Thus, when life hath stol'n away, SONG LXXVI.* BY JAMES THOMSON, ESQ. If those who live in shepherd's bower If those who sit at shepherd's board, If those who drain the shepherd's bowl, No high and sparkling wines can boast; With wholesome cups they cheer the soul, And crown them with the village-toast. If those who join in shepherd's sport, In the masque of 'Alfred.' VOL. II: P SONG LXXVII.* BY. MR. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. 'Tis not wealth, it is not birth, Can value to the soul convey; Minds possess superior worth, Which chance nor gives, nor takes away. Like the sun true merit shows ; By nature warm, by nature bright; With inbred flames he nobly glows, SONG LXXVIII. BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. TELL me, on what holy ground In a cottag'd vale she dwells, In the comic opera of 'Love in a Village.' Love, the sire of pleasing fears, SONG LXXIX. BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd by a shower, The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, The cups were all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, And it seem'd, to a fanciful view, To weep for the buds it had left with regret I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd; And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile SONG LXXX. A SHAKE BY THE HAND. BY THE REV. JAMES PLUMPTRE. WHEN my hand thus I proffer, your own O deny not, It freezes my blood when I find a man shy on't, I heed not the tongue, of its friendship that's I judge of a friend by the shake of his hand. Yet 'tis not with each new-hatch'd comrade,' I'd shake me, Be mine the tried friend, whose warm heart shall expand, Who in wealth or in sorrow will never forsake me, For the hand, &c. Oh! I hate for to see it abus'd at election, In a canvas of votes from each holder of land; The purpose when gain'd, you shall meet with rejection, Seven years it will be ere again you've his hand. For the hand, &c. Then for friends, and friends only, this token reserving, For them be it ever at will to command; But let each be thy friend, who at all is deserving, If well or if ill, how its master will stand : I heed not the tongue, of its friendship that's swearing, I judge of a friend by the shake of his hand. SONG LXXXI. DEATH OR LIBERTY. WHILE happy in my native land, The noble mind is not at all By poverty degraded ; 'Tis guilt alone can make us fall: And well I am persuaded, Each free-born Briton's song should be, Or give me death or liberty. Though small the power which Fortune grants, And few the gifts she sends us; The lordly hireling often wants That freedom which defends us. By law secur'd from lawless strife, Thus bless'd with all that's dear in life, For lucre shall we sell 'em? |