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Nor can I e'er forget that day,
When, rack'd with pain, I died away:
Thy looks then spoke what none can say,

My husband !
Who, when our little prattler died,
With placid look my grief would chide,
And tell me, he on God relied ?

My husband! Who, when I wept, would dry my tears, And strive to calm my throbbing fears? (Such kind regard the bosom cheers)

My husband ! Who to my wants would comfort bring, And round


néck his arms would fling, As if his soul to mine would cling?

My husband! Thus all thy labour, all thy care, Mine and my childrens' daily fare, Demand from me this constant pray’r,.

My husband ! That God, who reigns above the spheres, And all our prayers and blessings hears, May bless thy few remaining years,

My husband ! And, ere this heart shall cease to glow, May heavenly love this gift bestow : That I may live to lay thee low,

My husband! For fear that thou shouldst misery find, Or any wretch should

prove unkind To thee, if thou wert left behind,

My husband ! Yet both must bow to Heaven's behest; What Heaven decrees is always best; On heavenly love we all niust rest,

My husband!

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W. M.



To Sir Richard Phillips, on his presenting the Author with

The Cabinet of English Poetry..
Friend of the advent'rous poet's infant muse!
Receive this tribute, nor the lay refuse ;
Thy gift invests me with a godlike band,
The boast, the glory of my native land !
Dear, doubly dear, the precious treasures given!
Dear as the ruddy beam of light from heaven!
Unsullied treasures, with no dross combin'd,
Unsullied treasures of th’immortal mind;
Long sigh'd-for volumes, stor'd with truths divine,
And fancy's richest flow*rs--ye all are mine!
Though adverse fortune on my youth has frown'd,
And faithless friends inflicted many a wound;
Unnotic'd long; though oft, with grief sincere,
I heav'd the sigh and dropp'd the anguish'd tear;
Yet hope, at length, has built her downy nest,
O blessed change within this throbbing breast !
This breast, where late the raven of despair
Sat brooding on the thorns of with'ring care.
Kind Heav'n, all-bounteous! gives a friend to save,
I seem reaborn, or rescued from the grave !
And, in the precious boon which PHILLIPS sends,
My raptur'd heart receives a host of friends!
Friends who will sooth me in misfortune's gloom,
And to the Muses' Court convert my, narrow room.

Methinks e'en now I see the mighty train,
Encircle me around, and each alternate
Accept with smiles my homage. In the midst,
With deathless laurel blooming round thy brows,
My gaze is bent on thee, immortal youth!
On thee, whom most I pity, love, admire !
The beams of gladness sparkle in thine eyes,
Which, on the portrait of my fostering bard
Seem steadfast rivetted ; and sure I hear
Thy voice exclaim,

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Happie itte bie for thie!
Reet mycle comforte wele betide thine houres !
Synne frae the mokie denne obscuritye
(Whilom, lyke myne, thie ruthful thornye bedde)
An helpen honde hes gathered thie flowres,
Whilk growen by the sun uncheryshed,
Ande them haes setten, where hys biem devyne
May keepe them frae a Walpole's scowlying eyne."

Ill-fated bard! I mourn thy hapless fall!-
But as a sky-harp'd seraph, now I hail
Thy form divine ! and with exultance proud,
What thou hast left to this ungrateful world
Pronounce as mine!


Oh!'heaven-illumin'd bard!
Whose wing seraphic soar'd above all height
In majesty of song! forgive, forgive,
That my rash hand should dare upon thy throne,
Thy starry throne, to place a hapless youth,
Though proudly favour'd by the weeping Nine,
Thy great superior alone in sorrow,
Mournful pre-eminence! Yes, thou wilt pardon ;.
And Milton's tear on CHATTERTON's pale urn
Shall drop like balm from weeping cherub's eye.
O how thy awful daring I revere!
Thou through the gloom of chaos and old night,
Despotic rulers o'er the drear profound,
Travers'd with steadfast soul the pathless way;
Thou from the Stygian pool, on hierarch's wing,
Soar'd dreadfully sublime, and 'yond the stars,
Where human eye had never dar'd to look,
Explor'd the regions of eternal day,
And on heaven's pearly pavement fearless trod!
With reverential awe my trembling hand
Shall-turn at midnight's hour thy volumes o'er;
Mount, on the wings of fancy, by thy side,
Visit the liquid deeps of hell below;
Then, rising on the pinion of the mind,
To heaven's extremest verge shall rapt ascend;
Till, for a moment, I forget myself,
Forget I sprang from dust and am a worm!



DRYDEN, too, appears,

To charm my wond'ring ears ! See, see, he rises in a car of state!

His heav'n-train'd steeds proclaim

His never dying fame,
The reins upheld with daring hand,
He guides them o'er the rugged mountain's brow,
Around whose base the limpid water's flow.
Hark! hark! his thund'ring wheels resound,

Through ether's concave wide.
His coursers feel the biting lash,

The swift revolving axles flash,
He spurns the trembling ground !
See, checking now with fierce command

Their dread career, in fullest pride,
He mounts on cherub wing, magnificently great!


With piercing eye, deep vers'd in nature's lore,
Resolv'd the realms of reason to explore;
The paths of science, the retreats of sense,
And justify the ways of Providence ;
Pope next I see, the bard whose various fire
Attunes the hallow'd or the tender lyre;
Tears off the fraud ful mask that screens the mind,
And awes the varying follies of mankind :
Instructs the serious, and delights the gay,
Shews Fame's proud fane, and leads himself the way!


With coffin'd shrouds surrounded, big with thought, ,
With painful thought, which moves yet mends the heart,
And swells to aw'd solemnity, see, YOUNG
Deigns too to dwell beneath my humble roof!
The reliques of the dead, with full fix'd eye,
Denoting deep reflection, he surveys,
And smiles at “ weak mortality !” Absorb’d
In contemplation, on the jarriog world
He looks indignant. "Cross the shoreless tide
Of full eternity his sted fast gaze
Is fix'd; nor once returns, save that he casts
One look of pity on disastrous man.

And THOMSON, nature's limner, thou art mine!
Thou, who hast painted the all blessed year,
Bringing the seasons full within my view,
E'en when sequester'd in this nook I sit;
The flow'ry dale, the steep aspiring hill,
The velvet bank, the desolated waste,
The pebbled streamlet, and the roaring flood
Spring's tender fragrance--summer's noontide blazer
Autumnal breezes—winter's icy blasts
In all their sweet diversity of change!

And COLLINS, too,

To thee I bow,
Bright fancy's fav'rite child,

Who in the desolated wild,
With all the varied sweets of song,

Pour'd forth the strain,

As o'er the plain,
Fleet echo did thy swelling notes prolong!
And, when the Passions fir'd thy breast,

Upon some rocky steep,

Which fearful overhung the deep,
Thou with the frenzy of poetic fire,
Drew'st all the Furies round thy magic lyre,

And mid the hideous yell.
of grisly spectres, fell

Revenge! despair!
And baggard care!
With harp in hand,

Didst take thy stand,
Now made them frantic rave, now lulld them all to rest..

As late from the blade waving meed,

Enamelld with SPRING's vernal flowers,
The murmurs of Corydon's reed,

Were plaintively heard from the bowerse ; Around him the frolicksome lambs,

In wantonness frisk'd to the note; While wistfully gaz'd the fond dams,"

Who seem'd on the younglings to doat..

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