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TO A FRIEND ON REVISITING
How changed the scene! since that remember'd night,
When, in delightful musings rapt, we stray'd
Through the long lofty grove's o'er-arching-shade, Soften'd by changeful Dian's pearly light; Or gar'd upon yon pile of giant might,
In robe of mellow tints by time array'd;
And gave a sigh to those in dust low laid, Who mark’d of years long past the rapid flight. How chang’d the scene! the blast rayes through the
grove; The wilbered foliage drives along the plain;
Fast, from dark gathering clouds, descends the rain. Heedless of angry elements, I rove
And sigh. for thee my friend ! thy presence-dear, Would spread a magic charm around this landscape SONNET.
R. A. D.
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND,
å. B, AND CANDIDATE FOR A FELLOWSHIP IN ONE
OF THE UNIVERSITIES.
That Hood, so late your wish, in monkish beauty Flows from your shoulders now, long, black, and
furry. Were you but Fellow then !-Yet why this hurry?
Before you stand, read this, and learn your duty.
To frown importance, while they cap and sir ye ;
Nor blush, if ill your awkward flattery suit ye:
Teach them to rise, be sober and grow clever ;
every night be mellow: Pray seldom ; then be last í be first at dinner:
Walk, ride, and dress; read sometimes; study-never. This will you sweari Enough: admit him Fellow.
TO A GARDENER, ON HIS SPOILING SOME BEAUTI.
CAITIFI! in vain, prescient of bitter woe,
shall know Their former pride; nor Spring their wounds shall
heal; Nor birds among them pour their merry peal; Yet hope not thou to scape the destin'd blow.
O malice impotent! For though thy hand,
Arm’d with the felon axe and nerv’d by hate,
And bid each lordly forest bow its state,
One deathful tree, thy terror and thy fate.
R. A. D. * « A rogue the gallows as his fate foresees,"
ADDRESSED TO THE LYRE OF COWPER.
Lyre of the Bard, who swell’d his lay divine
On the green banks of gentle-flowing use,
bay now what second owner wilt thou chuse His fingers midst thy widow'd strings to twine ? Vain were the wish, I ween, to call thee mine;
For O! what suitor of the smiling Muse,
Tho' sprinkled oft with Heliconian dews, Could draw such strains from thee as once were thine Still then upon thy native willows hang, While thro’ thy chords the murmuring winds com
plain, For him, who once to thy soft numbers sang,
And pour'd with wond'rous art his holy strain, Well-skill'd to sooth affliction's bitter pang,
Or check the growth of Folly's madd’ning reign!
PROUD Pharisee! who oft the midnight oil
Hast wasted to indite the pond'rous page,
Where thou didst thunder with a boundless rage,
Thy tender care, to teach us maxims sage,
Was meant a nation's patience to engage, That thou might'st riot safely in her spoil ! Proud Pharisee! the vices of the
poor So prompt to scourge with unrelenting rod, How dar'st thou doom them whips and chains to' en
dure, When Thou the paths of fouler guilt hast trod; How dar'st thou breathe, with lips and heart iinpure, Proud Pharisee ! the sacred name of God! 1.809.
R, A. Da