So barren sands imbibe the shower,
But render neither fruit nor flower,
Unpleasant and ungrateful.

They whisper trivial things, and small;
But to communicate at all

Things serious deem improper;
Their feculence and froth they show,
But keep the best contents below,
Just like a simmering copper.

These samples (for, alas! at last
These are but samples, and a taste
Of evils yet unmention'd)

May prove the task a task indeed,
In which 'tis much if we succeed,
However well intention'd.

Pursue the theme, and you shall find
A disciplined and furnish'd mind
To be at least expedient,

And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast
A principal ingredient.

True friendship has, in short, a grace
More than terrestrial in its face;

That proves it heaven-descended : Man's love of woman not so pure, Nor, when sincerest, so secure

To last till life is ended.

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED.

TO THE MARCH IN SCIPIO.

TOLL for the brave!

The brave that are no more!

All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave,

Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;

Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;

His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock;

She sprang no fatal leak;

She ran upon no rock.

1

His sword was in its sheath;

His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down.

With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes!

And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again

Full charged with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone,

His victories are o'er;

And he and his eight hundred

Shall plough the wave no more.

Sept. 1782.

IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN INDITUM.

PLANGIMUS fortes. Periêre fortes,

Patrium propter periêre littus

Bis quatèr centum; subitò sub alto
Equore mersi.

Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat,

Malus ad summas trepidabat undas,
Cùm levis, funes quatiens, ad imum
Depulit aura.

Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam Fortibus vitem voluêre

parcæ,

Nec sinunt ultrà tibi nos recentes

Nectere laurus,

Magne, qui nomen, licèt incanorum,
Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti!
At tuos olim memorabit ævum
Omne triumphos.

Non hyems illos furibunda mersit,
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes,
Fissa non rimis abies, nec atrox
Abstulit ensis.

Navitæ sed tum nimium jocosi
Voce fallebant hilari laborem,
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im-
pleverat heros.

Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque,
Humidum ex alto spolium levate,
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos

Reddite amicis!

Hi quidem (sic dis placuit) fuêre:
Sed ratis, nondùm putris, ire possit
Rursùs in bellum, Britonumque nomen
Tollere ad astra..

SONG. ON PEACE.

WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE REQUEST

OF LADY AUSTEN, WHO GAVE THE SENTIMENT.

AIR MY FOND SHEPHERDS OF LATE."

No longer I follow a sound;

No longer a dream I pursue : O happiness! not to be found,

Unattainable treasure, adieu!

I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.

An humble ambition and hope

The voice of true wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope, And the summit of all our desires.

Peace may

be the lot of the mind

That seeks it in meekness and love;

But rapture and bliss are confined

To the glorified spirits above.

SONG.

ALSO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN.

AIR" THE LASS OF PATTIE'S MILL."

WHEN all within is

peace

How nature seems to smile!

Delights that never cease

The livelong day beguile.