So barren sands imbibe the show'r, They whisper trivial things, and small; But, to communicate at all Things serious, deem improper ; These samples (for alas! at last Pursue the theme, and you shall find True friendship has, in short, a grace, That proves it Heav'n-descended: Man's love of woman not so pure, Nor, when sincerest, so secure ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED, SEPTEMBER 1782. OLL for the brave! TOL The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; His sword was in its sheath; When Kempenfelt went down, With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! W SONG. HEN all within is peace, Delights that never cease, From morn to dewy eve, With open hand she showers Fresh blessings, to deceive And soothe the silent hours. It is content of heart Gives Nature power to please; The mind that feels no smart, Enlivens all it sees; Can make a wintry sky Seem bright as smiling May, And evening's closing eye, The vast majestic globe, So beauteously array'd Is to a mourner's heart A dreary wild at best; It flutters to depart, T THE ROSE. HE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r, The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, And weigh'd down its beautiful head. The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, To weep for the buds it had left with regret I hastily seized it, unfit as it was And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile. ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE. UNS that set and moons that wane, Rise, and are restored again, Stars that orient day subdues, Night at her return renews. Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth H1 EPITAPH ON JOHNSON. ERE Johnson lies-a sage by all allow'd, Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, Whose verse may claim-grave, masculine, and strong, Who many a noble gift from Heav'n possess'd, O man, immortal by a double prize, By fame on earth-by glory in the skies! |