LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN,

AUTHOR OF THE BOTANIC GARDEN."

Two Poets, (poets, by report,

Not oft so well agree)
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court,

Conspire to honour Thee!

They best can judge a poet's worth,

Who oft themselves have known

The pangs of a poetic birth

By labours of their own.

We therefore pleas'd extol thy song,

Though various yet complete,
Rich in embellishment as strong,

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No envy mingles with our praise,

Though, could our hearts repine At any poet's happier lays,

They would—they must at thine.

But we, in mutual bondage knit

, Of friendship’s closest tie, Can gaze on even Darwin's wit

With an unjaundic'd eye;

!

!

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And deem the bard, whoe'er he be,

And howsoever known,

Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,

Unworthy of his own.

ON

MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-HANGINGS.

The Birds put off their ev'ry hue,
To dress a room for Montagu.

The Peacock sends his heav'nly dyes,

His rainbows and his starry eyes;

The Pheasant plumes, which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show;

And, river blanch’d, the Swan his snow.

All tribes beside of Indian name,

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That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the

gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dashing show'r,
Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bow'r,

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Shall drench again or discompose,
But, screen'd from ev'ry storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.

To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing arm’d from Jove-
Imagination scatt’ring round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile-
Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires, to sacred Truth applied,
The

gem, though luminous before,
Obtrudes on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright-

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Well-tulor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that, to which he keeps confin'd
The various treasures of his mind-
All these to Montagu's repair,

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Ambitious of a shelter there.

There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
The ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without à fear to fade.

She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know

а

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Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phæbus aiding,
Poth Poet saves and Plume from fading.

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