjects distress;
And that," by and with the advice
Of his Ministers,"-excellent men!
He would graciously order the ice
And the snow back to Moscow again.
The Beauty and Butterfly.
BY LORD BYRON.
As rising on its purple wing
The Insect Queen of eastern spring,
O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
Invites the young pursuer near,
And leads him on from flower to flower
A weary chase and wasted hour,
Then leaves him, as it soars on high
With panting heart and tearful eye;
So beauty lures the full-grown child
With hue as bright, and wing as wild!
A chase of idle hopes and fears,
Begun in folly, clos'd in tears.
If won, to equal ills betray'd,
Woe waits the Insect and the maid,
A life of pain, the loss of peace,
From infant's play, and man's caprice,
The lovely toy so fiercely sought
Has lost its charm by being caught,
For every touch that woo'd its stay
Has brush'd its brightest hues away
Till charm and hue, and beauty gone,
"Tis left to fly or fall alone.
With wounded wing, or bleeding breast,
Ah! where shall either victim rest?
Can this with faded pinion soar
From rose to tulip as before?
Or Beauty, blighted in an hour,
Find joy within her broken bower?
No: gayer insects fluttering by
Now droop the wing o'er those that die,
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own,
And every woe a tear can claim
Except in erring Sister's shame.
W. SHACKELL, Printer,
Johnson's-court, Fleet-street, London.
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