Such were the laws, which now to all appear,
So just, so useful, so concise, and clear,
That one consenting voice, without delay,
Engag'd their future influence to obey :
And should he doubt their word, for sanction's sake,
They proffer'd too, that very hour, to take
Whatever oath he might be pleas'd to make.
The youth delighted made a pensive pause,
And rising, to their sight display'd the laws:
Then the three sisters held their hands on high,
While each upon the ceiling fixed her eye;
And all in decent order thus dispos'd,
He then in solemn tone his oath propos'd.
66 By tea and scandal's ever dear delights;
"By liberty of speech, that first of rights;
"That right which virgins, wives, and widows claim,
"To use all freedom with their neighbour's fame;
"By all the joys that pensive mem'ry knows,
"When to that glorious time she backward goes,
"When o'er your days the pow'r of courtship threw
"The magic lustre of his brilliant hue;
"Whose musky breath perfumed each precious hour
"With the sweet scent of pleasure's myrtle bow'r :
"By those regrets which now your bosom feel,
"That virgin pride had armed your hearts with steel,
"And made you deaf to every lover's pray'r,
"Till they at last resigned the fruitless care,
"And left you to repentance and despair:
"And by those hopes which yet your fancies fill,
"That, aided by your own alluring skill,
"Propitious fortune will permit you still
"With festive pomp to deck the bridal day,
"And pass the night in nuptial joys away.'
Such was that oath, of strength unknown before;
By whose emphatic words the sisters swore :
Nor need I surely add, that they transgress'd no more.
The Magpie and Robin Red-Breast : a tale,
by Peter Pindar, esq.
Magpie, in the spirit of Romance,
A Much like the fam'd Reformers now of France,
Flew from the dwelling of an old POISSARDE; Where sometimes in his cage, and sometimes out,
He justified the revolution rout,
That is, call'd names, and got a sop for his reward.
Red-hot with monarch-roasting coals,
Just like his old fish-thund'ring dame,
He left the queen of crabs, and plaice, and soles,
To kindle in old England's realm a flame.
Arriv'd at ev'ning's philosophic hour,
He rested on a rural antique tow'r,
Some BARON's castle in the days of old;
When furious wars, misnomer'd civil,
Sent mighty chiefs to see the devil,
Leaving behind their bodies for rich mould,
That pliable from form to form patroles,
Making fresh houses for new souls.
Perch'd on the wall, he cocks his tail and eye,
And hops like modern beaux in country-dances;
Looks devilish knowing, with his head awry,
Squinting with connoisseurship glances.
All on a sudden, MAGGOT starts and stares,
And wonders, and for somewhat strange prepares;
But, lo! his wonder did not hold him long-
Soft from a bush below, divinely clear,
A modest warble melted on his ear,
A plaintive, soothing, solitary song
A stealing, timid, unpresuming sound,
Afraid dim NATURE'S deep repose to wound;
That hush'd (a death-like pause) the rude SUBLIME. This was a novelty to MAG indeed,
Who, pulling up his spindle-shanks with speed,
Dropp'd from his turret, half-devour'd by TIME, A-la-Francoise, upon the spray,
Where a lone Red-breast pour'd to eve his lay.
Staring the modest minstrel in the face;
Familiar, and with arch grimace,
He conn'd the dusky warbler o'er and o'er,
As though he knew him years before,
And thus began, with seeming great civility,
All in the Paris ease of volubility :-
"What BOBBY! dam'me, is it you,
"That thus your pretty phiz to music screw,
"So far from hamlet, village, town, and city,
"To glad old battlements with dull psalm ditty?
"'Sdeath! what a pleasant, lively, merry, scene!
"Plenty of bats, and owls, and ghosts, I ween;
"Rare midnight screeches, BoB, between you all;
"Why, what's the name on't, BOBBY? Dismal Hall?
"Come, to be serious-curse this queer old spot,
"And let thy owlish habitation rot!
"Join me, and soon in riot we will revel: "I'll teach thee how to curse, and call folks names, "And be expert in treason, murder, flames, "And most divinely play the devil.
"Yes, thou shalt leave this spectred hole, "And prove thou hast a bit of soul:
"Soon shalt thou see old stupid LONDON dance: "There shall we shine immortal knaves;
"Not steal unknown, like cuckoos, to our graves, "But imitate the geniuses of FRANCE.
"Who'd be that monkish, cloister'd thing, a muscle? "Importance only can arise from bustle!
"Tornado, thunder, lightning, tumult, strife;
"These charm and add a dignity to life,
"That thou should'st choose this spot, is monstrous odd; "Poh, poh! thou canst not like this life, by G-!"
"Sir!" like one thunder-stricken, staring wide-
"Can you be serious, sir?" the ROBIN cried,
"Serious!" rejoin'd the MAGPIE," aye, my boy-
"So come, let's play the devil, and enjoy."
"Flames!" quoth the ROBIN-" and in riot revel!
"Call names, and curse, divinely play the devil!
"I cannot, for my life, the fun discern."-
"No!-blush, then, BOB, and follow me, and learn."
"Excuse me, sir," the modest HERMIT cried-
"Hell 's not the hobby-horse I wish to ride!"
"Hell!" laugh'd the MAGPIE, "hell no longer dread;
Why, BoB, in FRANCE the devil's lately dead:
"Damnation vulgar to a Frenchman's hearing,"The word is only kept alive for swearing. Against futurity they all protest;
"And God and Heav'n are grown a standing jest.
"Brimstone and sin are downright out of fashion;
"FRANCE is quite alter'd-now a thinking nation:
"No more of penitential tears and groans!
"PHILOSOPHY has crack'd RELIGION'S bones.
"As for your Saviour of a wicked world,
"Long from his consequence has he been hurl'd:
"They do acknowledge such a man, d'ye see;
"But then they call him simple MONSIEUR CHRIST.
"BOB, for thy ignorance, pray blush for shame-
"Behold, thy DOCTOR PRIESTLY says the same.
"Well! now thou fully art convinc'd-let's go.".
"What cursed doctrine!" quoth the ROBIN, "No-
"I won't go-no! thy speeches make me shudder.”-
"Poor ROBIN !" quoth the MAGPIE, "what a pudder;
"Be damn'd then, BOBBY!"-flying off, he rav'd-
"And(quoth the ROBIN) sir, may you be sav'd!"
This said, the tuneful sprite renew'd his lay;
A sweet and farewel hymn to parting day.-
In THOMAS PAINE the MAGPIE doth appear:
That I'm POOR ROBIN, is not quite so clear.
The Sea Shore; from poems by Dr. Aikin.
REQUENT along the pebbly beach I pace,
And gaze intent on Ocean's varying face.
Now from the main rolls-in the swelling tide,
And waves on waves in long procession ride:
Gath'ring they come, 'till, gained the ridgy height,
No more the liquid mound sustains its weight;
It curls, it falls, it breaks, with hideous roar,
And pours a foamy deluge on the shore.
From the bleak pole now driving tempests sweep,
Tear the light clouds, and vex the ruffled deep :
White on the shoals the spouting breakers rise,
And mix the waste of waters with the skies:
The anch'ring vessels, stretched in long array,
Shake from their bounding sides the dashing spray';
Lab'ring they heave, the tighten'd cables strain,
And danger adds new horror to the main :
Then shifts the scene, as to the western gales
Delighted Commerce spreads her crowded sails.
A cluster'd groupe the distant fleet appear,
That, scatt'ring, breaks in varied figures near,
Now, all-illumin'd by the kindling ray,
Swan-like, the stately vessel cuts her way:
The full-wing'd barks now meet, now swiftly pass,
And leave long traces in the liquid glass:
Light boats, all sail, athwart the currents bound,
And dot with shining specks the surface round.
Nor with the day the sea-born splendors cease:
When ev'ning lulls each ruder gale to peace,
The rising moon with silv'ry lustre gleams,
And shoots across the flood her quiv'ring beams.
Or, if deep gloom succeed the sultry day,
On Ocean's bosom native meteors play,
Flash from the wave, pursue the dipping oar,
And roll in flaming billows to the shore.
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