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So the best courser on the plain
Ere
yet

he starts is known, And does but at the goal obtain

What all had deem'd his own.

ODE то PEACE.

I.

COME, peace of mind, delightful guest ! Return and make thy downy nest

Once more in this fad heart :

Nor riches I, nor pow'r pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view,

We therefore need not part.

II.

Where wilt thou dwell if not with me,

From av'rice and ambition free,

And pleasures fatal wiles ?
For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare
The swelts that I was wont to share,

The banquet of thy smiles ?

III.

The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heav'n that thou alone canst make,

And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequefter'd shed,

To be a guest with them?

IV.

For thee I panted, thee I priz’d,
For thee I gladly sacrific’d

Whate'er I lov’ú before,
And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say-

Farewell! we meet no more?

HU MAN F R A IL TY,

I. WEAK and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.

II.

The bow well bent and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain,
But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.

III.

Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part,

Virtue engages

his assent, But pleasure wins his heart.

IV.

'Tis here the folly of the wise

Through all his art we view,
And while his tongue the charge denies,

His conscience owns it true.

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V. -
Found on a voyage of awful length

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts his own.

VI. But

But oars alone can ne'er prevail

To reach the distant coast,

The breath of heav'n must swell the fail,

Or all the toil is loft.

THE MODERN PATRIOT.

I.

REBELLION is my theme all day,

I only wish 'twould come (As who knows but perhaps it may)

A little nearer home.

II.

Yon roaring boys who rave and fight

On t'other side the Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,

But most so when most frantic.

III.

When lawless mobs insult the court,

That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the fport,

Who bravely breaks the most.

IV.

But oh ! for him my fancy culls

The choicest fow'rs she bears, Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears.

V.

Such civil broils are my delight,

Tho' some folks can't endure 'em, Who say the mob are mad outright,

And that a rope must cure 'em.

VI.
A rope! I wish we patriots had

Such strings for all who need 'em-
What! hang a man for going mad?

Then farewell British freedom.

On observing fome Narnes of little Note recorded in the

BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA.

OH fond attempt to give a deathless lot, To names ignoble, born to be forgot!

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