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So when I am wearied with wandering all day,

To thee, my delight, in the evening I come;
No matter what beauties I saw in my way,

They were but my visits, but thou art my home. To Chloe was inscribed his ' Henry and Emma,' a poem upon the model of the · Nut-brown Maid ;' but Prior, in discarding the rude simplicity of the original, sacrificed a great portion of its charm.

The works of Prior range over a variety of styles and subjectsodes, songs, epistles, epigrams, and tales. His longest poem, Solomon,' is of a serious character, and was considered by its author 10 be his best production, in which opinion he is supported by Cowper. It is the most moral, and perbaps the most correctly written; but the tales and lighter pieces of Prior are undoubtedly his lappiest efforts. In these he displays that charming ease' with which Cowper says he embellished all his poems, added to the lively illusiration and colloquial humour of his master, Horace. No poet ever possessed in greater perfection the art of graceful and fluent versification. His narratives flow on like a clear stream, without break or fall, and interest us by their perpetual good-humour and vivacity, even when they wander into metaphysics, as in ‘Alma,' or into licentiousness, as in his tales. His expression was choice and studied, abounding in classical allusions and images—which were then the fashion of the day, but without any air of pedantry or constraint. Like Swift, he loved to versify the common occurrences of life, and relate his personal feelings and adventures. He had, however, no portion of the dean's bitterness or misanthropy, and employed no stronger weapons of satire than raillery and arch allusion. He sported on the surface of existence, noting its foibles, its pleasures, and eccentricities, but without the power of penetrating into its recesses, or evoking the higher passions of our nature. He was the most natural of artificial poets-a seeming paradox, yet as true as the old maxim, that the perfection of art is the art of concealing it.

For My Own Monument.
As doctors give physic by way of prevention,

alth, of his tomb-stone took care :
For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention
May haply be never fulfilled by his heir.
Then take Matt's word for it, the sculptor is paid;
That the figure is fine, pray believe your own eye;
Yet credit but lightly what more may be said,
For we flatter ourselves, and teach marble to lie.
Yet counting as far as to fifty his years,
His virtues and vices were as other men's are;
High hopes he conceived, and he smothered great fears,
In a life party-coloured, half pleasure, half care.
Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave,
He strove to make int'rest and freedom agree;
In public employments industrions and grave,
And alone with his friends, Lord ! how merry was he,

Matt, alive and in

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Now in equipage stately, now hambly on foot,
Both fortunes he tried, but to neither would trust;
And whirled in the round as the wheel turned about,
He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust.
This verse, little polished, though mighty sincere,
Sets neither his titles nor merit to view ;
It says that his relics collected lie here,
And no mortal yet knows if this may be true.
Fierce robbers there are that infest the highway,
So Matt may be killed, and his bones never found;
False witness at court, and fierce tempest at sea,
So Matt may yet chance to be hanged or be drowned.
If his bones lie in earth, roll in sea, fly in air,
To fate we must yield, and the thing is the same;
And if passing thou giv'st him a smile or tear,
He cares not-yet, prithee, be kind to his fame.

Epitaph Extempore.
Nobles and heralds, by your leave,

Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam aud of Eve;

Can Stuart or Nassau claim higher ?

An Epitaph. Interred beneath this marble stone, Just when it grew not fit to cat. Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan. They paid the church and parish rate, While rolling threescore years and one And took, but read not the receipt ; Did round this globe their courses run; For which they claimed their Sunday's If human things went ill or well,

due, If changing empires rose or fell,

Of slumbering in an upper pew. The morning past, the evening came, No man's defects sought they to know, And found this couple just the same. So never made themselves a foe. They walked and ate, good folks : What No man's good deeds did they commend, then ?

So never raised themselves a friend. Why, then they walked and ate again; Nor cherished they relations poor, They soundly slept the night away ; That might decrease their present store; They did just nothing all the day. Nor barn nor house did they repair, Nor sister either had nor brother; That might oblige their future heir. They seemed just tallied for each other. They neither added nor confounded ; Their moral apd economy

They neither wanted nor abounded. Most perfectly they made agree;

Nor tear nor smile did they employ Each virtue kept its proper bound, At news of public grief or joy. Nor trespassed on the other's ground. When bells were rung and bonfires made, Nor fame nor censure they regarded ; If asked, they ne'er denied their aid ; They neither punished nor rewarded. Their jug was to the ringers carried, He cared not what the footman did ; Whoever either died or married. Her maids she neither praised nor chid: Their billet at the fire was found, So every servant took his course,

Whoever was deposed or crowned. And, bad at first, they all grew worse. Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise, Slothful disorder filled his stable,

They would not learn, uor could advise; And sluttish plenty decked her table, Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, Their beer was strong, their wine was They led--a kind of—as it were ; port;

Nor wished, nor cared, por laughed, nor Their meal was large, their grace was

cried ; short.

And so they lived, and so they died. They gave the poor the remnant monto

To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704, the Author then Forty. Lords, knights, and squires, the nomer- Whilst all the house my passion reads, ous band

In papers round her baby's hair; That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters, Were summoned by her high command She may receive and own my lame, To shew their passion by their lettere. For though the strictest prudes should

know it, My pen amongst the rest I took,

She'll pass for a most virtnous dame, Lest those bright eyes that cannot read And I for an unhappy poet. Should dart their kindling fires, and look The power they have to be obeyed. Then, too, alas ! when she shall hear

The lines some younger rival sends; Nor quality nor reputation

She'll give me leave to write, I fear, Forbid me yet my flame to tell.

And we shall still continue friends. Dear five-years-old befriends my passion, And I may write till she can spell. For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend For, while she makes her silkworms' beds it!) With all the tender things I swear;

That I shall be past making love,

When she begins to comprehend lite
Abra's Love for Solomon.
Another nynıp!s, amongst the many fair,
That meae ny softer hours their solemn care,
Before the best affected still to stand,
And watehed my eye, preventing my command.
Abra-she so was called did soonest haste
To grace my presence; Abra went the last;
Abra was ready ere I called her name;
And, though I called another, Abra came.
Her equals first observed her growing zeal,
And laughing, gloesed that Abra served so well.
To me her actions did unkeeded die,
Or were remarked but with a common eye;
Till more apprised of what the rumour said,
More I observed peculiar in the maid.
The.son declined bad shot his western ray,
When tired with business of the solemn day,
I purposed to unbend the evening hours,
And banquet private in the women's bowers.
I called before I sat to wash my hands-
For so the precept of the law commands-
Love had ordained that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets, and minister the urn.
With awful homage, and submissive dread,
The maid approached, on my deciining head
To pour the oils; she trembled as she poured ;
With an unguarded look she now devoured
My nearer face, and now recalled her eye,
And heaved, and stove to hide, a sudden sigh.
And whenea, said I, ' caust thou have areas or pain?
What can thy imagery of sorrow mean?
Secluded from the world and all its care,
Hast thou to griese or jog, ta kope or fear:
For sure,' I added, “sure thy little heart
Ne'er felt love's anger, or received his dart.'

A bushed she blues, aud with disorder spoke;
Her rising shaune mlornca the words it broke:

If the great master will descend to hear
he humble series of his landmaid's care;

O! while she tells it, let Lim uot put or
E. L. y.jii.--

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The look that awes the nations from the throne I
O! let not death severe in glory lie
In the king's frown and terror of his eye!
Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain ;
And, though to mention be to suffer pain,
If the king smile whilst I my wo recite,
If weeping, I find favour in his sight,
Flow fast my tears, full rising his delight,
O! witness earth beneath, and heaven above !
For can I hide it? I am sick of love;
If madness inay the name of passion bear,
Or love be called what is indeed despair.

Thou Sovereign Power, whose secret will controls
The inward bent and motion of ou' souls !
Why hast thou placed such infinite degrees
Between the cause and curre of my disease ?
The mighty object of that raging fire,
In which upitied, Abra must expire.
Had he been boru some simple shepherd's heir,
The lowing herd or fleecy sheep his care,
At morn with him I o'er the hills had ron,
Scornful of winter's frost and summer's sun,
Still asking where he made his flock to rest at noon;
For him at night, the dear expected guest,
I had with hasty joy prepared the feast.;
And from the cottage, o'er the distant plain,
Sent forth my longing eye to meet the swain,
Wavering, impatient, tossed by hope and fear,
Till he ard joy together should appear,
And the loved dog declare his master near.
On niy declining neck and open breast
I should have lulled the lovely ronth to rest,
And from beneath his head, at dawning day,
With softest care have stoly my arm sway,
To rise, and from the fold release his sheep,
Fond of his flock, indulgent to his sleep.
Or if kind heaven, propitions to my flame
For sure from heaven the faithful ardoor came
Had blest my life, and decked my patal hour
With height of title, and extent of power ;
Without a crime my passion had aspired,
Found the loved prince, and told what I desired
Then I had come, preventing Sheha's queen,
To see the comeliest of the sons of men,
To hear the charmig poet's amorous song,
And gather boney falling from his tongue,
To take the fragrant kisses of his mouth,
Sweeter thap breezes of her native South,
Likening his grace, his person, and his mien,
To all that great or beauteouis I had seen.'

Here o'er her speech her fowing eyes prevail.
O foolish maid! and oh, unhappy tale!
I saw her; 'twas humanity; it gave
Some respite to the sorrows of my slave.
Her fond excess proclaimed her passion true,
And generous pity to that truth was dne.
Well I entreated her, who well deserved ;
I called ber often, for she always served.
Use made her person easy to my sight,
And ease insensibly produced delight.
Whene'er I revelled in the women's bower
For first I sought her but at looser hour-

The apples she had gathered smelt most sweet,
The cake she kneaded was the savoury meat;
But fruits their odour lost, and meats their taste,
If gentle Abra had not decked the feast.
Dishonoured did the sparkling goblet stand,
Unless received from gentle Abra's hand.
And, when the virgins forined the evening choir,
Raising their voices to the master lyre,
Too fat I thought this voice, and that too shrill,
One shewed 100 inuch, and one too little skill;
Nor could my soul approve the music's tone,
Till all was hushed, and Abra sung alone.
Fairer she seemed distinguished from the rest,
And better mien disclosed, as better drest.
A bright tiara round her forehead tied,
To juster bounds confined its rising pride.
The blushing ruby on her mowy breast
Rendered its panting whiteness inore confessed ;
Bracelets of pearl gave roundness to her arm,
And every gem augmented every charm.
Her senses pleased, her beauty still improved,
And she more lovely grew, as more beloved,

Written in Mezeray's History of France.
Whate'er thy countrymen have done It's strange, dear author, yet it true is,
By law and wit, by sword and gun, That down, from Pharamond to Louis,
In thee is faithfully recited ;

All covet life, yet call it pain : And all the living world that view Al feel the ill, get shun tke cure. Thy work, give thee the praises dae. Can sepse this paradox endure ? At once instructed and delighted

Resolve me, Cambray, or Fontaine. Yet for the fame of all these deeds, The man in graver tragic known What beggar in the Invalides,

(Though bis best part long since was With lameness broke, with blindness done) smitten,

Still on the stage desires to tarry; Wished ever decently to die,

And he who played the Harlequin, To have been either Mezeray

After the jest still loads the scene,
Or any monarch he has written ! Unwilling to retire, though weary.*
The Thief and the Cordelier.-A Ballad.--To the tune of · King Jahn'

and the Abbot of Canterbury.'
Who has e'er heen at Paris, must needs know the Grève,
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave;
Where honour and justice most oddly contribute
To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet.

Derry down, down, hey derty down.
There death breaks the shackles wbich force had put on,
And the hangman completes what the judge but begun;
There the 'squire of the pad, and the knight of the post,
Find their paius no more balked, and their hopes no more crossedia

Derry down, &c.
Great claims are there maile, and great secrets are known;
And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his owu;

* Sir Walter Scott. abouta year before his death, repeated the above when on a Bor. der tour wiih Mr. Lockhart. They inet two beggars, old soldiers, one of whom recog. nised the baronet, and bade God bless him. The mendicants went on their way and we stood breathing on the knoll. Sir Walter followed them with his eye, and. planting his stick firmly on the sod, repeated without break or hesitation Prior's verses to the historian Mezeray. That be applied them to bimself was touchingly obvious.

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