Sweet's the found of ruftic joy,
As they lightly dance along,
Dimpled mirth their cares destroy,
Sorrows vanish with a fong.
Pleasure beams in every eye,
Joys extatic heave each breaft,
Blind contentment hovers nigh,
Cheerful- -ever welcome guest.
Sweet, O Eve's! thy filent hour,
Solitude's fedate compeer,
Fancy roves beneath thy power,
Sympathy beguiles the tear.
Then hither come, oh! penfive maid,
Steal along the liquid fky,
Waft me to fome filent shade,
Where freamlets foftly murmur by.
THE VICTIM OF BACCHUS.
'AY! frown not, great Bacchus, that rubicund face
N a fmile will grace;
So fhake not your ivy-bound thyrfus at me,
From your fetters, though filken, I'll ever be free.
'Tis true, with choice fpirits I like to unbend,
And, therefore, fometimes, at your courts I attend
But
your tricks and your wiles I thoroughly know,
And my ftory your tyranny plainly fhall how.
Old Soak'em, who many a gin cag had drain❜d,
Moft completely the habit of drinking had gain'd;
Long time he the dangers of drinking had brav'd,
His fauces were wide-prima via, well pav'd.
Whilft his glafs was uplifted, a season unfit,
A fummons from death came, this planet to quit;
Old Soak'em, reluctant, begg'd longer to ftay,
But the meffenger, PALSY, allow'd no delay.
Each breath that he drew feem'd as if 'twere his last,
The cold hand of Palfy now grip'd him so fast;
His wife for a doctor immediately fent,
Hoping Pally, perhaps, might be brought to relent.
The doctor he came, fhrugg'd his fhoulders, and faid,
"Dear ma'am, 'tis all over, death's debt must be paid "
But the wife, to the doctor, mott firmly replied,
"My husband shan't go till one maxim we've tried.
"This gin-bottle take, if one drop he but swallow,
"My life for his, a cure will foon follow :"
This faid the good wife from the chamber withdrew,
Expecting the doctor her plan to pursue.
But paufing a little, he thought 'twas a fin,
To give to his patient this ftark-naked gin,
So fnatching a glass, which water contain'd,
To mix with the gin its contents he foon drain'd.
In the mouth of his patient, the mixture he dropt,
But none could get down, in his throat it all ftopt;
And Soak'em difcovering his fwallow was loft,
Thought 'twas not worth living, fo gave up the ghost.
Now the wife the rush'd in, and as fpoufy had died,
She, as a wife should do, fobb'd loudly and cried;
But a proper fucceffor now came in her mind,
So the dried up her tears and became more refign'd.
Until looking about, with horror fhe view'd,
The glafs the left full, quite empty now stood;
"Who emptied this glafs ?"-poor Betty was mute;
Says the doctor, "I us'd it, the gin to dilute.”
"The gin to dilute !—you villain !—you thief!
"You've kill'd my poor husband and fill'd me with grief; "He always did fay, and he ne'er told a lie, "To my gin put in water-I certainly DIE."
ADDRESSED TO MR. T. GENT.
On reading his Sonnet to Melancholy in the VISITOR,
H! why forgets the jocund strain to flow,
Why fleeps, inglorious, youth's energic fire? To what ftern anguish, what domeftic woe,
Thus bends the vassal muse the tuneful lyre? Unletter'd ignorance a tear may claim,
When keen misfortune's iron hoft moleft,
Unpropt by manhood's greateft, noblest aim,
Philofophy deny'd the untutor'd breast.
But, 'mid the various fcenes by nature spread,
To attract th' enlighten'd mind, the foul to raise,
Can't thou, to ev'ry nobler feeling dead,
Thus give to wretchedness thine early days?
Say, fhall the rifing figh, the trembling tear,
No more be check'd by friendship's genial ray ?
Thrice blefs'd resource-beftow'd by heav'n to cheer
The fainting pilgrim on his weary way.
Its dictates learn, that mind shall ne'er be free
From fate's harsh frown, that bears her tyrant chain, Nor fpurns th' oppreffive weight-and long fhall be The clouded days of mifery and pain."
ON PHILANTHROPHY.
W And, unnotic'd, his money beftows,
HEN the eye of benevolence looks on distress,
The fweet impulfe of pity his bofom doth prefs,
And his heart with philanthrophy glows.
To footh the afflicted and foften their grief,
To him is the sweetest of care;
In poverty's bofom to pour his relief,
And the taunts of the mifer to bear.
These virtues in HANWAY and HOWARD we saw,
Oh! Philanthrophy, where doft thou flee?
Alas! it is wounded by difcord and war,
And, fair peace, it lies buried with thee.
EDWARD AND ANGELA.
OUD Boreas blew, faft fell the rain,
When urg'd by wild defpair,
Young Edward cross'd the darkfome plain,
O'erwhelm'd with grief and care.
No more fair Cynthia shed her light,
Nor Hefper lent his ray,
To gild the fable face of night,
Or cheer his lonely ray.
But fearless o'er the difmal path
The hapless mourner flew,
Regardless of the tempeft's wrath,
That ftill more potent grew.
A pallid hue his cheek o'erfpread,
Which late outvied the rose;
So fade the flowers that deck the mead,
When Sol too fervid glows.
Long he had lov'd Angela fair,
And long had been relov'd;
But ah! his fire, with fcorn fevere,
Their paffion disapprov❜d.
Each grace of form, and grace of mind,
He knew the maid poffefs'd;
But wifh'd to fee his Edward join'd
To one with wealth more blefs'd.
And now, to aggravate their woe,
Had made the harth decree-
That he his charmer fhould forego
Or fpurn'd and exil'd be.
This tore young Edward's hopes away,
And now with tortur'd heart
Towards her abode he bent his way,
Thefe ridings to impart ;
But now the dome falutes his eye,
Where dwelt the peerless maid,
He enters with a heavy figh,
And tears his grief betray'd:
But oh what pangs his bofom tear!
He ftarts with dire alarms,
When he beheld Angela fair
Clafp'd in a ftranger's arms.
"What means," he said, "this cruel fight,
"This I ne'er thought to find;
"Canft thou thy Edward thus requite,
"And prove at last unkind?
"Oh! heaven! thefe dire tormenting woes !
"Why am I doom'd to prove
"A father's rage, that fiercely glows,
"The pangs of perjur'd love?"
O'ercome with horror, pain, and grief,
The youth could fpeak no more,
And e're the pair could yield relief,
He lifeless prefs'd the floor.
The beauteous maid hung o'er his form,
With anxious thoughts opprefs'd,
Till he reviv'd, when flush'd with joy,
She thus the youth address'd→→→
"My life! my best belov'd! my dear!
"Compofe your mind and rife;
"It is Angela's brother here
"Who ftands before thy eyes.
"Five fprings have deck'd the lonely plain, "With flowers of every hue,
"Since there, impreft with tender pain, "I heard his last adieu.
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