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Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne, the fky?
Afk him if your knotted fcourges,
Matches, blood-extorting fcrews,
Are the means which duty urges
Agents of his will to use?

Hark! he answers; wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder fea with wrecks,
Wafting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks:
He, foreseeing what vexations

Afric's fons fhould undergo,
Fix'd their tyrants' habitations

Where the whirlwinds answer-No

By our blood in Afric wafted,

Ere our necks receiv'd the chain;
By the mis'ries that we tafted,

Croffing, in our barks, the main ;
By our fuff'rings, fince you brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
All fuftain'd with patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart.

Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till fome reafon ye shall find
Worthier of regard, and ftronger
Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold! whofe fordid dealings
Tarnifh all your boasted pow'rs,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere ye proudly question ours!

TO AN OLD MAN.

COLERIDGE.

WEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled

Hoar with the fnowy blaft; while no one cares To clothe thy fhrivell'd limbs and palfy'd head!

dairs

My father! throw away this tatter'd vest,

That mocks thy fhiv'ring! take my garment-use
A young man's arm! I'll melt thefe frozen dews
That hang from thy white beard, and numb thy breast.

My Sarah, too, fhall tend thee, like a child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire-fide's recefs,
Of purple pride, and fcowls on wretchedness--
He did not fcowl, the GALILEAN mild,

Who met the LAZAR turn'd from rich man's doors,
And call'd him friend, and wept upon his fores!

WHERE

THE RURAL PAIR.

WHERE confluent torrents join their stream, that
flow

Hoarfely adown yon fteepy mountain's brow,
Behold a fpot! embrown'd with lofty trees,
Whofe foliage quivers to the gentle breeze:
Near it a cottage ftands, mean and obscure,
Its turfy fides with fhaggy mofs grown o'er.
No Doric frieze adorns the humble roof;

'Tis warmly thatch'd-and 'gainft the tempeft proof. The honeft tenant of that lowly fhed,

Though doom'd to toil from day to day for bread,
Is greatly rich-His foul feels pure content;
His deeds are noble, and his life well spent ;
Betime he feeks repofe, betime awakes,
And plods to labour ere the morning breaks:
No cares corroding rankle in his breast,
He fips the tranfport of unenvy'd reft,
And is in humble virtue truly bless'd.
Loving and lov'd-join'd to a tender wife,
Cheerful he treads the rugged maze of life;
Bends with fubmiffion to Heav'n's awful will,
And thanks the Pow'r that shelters him from ill.
But, lo, the dame! how lovely is her mien !
There virtue fpeaks, there piety is feen;
There rural innocence and artlefs ease
Live to delight, to animate, and please.

Around her steps attend a fmiling train
Of beauteous babes, fome favour to obtain:
With all the prudence of maternal love,
She forms their manners, early as they move;
Liftens, with kind indulgence, to each moan,
And feeds their lips while fhe neglects her own;
From their young minds difperfes error's gloom,
And tends their infant virtues till they bloom.

So the fair oak, that overhangs the vale,
Guards the young fapling from the blafting gale;.
With outfpread arms, affords a tender fhade,
And gives to rifing nature-nature's aid.

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ODE TO WISDOM.

BARBAULD.

WISDOM! if thy foft control
Can foothe the fickness of the foul;
Can bid the warring paffions ceafe,
And breathe the calm of tender peace;
Wisdom! I blefs thy gentle fway,
And ever, ever will obey.

But if thou com'ft, with frown auftere,
To nurse the brood of care and fear-
To bid our sweeteft paffions die,
And leave us in their room a figh-
Or if thine afpect ftern have pow'r
To wither each poor tranfient flow'r
That cheers this pilgrimage of woe,
And dry the fprings whence hope fhould flow-
Wisdom! thine empire I disclaim,
Thou empty boaft of pompous name!
In gloomy fhade of cloister dwell,
But never haunt my cheerful cell.
Hail to pleasure's frolic train!
Hail to fancy's golden reign!
Feftive mirth, and laughter wild,
Free and fportful as the child!
Hope, with eager fparkling eyes,
And eafy faith, and fond furprife!

Let thefe, in fairy colours drefs'd,
For ever fhare my carelefs breaft:
Then, though wife I may not be,
The wife themselves fhall envy me.

VERSES, by R. B. SHERIDAN, Esq.

[MR. SHERIDAN, meeting MISS LINLEY, (afterwards MRS. SHERIDAN,) at the Entrance of a Grotto, in the Vicinity of Bath, took the Liberty of offering her fome Advice, with which apprehending she was difpleafed, he left the following Lines in the Grotto, next Duy.]

NCOUTH is this mofs-cover'd grotto of stone,
And damp is the fhade of this dew-dripping tree;
Yet I this rude grotto with rapture will own,
And, willow! thy damps are refreshing to me.
For this is the grotto where Delia reclin'd,
As late I in fecret her confidence fought;
And this is the tree kept her safe from the wind,
As blushing she heard the grave leffon I taught.

Then tell me, thou grotto of mofs-cover'd stone !
And tell me, thou willow! with leaves dripping dew,
Did Delia feem vex'd when Horatio was gone?
And did fhe confefs her refentment to you?

Methinks now each bough, as you're waving it, tries
To whisper a caufe for the forrow I feel;
To hint how she frown'd, when I dar'd to advise,
And figh'd, when she saw that I did it with zeal.

True, true, filly leaves! so she did, I allow;
She frown'd, but no rage in her looks could I fee:
She frown'd, but reflection had clouded her brow:
She figh'd, but perhaps 'twas in pity to me.
Then wave thy leaves brifker, thou willow of woe!
I tell thee no rage in her looks could I fee:
I cannot, I will not believe it was fo;

She was not, fhe could not be angry with me.

For well did she know that my heart meant to wrong
It funk at the thought of but giving her pain:

But trufted its task to a faltering tongue,

Which err'd from the feelings it could not explain.
Yet, oh! if indeed I've offended the maid,
If Delia my humble monition refuse;
Sweet willow! the next time fhe vifits thy shade,
Fan gently her bosom, and plead my excufe.

And thou, ftony grot! in thy arch may'st preserve
Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew;
And just let them fall at her feet, and they'll serve
As tears of my forrow entrusted to you.

Or, left they unheeded should fall at her feet,
Let them fall on her bofom of fnow, and I fwear,
The next time I vifit thy mofs-cover'd seat,

I'll pay thee each drop with a genuine tear.

So may'ft thou, green willow! for ages thus tofs
Thy branches fo lank o'er the flow-winding stream;
And thou, ftony grotto! retain all thy mofs,

While yet there's a poet to make thee his theme.
Nay more-may my Delia ftill give you her charms,
Each ev'ning, and fometimes the whole ev'ning long;
Then, grotto! be proud to support her white arms;
Then, willow! wave all thy green tops to her fong.

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THE BRAVE-AN ODE.

COLLINS.

OW fleep the brave, who fink to reft,
By all their country's wishes blefs'd!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there fhall drefs a fweeter fod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unfeen their dirge is fung:
Then Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To blefs the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom fhall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

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