TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

COME, Philomela! from the southern grove, Thy favour'd haunt, here deign awhile to stray; And as, on Humbria's banks, forlorn I rove, Pour on my listening ear thy plaintive lay!

Oh! how I long, when creeps the joyless hour, And o'er the landscape evening's shades descend, Musing, to sit in some sequester'd bower,

And with thy song my sighs responsive blend!

Then, as adown my cheek the salt tears steal,

Let thy soft notes in mournful cadence flow, Till, quite unnerv'd, their magic power I feel; Immers'd in all the luxury of woe!

Strains so extoll'd as thine must sure impart Most exquisite sensations to the wounded heart!

ON A BOY

BUILDING A CASTLE OF CARDS,

SEE where, a wond'rous edifice to raise,
His hours the youthful architect employs ;
With busy face the fragile pile surveys,
And o'er its fancy'd beauties inly joys!

The pigmy dome in puerile grandeur stands! Yet e'er its towers to wish'd perfection rise, Blasting his hopes, it sinks beneath his hands, And, lamentable sight! in ruin lies.

Spectator, smile not at the luckless youth;
Here view thy folly, here thine error trace,
If still, regardless of the voice of truth,

Thy hopes are grounded on an earthly base.

A breath, a touch destroys his card-built wall:Death strikes, all sublunary blessings fall.

TO RELIGION.

COME, meek Religion! with thy smiles serene, The gloomy clouds of earthly cares dispel ; Wean my affections from this transient scene, And give my heart with heav'nly hopes to swell!

Do thou each erring, wand'ring thought repress,
Curb each fierce passion, check each wild desire;
With grateful love my feeble pow'rs possess,
And fill my bosom with celestial fire!

Let Pleasure's thoughtless train their orgies keep; Elate in quest of sweets forbidden rove;

And sense of guilt in cups oblivious steep;

Be mine that bliss thy faithful vot❜ries prove!

Thro' life with lib'ral hand thy blessings show'r; With joys ecstatic crown my dying hour!

ON A MOTH,

THAT FLYING SEVERAL TIMES ROUND THE AUTHOR'S CANDLE, WAS AT LENGTH BURNT IN THE FLAME.

CHARM'D by the candle's fascinating rays,

See where around yon thoughtless insect flies! Receding oft, as oft it courts the blaze,

Till caught at last, it quivers, shrinks, and dies!

So fares the youth whom vicious joys allure!
Eager to fly where Pleasure seems ť invite,
Despising counsel, now, in thought secure,

He feels her baleful influence with delight;

More cautious now, awhile he shuns the snare;
But soon the wild, licentious wish returns-
In vain do Reason, Virtue, cry "beware!"
To prove the fancied bliss his bosom burns:

Till taught too late his error to deplore,
A self-devoted prey, he falls-to rise no more!

HORNSEA.

HORNSEA! to me how sweet, how justly dear, Each modest charm thy well-known scenery yields;

Thy sea-beat shore, thy island-spangled Mere, Thy airy walks, bright meads, and cultur'd fields.

For that when first these charms to witness brought

By wayward fortune, friendless and unknown, BENIGNUS* deign'd the timid youth to note; My converse wish'd, and bless'd me with his

own!

With fostering hand he lib'rally supply'd

The mental food which most my soul desir'd: His friendship fill'd my heart with honest pride; His precepts form'd me, his example fir'd!

While thro' my veins the crimson tide shall roll, For this thy scenes shall e'er delight my grateful soul.

The late Rev. H. R. Whytehead.