A COMPARISON. THE lapse of time and rivers is the same, ANOTHER. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng; SONG ON PEACE. Air-" My fond shepherds of late," &c. No longer I follow a sound; No longer a dream I pursue; O Happiness! not to be found, I have sought thee in splendour and dress, An humble ambition and hope The voice of true Wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind SONG. Air-"The Lass of Patie's Mill.”、 WHEN all within is peace, How nature seems to smile! Delights that never cease, The live-long day beguile. 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 Can make a wintry sky The vast majestic globe, A dreary wild at best; It flutters to depart, And longs to be at rest. P し ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED, To the March in Scipio. TOLL for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Eight hundred of the brave, A land breeze shook the shrouds, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. |