SONNET. TO A GARDENER, ON HIS SPOILING SOME BEAUTI FUL TREES. CAITIFF! in vain, prescient of bitter woe*, And pangs, and shame, which thou art doom'd to feel, Revengeful dost thou raise the ruthless steel, And lay the honours of my garden low! Though never more my ruin'd groves shall know Their former pride; nor Spring their wounds shall heal; Nor birds among them pour their Still mocking all thy toil, dark, bare, would stand 1807. R. A. D.. « A rogue the gallows as his fate foresees." SONNET. ADDRESSED TO THE LYRE OF COWPER. LYRE of the Bard, who swell'd his lay divine Could draw such strains from thee as once were thine? While thro' thy chords the murmuring winds complain, 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! '3 SOBRINO, SONNET. ΤΟ PROUD Pharisee! who oft the midnight oil How little did we deem thy pious toil, Thy tender care, to teach us maximis 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' endure, When THOU the paths of fouler guilt hast trod; How dar'st thou breathe, with lips and heart impure, Proud Pharisee! the sacred name of God! R. A. Da SONNET. TO LORD COCHRANE, COCHRANE! who from the Languedocian coast, A second Nelson hails with heart elate: "Heir of his spirit; O be thine," she cries, "An equal glory and a longer date"! 1809. N 4 R. A. D, A DREAM. BY MR. MCLACHLAN. Lucis habitamus opacis, Riparumque toros, et prata recentia rivis NIGHT o'er the world had spread her sable reign, I saw methought a stately waving wood, |