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In vain surly Pluto declared he was cheated,
And Justice divine could, not compass its ends,
The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated,
For earth becomes heav'n with wife, children, and
friends.

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested,
The fund ill secur'd oft in bankruptcy ends,
But the heart issues bills that are never protested
When drawn on the firm of wife, children & friends.
Tho' valour still glows in his life's waning embers

The death-wounded tar (who his colours defends)
Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers,
How blest was his home, with wife, children, & friends
The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends,
With transport would barter whole ages of glory,
For one happy day with wife, children, and friends.
Tho' spice-breathing gales o'er his caravan hover,

Though round him Arabia's whole fragrance descends, The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover The bow'r where he sat with wife, children & friends.

The day spring of youth still unclouded with sorrow, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends,

But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow

No warmth from the smiles of wife, children, & friends. Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish

The laurel which o'er her dead favourite bends,
O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish,
Bedew'd with the tears of wife, children, and friends.

Let us drink for my song's growing graver and graver,
To subjects too solemn insensibly tends,
Let us drink pledge me high, love and virtue shall flavor
The glass that I fill to wife, children, and friends.
And if in the hope this fair island to plunder,

Some foreign power to invade us pretends,

How his legions will shrink when our arm'd freemen thunder

The war cry of Britons, "wife, children, and friends."

L

STREW, STREW WITH ROSES.
STREW, Strew with roses,

Life's rough path and let's be gay,
Thoughtless youth proposes,
And trifle time away :

But youth's a fleeting April morn,
This lesson seems to bring,
Every rose will bear a thorn,
And time is on the wing.
Trip, trip to measure,

Dulcet as the voice of love;
Warble sons of pleasure,

Adown the flowery grove:

But Love's sweet voice will oft betray,
And Pleasure cloy'd will sing,
Every flower must fade away,
And time is on the wing."

66

THE WORLD.

THE world, my dear Mira, is full of deceit,
And friendship's a jewel, you seldom can meet;
How strange does it seem, that in searching around,
The source of content is so rare to be found.

O Friendship! thou balm and rich sweet'ner of life,
Kind parent of ease and composer of strife;
Without thee alas! what are riches and power,
But empty delusions, the joys of an hour.
How much to be prized and esteemed is a friend,
In whom we may always with safety depend :
Our joys when extended will always increase,
And griefs, when divided, are hushed into peace.
When fortune is smiling, what crowds will appear,
Their kindness to offer, and friendship sincere-
Oh! change but the prospect, and point out distress,
No longer to court you they'll eagerly press.

CONTENTMENT.

J. S. Wells,

CONTENTMENT! source of humble joys,
O lead me far from worldly noise;

Conduct me to thy bless'd retreat,
Where I may hear thy accents sweet,
Where I may calmly pass my days,
And live in peace and sing thy praise,
Beneath an humble, thatch'd-roof cot,
And ne'er repine at other's lot,
Contentment! source of happiness,
Thou gives a smile e'en to distress;
Invite thy sister, Resignation,
To comfort me in lowly station-
To smooth my brow, in pain and care,
And drive far from me, grim Despair-
Within my cottage may I see

Sweet Peace and calm Tranquility.

HEAVEN SHIELD THE MARINER.

A DUET.

HEAVEN shield the mariner on his path of storms : Where the breakers white

Flings o'er the night

A thousand dreadful forms;

When the stars are wrap'd in gloom, And ev'ry wave comes like a doom,Heaven shield the Mariner on his path of storms.

MATERNAL LOVE.

AH! little doth the young one dream,

Wordsworth.

When full of play and childish cares,
What power hath e'en his wildest scream,
Heard by his Mother unawares.

He knows it not-he cannot guess—
Years to a Mother brings distress,
Lut do not make her love the less,

THE LINNET.

THE Bird that hear her nestling's cry,
And flies abroad for food,

Returns, impatient, through the sky,
To nurse her callow brood.-

The tender Mother knows no joy,
But bodes a thousand harms,
And sickens for her darling boy,
While absent from her arms,

AGRICULTURAL MAXIMS.

MASTER to the plough
Mistress to the cow,
Boy to the mow,

Girl to knit and sow,
Will pay the rent now.

But-Master with his Tally-ho!
Mistress with her Piano !

Boy with his Latin-o!

Girl with her Satin-o!

Must end in Ruin-o!

ON WORLDLY GRIEF.

THE old sow died,
The little pig cried,

And lamented his mammy sore;

But a Lawyer came,

When they buried the Dame,

And the old Sow's will read o'er.

The will was read

Of the old Sow dead,
And the little pig wept no more,
For she left him a deal
Of right good barley-meal,
And she left him an acorn store.

A SOLDIER'S GRATITUDE.

WHATE'ER my fate, where'er I roam,
By sorrow still oppress'd,

I'll ne'er forget the peaceful home,
That gave the wanderer rest,

Then ever rove life's sunny banks.
By sweetest flow'rets strewed;
Still may you claim a soldier's thanks,
A soldier's gratitude.

The tender sigh, the balmy tear,
That meek-ey'd pity gave,

My last expiring hour shall cheer,
And bless the wanderer's grave.

Then ever rove, &c.

THE ANCHOR-SMITHS.

Dibdin.

LIKE Etna's dread volcano, see the ample forge,
Large heaps upon large heaps of jetty fuel gorge
While salamander-like, the ponderous anchor lies,
Glutted with vivid fire, through all its pores that flies;
The dingy anchor-smiths, to renovate their strength,
Stretch'd out in death-like sleep are snoring at their
length,

Waiting their master's signal, when the tackle's force,
Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire divorce;
While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang,
In deafening concert shall their hammers clang
And into symmetry the mass incongruous beat,
To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant Brit-
ish fleet.

Now, as more vivid and intense each splinter flies,
The temper of the fire the skillful master tries;
And, as the dingy hue assumes a brilliant red,
The heated anchor feeds that fire on which it fed,
The huge sledge hammers round in order they arrange,
And 'waking anchor-smiths await the looked-for change.
Longing with all their force the ardent mass to smite,
When issuing from the fire arrayed in dazzling white :
And as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang
To make, in concert rude, their ponderous hammers clang,
So the mis-shapen lump to symmetry they beat
To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant Brit-
ish fleet.

The preparations thicken, with forks the fire they goad,
And now twelve anchor-smiths the heaving bellows load;

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