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Did not oft thy breath destroy
Fair Contentment's blooming flow's,
Wither ev'ry social joy,

And corrode life's sweetest hour;

Did not oft thy poison'd shaft

Pierce the breast that most we prize, And on fading faith engraft

Doubt, constraint, and sad surmise.

Luckless is. that child of care,

Who beneath thy scourge must live, Doom'd from early youth to bear All the torments thou canst give.

Once thy fatal influence spread,
Candour takes no further part;
Ignorance suspects the head,
Prejudice belies the heart.

Hard and cruel is his lot,
Ev'ry merit is denied ;
All his virtues are forgot,
All his errors magnified.

Fiend relentless-tyrant grim-
Yet awhile, and all is o'er;
When the lamp of life is dim

Thou wilt be observ'd no more.

When the sad, the fun'ral knell,
Shall his parted breath proclaim,
Faithful mem'ry then shall tell

Whether he deserv'd such blame.

Love, perhaps, may o'er his tomb
Drop a tender silent tear;
Friendship too lament a doom,
Enmity may think severe.

County Magazine.

THE ANGLER'S WISH.

I IN these flow'ry meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise,
I with my angle would rejoice,

Sit here and see the turtle dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love;

Or on that bank, feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty, please my mind
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then wash'd off by April showers:
Here hear my Kenna sing a song,
There see a blackbird feed her young;

Or a leverock build her nest;
Here give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:

Thus free from law-suits, and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice;

Or with my Bryan, and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat;
There see the sun both rise and set;
There bid good morning to next day;
There meditate my time away:
And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.

Walton.

EPIGRAM.

On a dissatisfied, ill-tempered, Man.

STILL restless, still chopping and changing about; Still enlarging, rebuilding, and making a rout; Little Timothy, outrè as it may appear,

Pulls down, and builds up again, ten times a year: With this altering rage, poor dissatisfy'd elf,

What a pity it is he don't alter himself.

Anonymous.

AN EVENING'S WALK.

THE air was still, the sky serene,
The sun had yet an hour's day;
When thro' the mead 1 trod unseen
My usual solitary way.

Sudden the clouds with darkness rise,
The thunder grumbles in the wind;
The rains descend, the lightning flies,
True emblem of frail life we find.

Peaceful and quiet is this hour,

The next brings on sad ills of life; Misfortune's clouds begin to low'r, With malice, bickerings, and strife.

Then happy they whose humble shed

Can screen them till the storm is past; Where sweet content, by temp'rance fed, Shall be their shelter to the last.

Fly swift, ye shafts of envy, fly!
Malevolence, like lightning's dart,

The blaze awhile may terrify,

But ne'er can hurt the upright heart.

County Magazine.

THE ROSE.

Go, lovely Rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spy'd,

That hadst thou sprung

In desarts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy'd.

Small is the worth

Of beauty, from the light retir'd;

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desir'd,

And not so blush to be admir'd.

Then die! that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee,

How small a part of time they share,
That are so wond'rous sweet and fair!

Waller.

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