And qualities of mind,
Illustrious in the eyes of those
Whose gay society he chose
Possess'd of every kind.

Methinks I see him powder'd red,
With bushy locks his well-dress'd head
Wing'd broad on either side,
The mossy rosebud not so sweet;
His steeds superb, his carriage neat
As luxury could provide.

Can such be cruel? Such can be
Cruel as hell, and so was he;
A tyrant entertain'd

With barbarous sports, whose fell delight
Was to encourage mortal fight

'Twixt birds to battle train'd.

One feather'd champion he possess'd,
His darling far beyond the rest,
Which never knew disgrace,
Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow
The life-blood of his fiercest foe,
The Cæsar of his race.

It chanced, at last, when, on a day,
He push'd him to a desperate fray,
His courage droop'd, he fled.
The master storm'd, the prize was lost,
And, instant, frantic at the cost,

He doom'd his favourite dead.

He seized him fast, and from the pit
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit,
And, "bring me cord," he cried;
The cord was brought, and, at his word,
To that dire implement the bird
Alive and struggling, tied.

The horrid sequel asks a veil,
And all the terrors of a tale

That can be, shall be, sunk.—
Led by the sufferer's screams aright
His shock'd companions view the sight
And him with fury drunk.

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate
For the old warrior at the grate :
He, deaf to pity's call,
Whirled round him, rapid as a wheel,
His culinary club of steel,

Death menacing on all.

But vengeance hung not far remote,
For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat,
And heaven and earth defied,

Big with a curse too closely pent
That struggled vainly for a vent,
He totter'd, reel'd, and died.

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise,
To point the judgment of the skies;
But judgments plain as this,
That, sent for man's instruction, bring
A written label on their wing,
'Tis hard to read amiss.

ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 1789.

O SOVEREIGN of an isle renown'd

For undisputed sway

Wherever o'er yon gulf profound
Her navies wing their way,

With juster claims she builds at length
Her empire on the sea,

And well may boast the waves her strength
Which strength restored to Thee.

HYMN,

FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.

HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,
In heaven Thy dwelling place,

From infants made the public care,

And taught to seek Thy face!

Thanks for Thy Word, and for Thy Day;

And grant us, we implore,

Never to waste in sinful play

Thy holy Sabbaths more.

Thanks that we hear,-but oh! impart
To each desires sincere,

That we may listen with our heart,

And learn as well as hear.

*Written at the request of the Vicar of Olney, to be sung on the occasion of his preaching to the children of the Sunday School.

For if vain thoughts the minds engage

Of older far than we,

What hope that at our heedless age
Our minds should e'er be free?

Much hope, if Thou our spirits take
Under Thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.

Wisdom and bliss Thy word bestows,

A sun that ne'er declines;

And be Thy mercies shower'd on those
Who placed us where it shines.

ON THE RECEIPT OF A HAMPER.*
(IN THE MANNER OF HOMER.)

THE straw-stuff'd hamper with his ruthless steel
He open'd, cutting sheer the inserted cords,
Which bound the lid and lip secure.

Forth came

The rustling package first, bright straw of wheat,

Or oats, or barley; next a bottle green

Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill'd
Drop after drop odorous, by the art

Of the fair mother of his friend-the Rose.

ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL,

WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE.

Go!-thou art all unfit to share
The pleasures of this place
With such as its old tenants are,
Creatures of gentler race.

The squirrel here his hoard provides,
Aware of wintry storms;

And woodpeckers explore the sides

Of rugged oaks for worms.

"My dear Friend-The hamper is come, and come safe; and the contents I can affirm, on my own knowledge, are excellent. It chanced that another hamper and a box came by the same conveyance, all which I unpacked and expounded in the hall, my cousin sitting meantime on the stairs, spectatress of the business; we diverted ourselves with imagining the manner in which Homer would have described the scene. Detailed in his circumstantial way, it would have furnished materials for a paragraph of considerable length in the Odyssey."-To Mr Rose, Oct. 4, 1789.

The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn
With frictions of her fleece;
And here I wander eve and morn,
Like her, a friend to peace.

Ah!-I could pity the exiled

From this secure retreat;-
I would not lose it to be styled
The happiest of the great.

But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to shew

Thy magnanimity in fight,

Thy prowess, therefore, go!

I care not whether east or north,
So I no more may find thee;

The angry muse thus sings thee forth,
And claps the gate behind thee.

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR LLOYD,

SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT AFTER HIS

DECEASE.

OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was itself a feast.

O ye of riper years, who recollect

How once ye loved and eyed him with respect,
Both in the firmness of his better day,
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when impair'd by time, and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest,
He took his annual seat, and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours,-now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,

He knew no wish that he might blush to speak,
But, happy in whatever state below,

And richer than the rich in being so,

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed
At length from one,* as made him rich indeed.
Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here!
Go, garnish merit in a higher sphere,
The brows of those, whose more exalted lot
He could congratulate, but envied not.
Light lie the turf, good senior, on thy breast!
And tranquil as thy mind was, be thy rest.

He was the father of Robert Lloyd, and usher and under-master at Westminster for nearly fifty years. He retired from his occupation in his seventieth year, with a pension from the king.

Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame,
And not a stone now chronicles thy name.

ABIIT senex!

Periit senex amabilis !
Quo non fuit jucundior.
Lugete vos, ætas quibus maturior
Senem colendum præstitit,
Seu quando, viribus valentioribus
Firmoque fretus pectore,

Florentiori vos juventute excolens
Curâ fovebat patriâ ;

Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus rude,
Vultu sed usque blandulo,

Miscere gaudebat suas facetias
His annuis leporibus.

Vixit probus, purâque simplex indole,
Blandisque comis moribus,

Et dives æquâ mente,-charus omnibus,
Unius auctus munere.

Ite, tituli! Meritis beatioribus
Aptate laudes debitas!

Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens
Fortuna plus arriserat.

Placide senex, levi quiescas cespite,
Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi

Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo
Lapis notatus nomine.

TO MRS THROCKMORTON,

ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE
66 AD LIBRUM SUUM.”
" *

MARIA, Could Horace have guess'd
What honour awaited his ode

To his own little volume address'd,

The honour which you have bestow'd,

Who have traced it in characters here,

So elegant, even, and neat,

He had laugh'd at the critical sneer

Which he seems to have trembled to meet.

And sneer if you please, he had said,

A nymph shall hereafter arise,

"You must know that two odes by Horace have been lately discovered at Rome; I wanted them transcribed into the blank leaves of a little Horace of mine, and Mrs Throckmorton performed that service for me; in a blank leaf, therefore, of the same book I wrote the following."-To Lady Hesketh, Feb. 9, 1790.