A

SONNET*

то

SYLVIO.

SYLVIO, thy friend with sorrow worn and care,
Is but a shatter'd bark by storms assail'd,
Too long Affliction's tempest has prevail'd,
And broke me to such weakness, that to bear
Awhile with me till my recover'd strength

Has brac'd anew my sorrow-stricken mind,
Will speak thee to thy friend both just and kind.
By soothing kindness I repair'd at length
A temper tranquil as thy own may gain,

Journeying for joy, as when, in forepast time, By Honour's star on Life's first opening main We plied the bold adventures of our prime, Strong-steering from the rocks of age-felt pain,

Youth at the glittering helm, and Hope sublime.

* Written many years ago, soon after the death of the best of fathers, and many accompanying afflictions too severe for a mind which was obliged, by uncontrollable circumstances, and the exaggerations of native fancy and sensibility, to learn, what little wisdom it has learned, very slowly.

A a

A

SONNET

то

MITISS A.

HYMEN, Mitissa, in thy home may see

His wreath unmingled with the thorns of life; And would he boast an unexampled wife For meek desert, I bid him boast of thee. Thy Christian spirit cordial goodness warms, A virgin sweetness radiates 'round thy soul; In that serenest climate never roll

Loud passions unprovok'd, and sudden storms. Thine is the fairest form of female worth,

The gentlest grace of virtue, which the mind
Of moralizing poet ever drew-

Drew from his fancy, seldom found on earth, But now on earth he may the model find,

Prepare his tints again, and paint from you.

A

REFLECTION.

Occasioned by the sight of Dr. Butt's monument in the Abbey-Church of Bath, in 1779.

WHAT tho', dear brother, genius sent from Heaven,
Thee at thy birth, an ample store, was given,
Tho' by thy toil that store improv'd apace,

And call'd on Fame to mark thy gen'rous race ---
Chief I remember still (still lost to me)
Thy sacred flame of friendly sympathy,
Whilst sad Experience bids me hope no more
To see repair'd the loss which I deplore,
Which I-but let me claim the gen'ral tear,
For all may weep a brother buried here.

A

TRANSLATED EPITAPH,

On the Grecian heroes slain in the straits of Thermopyla.

TELL Sparta, passenger, that here we lie,
Who, at her bidding, dar'd obey, and die.

UPON BEING ASKED

WHY ADDISON HAD NO MONUMENT IN

WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.

IMPROMPTU.

INSTRUCT me, Fame, why British Addison
Lies here unnotic'd by sepulchral stone?
Reflect, says Fame, and you the cause will find;
I grave his praise in every Briton's mind,

Nor needs the local stone that worth declare,
Which every heart must honour every where.

ON

PHILIP'S FALL.

Translated from the Latin Epigram.

WHEN, wrestling at Olympus, Philip fell,
Beholding in the sand his print, he said,
Alive, to win the world, with pride I swell,
But this, alas! is all my land when dead.

ON A

CELEBRATED ORATION,

FOUNDED, IT IS SAID, IN MISINFORMATION,

IMPROMPTU.

OLD Danrisher hath oft averr'd
The force divine of Eloquence,
But none, I ween, believ'd his word,
Till Slybrain prov'd it sterling sense :

For sure his speech, in truth unfounded,
His mere, mere eloquence was that,
Which so the senate's self astounded,
And made Pitt's heart go pit-a-pat.

SIMPLE SIMON.

SAITH Simon the simple to Joseph the seer,

I'm come some advice from your worship to gain; What a dolt art thou, Sim, quoth the sage, to come here, Yet hast brought me no vessel the thing to contain.