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But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair,
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, Esq

TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND

ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,

Fair Science poured the light of truth,
And Genius shed his rays.

"See!" with united wonder cried
The experienced and the sage,
"Ambition in a boy supplied
With all the skill of age!

"Discernment, eloquence, and grace
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,
And bear the palm away.'

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The praise bestowed was just and wise;
He sprang impetuous forth,

Secure of conquest where the prize
Attends superior worth.

So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain
What all had decmed his own.

ODE TO PEACE

COME, peace of mind, delightful guest!
Return and make thy downy nest

Once more in this sad heart:
Nor riches I nor power pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view;

We therefore need not part.

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FROM AN ENGRAVING BY DICKENSON AFTER THE PORTRAIT BY GEORGE ROMNEY

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, From avarice and ambition free,

And pleasure's fatal wiles?

For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles?

The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heaven that thou alone canst make,
And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequestered shed,
To be a guest with them?

For thee I panted, thee I prized,
For thee I gladly sacrificed

Whate'er I loved before,

And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say,
"Farewell! we meet no more"?

HUMAN FRAILTY

WEAK and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.

The bow well bent and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain,

But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part,

Virtue engages his assent,

But pleasure wins his heart.

'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view,
And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.

Bound on a voyage of awful length

And dangers little known,

A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail

To reach the distant coast,

The breath of heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.

THE MODERN PATRIOT

REBELLION is my theme all day,
I only wish 'twould come

(As who knows but perhaps it may?)
A little nearer home.

Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
On t'other side the Atlantic,

I always held them in the right,
But most so when most frantic.

When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.

But oh! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flowers she bears,
Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears.

Such civil broils are my delight,
Though some folks can't endure 'em
Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure 'em.

A rope! I wish we patriots had
Such strings for all who need 'em.-
What! hang a man for going mad!
Then farewell British freedom.

ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE

RECORDED IN THE 66

BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA

Он, fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To names ignoble, born to be forgot!
In vain, recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age:

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