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« In vain the feather'd songsters raise Their sweetest notes in varied lays,
And animate each strain ;
Meand'ring through the plain.
6. The flow'rs in splendid beauty gay, In vain their brightest charms display,
They gladden not the eye; All Nature wears a cheerless gloom, Unheeded all her beauties bloom,
Unheeded' droop and die.
« Ye, who are lost to purer joys,
Th' illusions of an hour;
Feel Virtue's fostering power.
~ Do thou, celestial maid, inspire A kindly glimpse of heavenly fire,
Do thou propitious smile ; A ray of thy all-cheering light, Shall soon dispel the clouds of night, And sweeten every
toil.” Literary Magazine.
THE CARELESS COUPLE.
Jenny is poor, and I am poor,
VERSES Written in Jamaica, in the Dog Days.
TO A FRIEND.
O'er fertile vales, and mountains green,
You bid my wand'ring eye to stray ; And tell me each surrounding scene
Affords a subject for my lay.
« Go, sing yon pure meand'ring stream,
That thro' luxuriant valleys roves; That now reflects the noontide beam,
Now hides within the fragrant groves.
“ Did e'er your boasted native Tweed.
In such romantic windings play? Or found he e'er so fair a mead,
Thro' which to sport his wanton way..
“ Bleak, bare, and barren, Cheviot lours;
Chill is the wind, and keen the frost, But these more lofty hills of ours.
Eternal vegetation boast."
My eye, 'tis true, this moment views
The richest scenes e'er poet sung; Yet unpropitious is the muse,
My heart unfir'd, my harp unstrung.
Say, what avails the scented grove ?
Or what the verdure of the vale ? Amidst their beauties can we rove?
Or can we half their sweets inhale?
Or, what avails the mountain's pride,
That thus attracts the longing eye! We cannot climb its beauteous side,
To taste the distant charins we spy.
A burning sun, a sultry air,
Our nerves in listless languor bind; Each active principle impair,
And ev'ry function of the mind...
In temp'rate climates reign the nine,
Where healthfuł bards may widely stroll; There passion breathes in ev'ry line, i
And fancy kindles all the soul. *'s :
But, underneath this glowing sky,
Our first felicity is ease:
PROMOTION IN THE NAVY.
Ben Block was a veteran of naval renown,
And renown was his only reward ;
And no intrest he had with my lord.
And he'd laugh at the cannon's loud roar;
And the scuppers were streaming with gore.
Nor could a lieutenant's poor stipend provoke
The staunch tar to despise scanty prog; But his biscuit he'd crack, turn his quid, crack a joke,
And drown care in a jorum of grog! That year after year, in a subaltern's state,
Poor Ben for his king fought and bled; 'Till time had unroof'd all the thatch from his pate,
And the hair from his temples had fled.
When, on humbly saluting, with sinciput bare,
The first Lord of the Admiralty once, Says his lordship, “ Lieutenant, you've lost all your hair,” Why, my lord,” reply'd Ben, “it with truth may be
said, While a bald pate I long have stood under, There have so many captains walk'd over my head, To see me quite scalp'd 'twere no wonder.”