A Poetical Epifle to Dr. JOHN CRANE, of Wells, Somerset.

To thee, my friend, his choiceft gifts

Phoebus was happy to impart;
He gave you, what but few poffefs,
His lyre, and gave his healing art.
But, though the lyre and healing art
Are much admir'd by beaux and belles,
Yet, I must own, I'd rather with

To fee you, Doctor, Dean of Wells.
Turn, then, your thought to Mother Church;
Renounce both Poetry and Phyfick:
Be Mr. Dean-nor longer fcrawl

Prescriptions for the gout and phthifick. Better than tracts on me 'cinę, write

Comments on Peter and on Paul; Rather than rouze at midnight hour, Indulge in a Cathedral stall. Difcard your tie, and fport a bob;

Th' exchange will be no mighty lofs:
Or, if a feather-top delight,

Copy the wig of Bishop M-fs.
And, if you wish to deck your head
With rofe canonical and beaver,
Of thofe, who grace the Bishop's bench,
Take for your model Bishop Clea-r.
'Tis through the Church that mortals find
The road that leads to eafe and plenty:
Yet who of all her fons fucceeds-

Alas, my friend,-not one in twenty.
But, fhould you wish to get promotion,
And ev'ry adverse stroke to parry,
First learn to court, to cringe, and fawn,
To flatter, and to fetch and carry.

It is not genius, 'tis not merit,

That mounts the ladder's topmost round; The happieft are not thofe who foar, But thofe who creep along the ground.Had I been dull,-for, dullness oft Can footh capricious Fortune's breast,— Like others, who have mitres gain'd, I too had been fupremely bleft. Of worth though fomewhat I can boast, And virtues not a few can number, Yet fuch is the mif-judging world, They're all, I'm told, but fo much lumber, On fecond thoughts, then, ftick to Phyfic, Nor follow my obfcure example: For of preferment (Heav'n be prais'd!) Mine is indeed the pooreft fample. July 22, 1793

CLERICUS.

Verfes written on the Banks of the RIVER IRT,

TH

in Cumberland.

HOUGH, genial Irt, no learned bard Has fought thy beauties for his theme: Thou shalt not pass without regard, Inglorious, like a vulgar ftream.

Whate'er of fong thy praises afk,
Be mine the grateful debt to pay;
And give me still the pleasing task,
Unnotic'd merit to difplay.

From Cumbria's hills, of Alpine height,

A thousand filver fountains flow, Whofe little channels foon unite,

To form a fpacious lake below.

Thence iffue forth thy waters chafte

O'er fpangled rocks and golden fands,
And, pouring down the mountain waste,
Delight fair Drigg's aufpicious lands.
And now their turbulence fubfides;

Enamour'd of the fertile plain,
In dimpled fmiles their current glides,
Nor haftes to greet the lordly main.
The banks reflected from above

Shine beauteous in thy mirror bright ;—
Would confcience pare, O! thus approve
Each deed unfully'd as the light!

Here Trout and Salmon ftill refort,

In regions far or near the beft;

Which well may claim the angler's fport,
Or fons of Epicurus feaft.

Thou too can't make peculiar boast,

That genes within thy bofom lie;
For, pearls are found of precious coft,
Which with the diamond's luftre vie.

But mark what foft enchanting views

Steal on the eye from every part: How much they charm the rustic Muse Above the gilded toys of art!

Some facred Genius furely dwells

Within this fpot to fancy dear:
The last lone bird of ev'ning tells,
That infpiration refteth here.
Ye floods, that wash my native land,
Ye verdant walks and healthful skies,
'Tis yours with juftice to command

Affections forin'd by Nature's ties.
'Twas here my childhood's playful years
Fled, harmless, unperceiv'd away;
A ftranger yet to bufy cares,

The growth of reafon's mental ray.
Then books and converfe with a friend
Inftruction taught my youth to prize ;
Whilft all my ftudious hours I'd blend
With feats of hardy exercise.

If happiness on earth be found,
That fimple happiness I love;
Therewith my favourite haunts abound,

And Cumbrian fwains the bleffing prove,

Should age, through Fortune's giddy maze
Protracted, crown this vital span;

Here would I spend my latest days,
Where firft the morn of life began.

W.S.

THE AFRICAN'S COMPLAINT ON-BOARD A SLAVE SHIP.

TRE

REMBLING, naked, wounded, fighing,
On dis winged house I ftand,

Dat with poor black-man is flying
Far away from their own land!

Fearful water all around me !

Strange de fight on every hand, Hurry, noife, and thouts, confound me When I look for Negro land.

Every thing I fee affright me,

Nothing I can understand,
With de fcourges white man fight me,

None of dis in Negro land.

Here de white man beat de black man,
'Till he's fick and cannot ftand,
Sure de black be eat by white man!

Will not go to white man land
Here in chains poor black man lying
Put fo tick dey on us ftand,
Ah! with heat and smells we're dying!
'Twas not dus in Negro land.

Dere we've room and air, and freedom,
Dere our little dwellings ftand;
Families, and rice to feed 'em!
Oh I weep for Negro land!
Joyful dere before de doors

Play our children hand in hand;
Fresh de fields, and fweet de flow'rs,
Green de hills, in Negro Land.

Dere I often go when fleeping,

See my kindred round me ftand;
Hear 'em toke-den wak in weeping,
Dat I've lost my Negro land.

Dere my black love arms were round me,
De whole night! not like dis band,
Clofe dey held, but did not wound me;
Oh! I die for Negro land!

De bad traders ftole and fold me,
Den was put in iron band---
When I'm dead dey cannot hold me
Soon I'll be in black man land.

INFELIX atro Lauzurus carcere claufus Mofta humectarat fletibus ora diu Exiguos tandem radios patefecit arachne, Quà filum pendens inftruit arte fuum. Vidit-nutrit-amat: focio quoque gaudet arachne,

Lauzenique horæ præteriere breves. Blanditias audit cultos, mortique repente Devovet artificem-chara comefque perit! Sævitia inferni vix pœnas reddere poffunt Tali, vix clemens parcere fcitque Deus.

J.C. EPITAPH

EPITAPH INTENDED TO BE PLACED AT
HINCKLEY. (See vol. LXII. p. 1059.)
TO this humble turf are confided the remains
of Mr. JOHN ROBINSON,

a Native and Inhabitant of Hinckley.
With ftrong intellectual powers,

Asaman difappointed, his head then he shook, And swore a great oath that's too big for my book;

Although I acknowledge, miftruft me not then,

cation.

The volume of Nature was to him unfolded: He was familiarly converfant with Philofophy, Botany, and Medicine: Poetry and Painting he admired; in Mechanics and Aftronomy he was an adept. What is much more to his honour, he was an honest man, and a pious Christian, He died Nov. 10, 1792, aged 72 years. Reader, avail thyfelf of this good example. The talents which Providence has given thee haften to exert, ftudy to improve; and a felf-approving confcience will be thy lafting reward.

INSCRIPTION ON A HERMITAGE

in the centre of a Copfe, interfected by irregular Walks, at MICLESFIELD GREEN, HERTS, the Refidence of Lord EDWARD BENTINCK. By the Author of CALVARY.

H

ERE fleep, Ambition! be this cell thy

tomb;

Vanish, and give the calmer paffions room. Avaunt, vain world! this folitary grove Nor fears thy malice, nor invites thy love. And, though like thine its dark and winding

maze

'Tangles our path, and for a while betrays, Let patience guide, and, one fhort trial paft, Content thall greet us in this spot at last.

THE PROFESSIONAL MAN.

As S Johnny, and Mifs Dolly Bate, in fine weather, Were riding to Scarborough market together, They talk'd of the blifs, which in wedlock runs high. [fky." "When married! our life is ferene as the Many words there were spent, and much time there was waited, [neer tafted. Which tended to prove, that thofe joys they Our eyes are defective, but, ufe them we're willing; No fenfe can diftinguish fo well as our feeling. At distance, we faw a black man move at will; [ftands till. But, when we drew near, it's a buth which While the hid the pillion, and he hid the [waddle;

faddle,

To the tune of old Gilburt, they went widdle When quickly à Gentleman up with them got, As he cafly might, for he rode on full trot : Hetalk'd of the weather, he talk'd of the way, As a man often will, who has nothing to fay. Mifs Dolly look'd pretty, howe'er look'd the fwain; [again, He eyed her, and fmil'd, and then eyed her "Pray how many miles, Ma'am, to Scarborough town ?" [down.

They told him, near feven they had to trot

he; [may fee." "It's drawing towards nine. by the fun you "A man of my honor'd profeffion, I vow, "Should have lighted in Scarborough long before now."

He fprang up his Nag, and in hafte rode away With wishing the lafs, and the youth, a good day.

Our couple, most soberly, held on their trot Till they, with their pleasures, to Scarborough got;

When, to their furprize,-for, furprize did not fail,

They faw the professional man in the jail; When, enquiring the reafon, from Turnkeys and Lockets,

The profeffion he'd follow'd :-'Twas picking

of Pockets.

Birmingham, Aug. 2, 1793. W.HUTTON.

LINES, to a young Lady, on her presenting the Author with a Brawing of "Rousseau's Tomb in the Ifle of Poplars," at Ermenonville, near Faris, juft before her departure from -, July, 1793.

HANKS to Eliza's art, that trac'd

TH

This fairy fpot in colors clear; Pure as her own enlighten'd taste, And foft as melting Pity's tear.

Romantic ifle! thy poplars wave

Yet fee-they tremble o'er the grave
Their gloom, to please a parted fhade!

Where a cold Deift's bones are laid.

What though they whifper to the breeze Plaints that might foothe the ear of Love; As Halcyon ftills the ruffled feas,

Or warbling woodlark charms the grove ;
They murmur but to waken pain,
Where Virtue holds no quiet fleep:

They touch the gentle foul in vain,
Where blushing virgins dare not weep.
Yet, fhall I love the Elyfian ifle,
That oft may rife in kind relief,
To bid me catch Eliza's fmile,

And calm, by fancy's aid, my grief.
And when, far off, the bark fhall bear

Her form from this forfaken fhore; When my poor widow'd heart shall share Eliza's fympathy no more;

Haply the pencil'd scene may move,

To memory dear, a thousand fighs! But, ah! that TOMB can only prove→ The type of all my bury'd jo;s!

P.

MARY':