Soon watery grew her eyes and dim, None else, except in prayer for him, It was a scene in every part Like those in fable feign'd, And seem'd by some magician's art But other magic there, she knew, To raise such wonders in her view, That cordial thought her spirit cheer'd, Not else unworthy to be fear'd, So, ancient poets say, serene The sea-maid rides the waves, And fearless of the billowy scene With more than astronomic eyes Yet let the glories of a night Like that, once seen, suffice, Heaven grant us no such future sight, Such previous woe the price! THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.* MUSE hide his name of whom I sing, Nor speak the school from which he drew Nor place where he was born. That such a man once was, may seem Perchance may credit win) * Written on reading the following in the obituary of the Gentleman's Magazine for April 1789.-" At Tottenham, John Ardesoif, Esq., a young man of large fortune, and in the splendour of his carriages and horses rivalled by few country gentlemen. His table was that of hospitality, where, it may be said, he sacrificed too much to conviviality; but, if he had his foibles he had his merits also, that far outweighed them. Mr. A. was very fond of cock-fighting, and had a favourite cock, upon which he had won many profitable matches. The last bet he laid upon this cock he lost; which so enraged him, that he had the bird tied to a spit and roasted alive before a large fire. The screams of the miserable animal were so affecting, that some gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so enraged Mr. A. that he seized a poker, and with the most furious vehemence declared, that he would kill the first man who interposed; but, in the midst of his passionate asseverations, he fell down dead upon the spot. Such, we are assured, were the circumstances which attended the death of this great pillar of humanity." For proof to man, what man may prove, This man (for since the howling wild Gentle he was, if gentle birth Could make him such, and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow. In social talk and ready jest Methinks I see him powder'd red, The Can such be cruel? Such can be Cruel as hell, and so was he; With barbarous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight 'Twixt birds to battle train'd. One feather'd champion he possess'd, Nor e'er had fought but he made flow It chanced at last, when on a day, He doom'd his favourite dead. He seized him fast, and from the pit The horrid sequel asks a veil ; That can be shall be sunk- All, suppliant, beg a milder fate Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel Death menacing on all. But vengeance hung not far remote, For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat, Big with a curse too closely pent, 'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, 'Tis hard to read amiss. May, 1789. TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. BY AN OLD SCHOOLFELLOW OF HIS AT WESTMINSTER. HASTINGS! I knew thee young, and of a mind |