Whose fretful gusts of anger shake the world,
Bear more destructive on th' aspiring roofs
Of dome and palace, than on cottage low,
That meets EOLUS with his gentler breath,
When safely shelter'd in the peaceful vale.

Is there a being breathes, howe'er so vile, Too pitiful for Envy?-She, with venom'd tooth

And grinning madness, frowns upon the bliss Of ev'ry species. From the human form

That spurns the earth, and bends his mental eye
Thro' the profundity of space unknown,
Down to the crawling Bug's detested race.
Thus the lover pines, that reptile rude
Should 'midst the lilies of fair CHLOE's breast
Implant the deep carnation, and enjoy
Those sweets which angel modesty hath scar'd
From eyes profane-Yet murmur not, ye few
Who gladly would be Bugs for CHLOE's sake!
For soon, alas! the fluctuating gales

Of earthly joy invert the happy scene;

The breath of Spring may, with her balmy pow'r,

And warmth diffusive, give to Nature's face Her brightest colours-But how short the space!

Till angry EURUS, from his petrid cave,

Deform the year, and all these sweets annoy.

Ev'n so befals it to this creeping race,
This envy'd commonwealth-For they a while
On CHLOE's bosom, alabaster fair,

May steal ambrosial bliss-or may regale
On the rich viands of luxurious blood,
Delighted and suffic'd. But mark the end :
Lo! WHITSUNTIDE appears with gloomy train
Of growing desolation.-First, Upholsterer
rude

Removes the waving drapery, where, for years,
A thriving colony of old and young

Had hid their numbers from the prying day;
Anon they fall, and gladly would retire
To safer ambush, but his merc'less foot,

Ah, cruel pressure! cracks their vital springs, And with their deep dy'd scarlet smears the floor.

Sweet pow'rs! has pity in the female breast No tender residence-no lov'd abode,

To urge from murd'rous deed th' avenging hand

Of angry house-maid?-She'll have blood for blood!

For lo! the boiling streams from copper tube, Hot as her rage, sweep myriads to death. Their carcases are destin'd to the urn

Of some chaste Naiad, that gives birth to floods,

Whose fragrant virtues hail Edina, fam'd
For yellow limpid-whose chaste name the

Muse

Thinks too exalted to retail in song.

Ah me! No longer they at midnight shade, With baneful sting, shall seek the downy couch Of slumb'ring mortals.-Nor shall love-sick swain,

When, by the bubbling brook, in fairy dream,
His nymph, but half reluctant to his wish,
Is gently folded in his eager arms,

E'er curse the shaft envenom'd, that disturbs His long lov'd fancies.-Nor shall hungry bard,

Whose strong imagination, whetted keen,
Conveys him to the feast, be tantaliz'd
With pois'nous tortures, when the cup, brimful
Of purple vintage, gives him greater joy
Than all the heliconian streams that play
And murmur round Parnassus. Now the
wretch

Oft doom'd to restless days and sleepless nights,
By bugbear Conscience thrall'd, enjoys an hour
Of undisturb'd repose.-The miser too

May brook his golden dreams, nor wake with fear

That thieves or kindred (for no soul he'll trust)

Have broke upon his chest, and strive to stea The shining idols of his useless hours.

Happy the Bug, whose unambitious views To gilded pomp ne'er tempt him to aspire; Safely may he, enwrapt in russet fold Of cobweb'd curtain, set at bay the fears That still attendant are on Bugs of state: He never knows at morn the busy brush Of scrubbing chambermaids; his coursing blood Is ne'er obstructed with obnoxious dose By OLIPHANT prepar'd-Too pois'nous drug! As deadly fatal to this crawling tribe As ball and powder to the sons of war.

G

A SATURDAY'S EXPEDITION.

IN MOCK HEROICS.

NON MIRA, SED VERA, CANAM.

AT that sweet period of revolving time
When Phoebus lingers not in Thetis' lap,
When twinkling stars their feeble influence

shed,

And scarcely glimmer thro' th' ethereal vault,
Till Sol again his near approach proclaims,
With ray purpureal, and the blushing form
Of fair Aurora, goddess of the dawn,
Leading the winged coursers to the pole
Of Phoebus' car.-'Twas in that season fair,
When jocund Summer did the meads array
In Flora's rip'ning bloom-that we prepar'd
To break the bonds of bus'ness, and to roam
Far from Edina's jarring noise a while.

Fair smil'd the wak'ning morn on our design,
And we with joy elate our march began
For LEITH'S fair port, where oft EDINA'S Sons
The week conclude, and in carousal quaff