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While Pegasus can trot or amble;

Bramble indulges no such whim; Come what may come,I'll sing the BRAM- All neighbours are alike to him : BLE.

No stump so scrubby, but he'll grace it:

No crab so sour but he'll embrace it. “ How now ?" methinks I hear you say; Why? what, is rhyme run mad to-day?"!

Sach and so various negative merits No, sirs, mine's but a sudden gambol;

The Bramble from its birth inherits: My muse hung hampered on a bramble.

Take we its positive virtues next;

For so at first we split the text.
But soft! no more of this wild stuff:
Once for a frolic is enough ;

The more resentment tugs and kicks,
So help us, Rhyme, at future need,

The closer still the Bramble sticks; As we in soberer style proceed.

Yet gently handled, qnits bis hold,

Like heroes of true BRITISH mould. All subjects of nice disquisition,

Nothing so touchy, when they are teased; Adinit two modes of definition :

No touchiness so soon appeased.
For every thing two sides has got;
What is it s-and what is it not?

Full in your view and next your hand, Both methods, for exactness' sake,

The Bramble's homely berries stand; We with our Bramble mean to take;

Eat as you list-none call you glutton ! And by your leave, will first discuss

Forbear-it matters not a button. Its negative good parts ; as thus :

And is not, pray, this very qnality

The essence of true hospitality!
The Bramble will noi, like the rose,

When frank simplicity and sense
To prick your fingers, tempt your nose ;
Whene'er it wounds, the fault's your own

Make no parade, take no offence ;

Such as it is, set forth the best,
Let that, and that lets you alone.

And let the welcome add the rest.
You shut your myrtles for a time up:
Your jasmine wants a wall to climb up :

The Bramble's shoot, though fortune lay But Bramble, in its bumble station,

Point blank obstructions in its way, Nor weather heeds, nor situation :

For no obstructions will give out; No season is too wet, too dry for't ;

Climbs up, creeps under, winds about ; No ditch too low, no hedge tou high for't. Like valour, that can suffer, die,

Du any thing, but yield or fly.
Some praise, and that with reason tou,
The honeysuckle's scent and hue :

While Brambles hints like these can start, But sudden storms, or sure decay,

Am I to blame to take their part? Sweep with its bloom its charms away. No! let who will, affect to scorn 'em, The sturdy Bramble's coarser flower My muse shall glory to adorn 'em : Maintains its post, come blast, come shower! | For as Rhyme did in my preamble, And when time crops it, time subdues So Reason now cries," Bravo, Bramble !"" No charms,-for it has none to lose.

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Spite of your skill, and care, and cost,
Your nobler shrubs are often lost;
But Brambles, where they once get footing,
From age to age continue shooting :
Ask no attention, no forecasting !
Nut ever-green—but ever-lasting.


Tuis fact is clear; both man and woman
Prize not what's good, but wbat's uncom-

And most delighted still they are,
Not with the excellent, but rare.

Some shrubs intestine hatred cherish, And, placed too near each other, perish :

I could of this give proofs most stable; At her no telescopes were aimid,
But, for example, take a fable.

Nor wonder at her charms proclaim'd
Some other idol now, she found,

Had fickle man in fetters bound;
'Twas night, but still a mimic day And Cynthia was compellid to own,
Shone softly from the milky way:

Unseen her matchless beauty shone. For now the bright unclouded moon “But what,” she cried “thus rivals me! Was“ riding in her highest noon;'

I all the stars and planets see : Who, as she slowly sail'd along,

Orion has bis belt in order; Beheld a most unusual throng,

Of Saturn's ring bright shines the border; With eyes up-rais'd devoutly gazing, Mars sports his coat of reddest hue; And heard, “Behold! see there! ama- And Charles has put his horses to :* zing !

But still, these sights so oft are seen, “ What can this mean?” dame Cynthia said: There's nothing new in them I ween; “Perhaps," and high she drew her head, And after all, I know, the cry “ It is, that I on earth to night

Is, they are nought when I am by. Shine with unwonted beauty bright, 'Tis strange; and I shall surely pout And therefore mortals in amaze

Until I find my rivai out,”Come crowding forth op me to gaze."- This said, she looked on ev'ry side And then (for beav'nly beauties love, With eager looks of wounded pride, Like earthly ones, applause to move,) And round with all the spite inspected She stoop'd, within a lake below

Of conscious beauty quite neglected : To see how look'd her sparkling brow; When, lo ! she saw with wond'ring breast, And, as her crescent she adjusted,

Just twinkling in the northern west, She thought, if mirrors might be trusted, And dimly seen, since seen from far, That night, so wondrous was her beauty! A rayless, misty, long-tail'd star; To gaze on her was mortals' duty.

While homage from her charms was ravishd But, oh! sad fall to female pride,

To be on this poor Comet lavish'd. She soon with wond'ring looks descried 'Twas not on her that eyes were turn’d; * The Constellation of the Great Bear, For her no curious ardour burn'd;

called sometimes Charles's wain.



AND thou hast walked about-how strange a story!

In Thebe's streets three thousand years ago!
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,

And Time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous !

Speak, for thou long enough hast acted Dummy!

Thou hast a tongue-come-let us hear its tune!
Thou’rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy!

Revisiting the glimpses of the Moon;
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features.

Tell ns--for doubtless thou canst recollect,

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame!
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect

Of either Pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ?
Had Thebes a hundred gates as sung by Homer!

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden

By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade, Then say, what secret inelody was hidden

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my struggles Are vain,-for priestcraft never owns its juggles.

Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat,

Hath hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass
Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat;

Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass :
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,

Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled ?
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed,

Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.

Thou could'st develope, if that withered tongue

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, How the world looked when it was fresh and young,

And the great Deluge still had left it green ! Or was it then so old that History's pages Contained no record of its early ages ?

Still silent! Incommunicative elf!

Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But, prithee, tell us something of thyself,

Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits, thou hast slumbered, What hast thou seen-what strange adventures numbered!

Since first thy form was in this box extended,

We have, above-ground, seep some strange mutations ;The Roman Empire has begun and ended;

New worlds have risen,-we have lost old nations ; And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.

Didst thou not hear the polher o'er thy head

When the great Persian Conqueror, Cambyses, Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread,

O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,

And sbook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?

If the tomb's secrets may not be confess’d,

The nature of thy private life unfold :-
A heart bath throbbed beneath that leathern breast,

And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll’d.
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face?
What was thy name, and station, age, and race ?

Statue of flesh !-Immortal of the dead!

Imperishable type of evanescence !
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bec,

And standest undecayed within our presence,
Thou wilt bear nothing till the Judgment morning,
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its waruing.

Why should this worthless tegument endure,

If its undying guest be lost for ever?
O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure

In living virtue, that when both most sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom.


Poh! Poh! on Time may I retort! On Three Schoolfellows, who had cut their

That ash will serve me better: names, about 50 years before, in the bark Thy name young Joy !-In cruel sport of an Oak, a Lime, and an Ash.

Hath time erased each letter!

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4 vith

'Twas then, no doubt, if 'twas at all,
(But doubts we must not mention,)
That Then, and Now, two adverbs small,
Engaged in sharp contention;

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Alas, says she, how hard you toil
With undiverted sadness :
Behold yon land of wine and oil,

Those sunny hills of gladnessThose invs I wait ...;.l, in

ow, Ar

I HATE that Drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To thonghtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms,
And when ambition's voice commands,

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