TO A YOUNG ASS,

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.

BY S. T. COLERIDGE.

race!

POOR little foal of an oppreffe dra

I love the languid patience of thy face;
And oft, with gentle hand, I give thee bread,
And clap thy rugged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled fpirits hath difmay'd,
That never thou doft fport along the glade?
And, most unlike the nature of things young,
That earth-ward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,

Meek child of mifery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches,
"Which patient merit of th' unworthy takes?"
Or is thy fad heart thrill'd with filial pain,
To fee thy wretched mother's fhorten'd chain?
And truly very piteous is her lot-
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot;
Where the clofe-eaten grass is scarcely feen,
While sweet around thee waves the tempting green!

Poor afs! thy mafter should have learn❜d to fhew
Pity-beft taught by fellowship of woe!
For much I fear me, that he lives, like thee,
Half famifh'd in a land of luxury!

How afkingly its footsteps hither bend!

It feems to fay-" And have I then one friend?”
Innocent foal! thou poor, defpis'd, forlorn,
I hail thee brother, fpite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me in the dell
Of peace, and mild equality to dwell;

Where toil fhall hail the charmer health his bride,
And laughter tickle plenty's ribless side!

How thou would'st toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea, and more mufically sweet to me
Thy diffonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies, that foothe to reft
The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast!

SONNET. TO A REDBREAST.

BY MR. ANDERSON.

DOMESTIC Songfer of the wawing years

I bid thee welcome, and thy wild notes greet;
Although they tell th' approach of winter drear,
No artful concert's to my ear fo fweet.

Emblem of poverty!-how hard thy fate,
When wintry tempefts howl along the fky;
Methinks thou wail'ft the abfence of thy mate,
Singing thy love-lorn fong !-juft fo do I.-

Peace to the Bard*, who taught by nature's law,
From tyrant man at once could fet thee free;
Oft have I read the plaintive tale of woe,

Oft fhed a tear for innocence and thee!

Come then, fweet bird, nor wander to and fro,
Welcome to dwell beneath this humble roof with me.

* Alluding to the Author of "The Children in the Wood."

Printed and Sold by S. SIKES & CO. Huddersfield.

PRICE ONE PENNY.

THE BRITISH

POETICAL MISCELLANY.

FRANK HAYMAN.

A TALE.

BY J. TAYLOR, ESQ.

FRANK en Yuch diftinguifh'd in his day;

RANK HAYMAN, once a Brother of the Brush,

But for his art he hardly car'd a rufh,

If fome odd mischief ftumbled in his way.

This Wag was deem'd by all the Social Tribe
A jovial, eafy, carelefs, pleafant fellow,
Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe,

And sometimes in his cups a little mellow.

He, being tempted by a pleasant day,

away.

After a long contention with the gout,
A foe that oft befieg'd him, fally'd out,
To breathe fresh air, and while an hour
It chanc'd as he was ftrolling, void of care,
A drunken Porter pass'd him with a Hare.
The Hare was o'er his fhoulder flung,
Dangling behind, in piteous plight,
And as he crept in zig-zag ftile,
Making the most of every mile,
From fide to fide poor Puffy fwung,
As if each moment taking flight.

A Dog, who faw the man's condition,
A lean and hungry Politician,

On the look-out was lurking close behind.

A fly and fubtle chap,
Of most fagacious smell,
Like Politicians of a higher kind,
Ready to fnap

At any thing that fell.

The Porter flagger'd on, the Dog kept near,
Watching the lucky minute for a bite,

Now made a spring, and then drew back with fear,
While HAYMAN follow'd, titt'ring at the fight:

Great was the contraft 'twixt the Man and Dog,
The one a negligent and ftupid lout,

That feem'd to know not what he was about,
The other keen, obfervant, all agog.

Nor need it wonderment excite I ween,

That HAYMAN clos'd the train to mark the fcene.

Through many a ftreet our tipfy Porter reels,
Then flops-as if to folemn thought inclin'd
The watchful Dog was ready at his heels,
And HAYMAN hobbled on not far behind.

Then rolling on again, the man furvey'd
One of thofe happy manfions, where
A cordial drop imparts its cheering aid
To all the thirfty Sons of Care.

The fight of this refreshing place,

The fcent that hails him from the door, Arreft at once his rambling pace

As they had often done before.

Mine Hoft, with accents that were wond'rous kind, Invites him in, a jolly crew to join;

The man the gen'rous courtefy declin'd,

Merely, perhaps for want of thirst-or coin.

Strait on a bench without he ftretch'd along,
Regardless of the paffing throng,
And foon his weary eye-lids close,
While SOMNUS fooths him to repose,
The Hare now proftrate at his back,
This was the time to get a fnack.

The Dog unable longer to refrain,
Gaz'd at the Hare,

Who caus'd his care,

Jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, and bit again.

At length, when he had clear'd away the reft,
The fated fpoiler finish'd on the breast.

Then having made a hearty meal,
He careless turn'd upon his heel,

Nor thought of afking "What's to pay?";
But fcamper'd at his eafe away;
Perhaps to find fome four-foot fair,

And tell the ftory of the Hare.

And here fome Sage, with moral spleen, may say,
"This HAYMAN fhould have driv'n the Dog away,
"Th' effects of Vice the blamelefs fhould not bear,
"And folks who are not drunkards lofe their Hare."

All this, we grant, is very true-
But in this giddy world how few
To Virtue's heights fublimely move,
Relinquishing the things they love.
Not fo unfashionably good,
Our waggish Painter laughing flood,
In hopes more fport to find;
Difpos'd to keep in view his game,
And with th' ambitious Thane exclaim,
"The greatest is behind."

Befides, he knew, whate'er the plan
That tempts the fond pursuits of Man,
Though pleasure may the course attend,
The Wife are heedful of the end.

Hence, though of mirth a lucky store,
So aptly tumbled in his way,
Yet fill he linger'd after more,

And thus he faid, or feem'd to say: "How will the people fret and foold, "When they the bony wreck behold! "And how the drunken rogue will ftare, "When first he sees what was the Hare!