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They tell us of the fate of Rome,
And bid us fear the same.

O'er MURRAY's loss the Muses wept
They felt the rude alarm,

Yet blest the guardian care that kept
His sacred head from harm.

There Meniory, like the bee, that's fed
From Flora's balmy store,
The quintescence of all he read
Had treasured up before.

The lawless herd, with fury blind,

Have done him cruel wrong;

The flowers are gone-but still we find
The honey on his tongue

THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED;

OR HYPOCRISY DETECTED*.

THUS says the prophet of the Turk,
Good Mussulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in every swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, what'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part expressed,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarred;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.

It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand. into the Leeds Journal without the author's privity.

Much controversy straight arose,
These choose the back, the belly those:
By some 'tis confidently said

He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.

Thus, conscience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh-'tis well.-The tale applied
May make you laugh on t' other side.
Renounce the world-the preacher cries.
We do a multitude replies.

While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards;
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;

Some love a concert, or a race;
And others shooting, and the chase.

Reviled and loved, renounced and followed,
Thus, bit by bit the world is swallowed;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he;

With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

ON THE DEATH

OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON S BULFINCH.

YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
O share Maria's grief!
Her favourite, even in this cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassined by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung,
And, though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blest,

Well-taught he all the sounds expressed
Of flagelet or flute.

The honours of his ebon pole

Were brighter than the sleekest mole;
His bosom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,
To sweep away the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And bully's cage supported stood
On props of smoothest-shaven wood,
Large built and latticed well.
Well latticed-but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peeled and dried,
The swains their baskets make.

Night veiled the pole, all seemed secure :
When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,

A beast forth sallied on the scout,

Long-backed, long-tailed, with whiskered shout

And badger-coloured hide.

He, entering at the sturdy door

Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind

Conjectured, sniffing round and round.
Better than all the books he found,

Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impressed,.
A dream disturbed poor hully's rest:

In sleep he seemed to view
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensued;

His teeth were strong, the cage was wond—
He left poor bully's beak.

Oh had he made that too his prey;
That beak whence issued many a lay

Of such mellifluous tone,

Might have repaid him well, I wote,
For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.

Maria weeps the muses mourn—
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracian Hebrus' side
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell,
His head alone remained to tell
The cruel death he died.

THE ROSE.

THE Rose had been washed, just washe in a shower

Which Mary to Anna conveyeů,

The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower.
And weighed down its beautiful head.

The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet.
And it seemed to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapped it, it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resigned.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloomed with its owner awhile; And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be followed perhaps by a smile.

THE DOVES.

REASONING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.

One silent eve I wandered late,
And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus addressed her mate,
And soothed the listening dove:

Our mutual bond of faith and truth
No time shall disengage,

Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age:

While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,

Shall fill the circle of those eyes.
And mine can read them there.

Those ills that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,

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