VERSES, Supposed to be written by ALEXANDER SELKIRK, during his folitary Abode in the Island of JUAN FERNANDEZ.

I.

I AM monarch of all I furvey,

My right there is none to difpute, From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Oh folitude! where are the charms

That fages have feen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

II.

I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I ftart at the found of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see,
They are fo unacquainted with man,
Their tamenefs is fhocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man,

Oh had I the wings of a dove,
How foon wou'd I tafte you again!

My forrows I then might affuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth,

IV. Religion!

IV.

Religion! what treasure untold

Refides in that heav'nly word!

More precious than filver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.

But the found of the church going bell
Thefe vallies and rocks never heard,

Ne'er figh'd at the found of a knell,

Or fmil'd when a sabbath appear❜d.

V.

Ye winds that have made me your sport,

Convey to this defolate shore,

Some cordial endearing report

Of a land 1 fhall vifit no more.

My friends, do they now and then fend

A wish or a thought after me?

O tell me

I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to fee.

X 2

VI. How

VI...

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compar'd with the fpeed of its flight,
The tempeft itself lags behind,

And the swift winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I feer to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand.

Soon hurries me back to despair.

VII.

But the fea fowl, is gone to her nest,
The beaft is laid down in his lair,

Ev'n here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

There is mercy in ev'ry place,

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

On

On the Promotion of EDWARD THURLOW, Efq. to the Lord High Chancellorship of England.

I

ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,

And in his fportive days,

Fair science pour'd the light of truth,

Difcernment, eloquence, and grace,

Proclaim him born to fway

The balance in the highest place,

And bear the palm away.

IV.

The praise bestow'd was juft and wife,

He sprang impetuous forth,

Secure of conqueft where the prize

Attends fuperior worth.