MANHOOD LINKED TO CARE.

WHO art thou, with anxious mien,
Stealing o'er the shifting scene?
Eyes, with tedious vigils red:
Sighs, by doubts and wishes bred:
Cautious step, and glancing leer,
Speak thy woe, and speak thy fear,
Arm in arm, what wretch is he,
Like thyself who walks with thee?
Like thine own, his fear and woes,
All thy pangs his bosom knows :
Well, too well! my boding breast
Knows your names, and feels the rest.
Anxious, busy, restless pair,

Manhood link'd by fate to care.

AGE OVERTAKEN BY DEATH.

WRETCHED state, and yet 'tis dear-
Fancy close the prospect here!
Close it, or recal the past,

Spare my eyes, my heart, the last.
Vain the wish the last appears,
While I gaze I bathe in tears.
Age-my future self I trace,
Moving slow with feeble pace:
Bending with disease and cares,
All the load of life he bears;
White his locks, his visage wan,
Strength and ease and hope are gone
Death, thy shadowy form I know;
Death o'ertakes him, tyrant foe!
Swift they vanish-mournful sight,
Night succeeds-impervious night.

REFLECTION.

WHAT these dreadful glooms conceal,
Fancy's glass can ne'er reveal.

When shall truth my doubts dispel?
Awful period, who can tell!

Empty vapour-life farewell.

Happy are they who, up to this awful period, have practised the moral and social duties of a good and pious Christian-duties from which no rank, however exalted, is exempted. In a word, if we have sedulously attended to the cultivation of our own hearts, if our minds are warmed and expanded by a principle of universal benevolence, and have been inquisitive about the means of doing good, by our constant endeavours to alleviate the distresses of others, we shall possess every social virtue, and meet the hour of our dissolution with hope and resignation. Then we may meet DEATH's FINAL CONQUEST, in the hopes of a joyful resurrection, with joy and gladness :

The glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armour against fate :

Death lays his icy hands on kings.

Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield,
They tame but one another still.
Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,

They boast no more your mighty deeds,
Upon death's purple altar now

See where the victor's victims bleed.
All heads must come

To the cold tomb,

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

PLEASURES OF OLD AGE.

It is the observation of a fine writer, that an "old man, who is not a fool, is the happiest creature in the world;" for, after having passed the noon of life in the hurry of business, he sits down in the evening in his great chair, and, in social converse, or cheerful reflexion, enjoys the pleasing retrospect of past occur

rences.

Age's chief arts, and arms, are to grow wise,
Virtue to know, and known to exercise;
All just returns to age then virtue makes,
Nor her in her extremity forsakes ;
The sweetest cordial age receives at last,

Is conscious of our virtuous actions past.

An old man recals to memory all the events of his active life; he re-acts, in imagination, the characters he was once fond to personate. Such are the natural and pleasing amusements of his solitary moments; and in his social hours, happy in the enjoyment of the friends that revere and love him, and blest, perhaps, in the sweet attentions of a virtuous and affectionate family, he entertains himself and them with a narrative of past achievements, when his heart was fired by the love of virtue, animated by the pursuit of its attendant pleasures, and ardent for the acquisition of honourable ame. The various scenes and various adventures of

days that will return no more, afford an inexhaustible fund of retrospective pleasure. The youthful studies that now contribute their acquisitions for the delight and ornament of his age; or the days of honest industry, by which he has gained the blessings of competency, these, in review afford him inexpressible satisfaction. Or, perhaps, his life was more active still: his valour distinguished in defence of liberty and his country, he had fought under the banners of a Wolf, a Cornwallis, an Abercrombie, or exhibited undaunted intrepidity under the auspices of a Duncan, a Howe, or a Nelson. His military ardour softened, but not subdued, he often recollects the scenes of warfare with sensibility and self-complacence; and in the presence of his friends, he relates with transport the victories he saw, the sufferings he endured, and those dangers that are now succeeded by the pleasures of repose. His delighted audience participate in his satisfaction, and heighten it by their sympathy for the past, and their heart-felt happiness in the present.

See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,
Hug her rough lord, and weep o'er ev'ry wound
Hang on the lips that fields of blood relate,
And smile, or tremble, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl he draws the fancy'd line,
And marks faint trenches in the flowing wine :
Then sets the inverted fort before her eyes,
And mines that whirl'd battalions to the skies;
His little listening progeny turn pale,
And beg to hear again the dreadful tale.

TICKELL