Gold pays the worth of all things here;

But not of love ;-that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;

I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above

The best things kept within it.

INSCRIPTION

For an Hermitage in the Author's Garden.

[MAY 1793.]

THIS cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet,

Preliminary to-the last retreat.

ΤΟ

MRS. UNWIN,

[MAY 1793.]

MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,

Such aid from Heav'n as some have feign'd they

drew,

An eloquence scarce giv'n to mortals, new And undebas'd by praise of meaner things,

That ere through age or wo I shed my wings,

I

may record thy worth with honour due,

In verse as musical as thou art true,

And that immortalizes whom it sings.

But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heav'nly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright;

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee

mine.

ΤΟ

JOHN JOHNSON,

ON

His presenting me with an antique Bust of Homer.

[MAY 1793.]

KINSMAN belov'd, and as a son, by me!
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,

The sculptur'd form of my old fav'rite bard,
I rev'rence feel for him, and love for thee.
Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should be
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward
With some applause my bold attempt and hard,
Which others scorn: critics by courtesy.

The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine,
I lose my precious years now soon to fail,
Handling his gold, which howsoe'er it shine,

Proves dross, when balanced in the Christian

scale.

Be wiser thou-like our forefather DONNE,

Seek heav'nly wealth, and work for God alone.

To

A YOUNG FRIEND,

ON

His arriving at Cambridge wet, when no Rain had fallen there.

[MAY 1793.]

IF Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he

found,

While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around,
Might fitly represent the Church, endow'd

With heav'nly gifts, to Heathens not allow'd;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry.
Heav'n grant us half the omen-may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee!

A TALE.

[JUNE 1793.]

IN Scotland's realm, where trees are few,

Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found.

For Husband there and Wife may boast
Their union undefil'd,

And false ones are as rare almost
As hedge-rows in the wild.

In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare

The hist❜ry chanc'd of late

This hist'ry of a wedded pair,

A chaffinch and his mate.