FROM right to left, and to and fro,
Caught in a labyrinth, you go,
And turn, and turn, and turn again,
To solve the mystery, but in vain;
Stand still and breathe, and take from me
A clew that soon shall set you free!
Not Ariadne, if you meet her,
Herself could serve you with a better.
You enter'd easily-find where-
And make, with ease, your exit there!
XX. NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE
THE lover, in melodious verses,
His singular distress rehearses,
Still closing with a rueful cry,
Was ever such a wretch as I!"
Yes! thousands have endured before
All thy distress; some haply more.
Unnumber'd Corydons complain,
And Strephons, of the like disdain:
And if thy Chloe be of steel,
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel;
Not her alone that censure fits,
Nor thou alone has lost thy wits.
To grass, or leaf, or fruit or wall,
The Snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
Who seeks him must be worse than blind, (He and his house are so combined,) If, finding it, he fails to find
FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.
HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r
In Heav'n, 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 O impart
To each desires sincere,
That we may listen with our heart,
And learn as well as hear.
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 show'r'd on those,
Who plac'd us where it shines.
Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish of All-Saints, Northampton,*
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turres.
Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor!
WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly rua
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
All these, life's rambling journey done,
Have found their home, the grave.
Was man (frail always,) made more frail
Than in foregoing years?
Did famine or did plague prevail,
That so much death appears ?
No; these were vigorous as their sires,
Nor plague nor famine came;
This annual tribute Death requires,
And never waves his claim.
• Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.
Like crowded forest-trees we stand,
And some are mark'd to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command,
And soon shall smite us all.
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on,
The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen,
I pass'd-and they were gone.
Read, ye that run, the awful truth
With which I charge my page;
A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.
No present health can health ensure
For yet an hour to come;
No medicine, though it oft can cure,
Can always balk the tomb.
And O! that, humble as my lot,
And scorn'd as is my strain,
These truths, though known, too much forgot,
I may not teach in vain.
So prays your clerk with all his heart,
And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part,
And answer all-Amen!
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