And yet this strange, this sudden flight, Where men nor things are what they seem, EPIGRAM. ON A BAD DINNER WITH EXCELLENT PUNCH. FRIEND Palo may boast of true orthodox merit, What he wants in the flesh he makes up in the spirit. EPIGRAM. To be French cook'd, French dress'd, French horn'd, Observe their simple lev'ling plan, They make each Peer a common Man, E. C. LOVE AND TIME. LOVE was a little blooming boy, Fond, innocent, and true: His ev'ry smile was fraught with joy, And ev'ry joy was new. Till, stealing from his mother's side, The urchin lost his way, And wand'ring far o'er desart's wide, Thus, weeping, pour'd his lay : - O Time! I'll dress thy locks of snow And all that rapture can bestow, But for one day, one little day, That I may homeward bend my way, For all my wreaths are there. Time, cheated by his tears and sighs, The wily god confest, When soaring to his native skies, He sought his mother's breast. Short was his bliss, the treach'rous boy And found amidst the proudest joy, Mrs. Robinson. EPISTLE FROM LORD MELCOMBE TO DR. YOUNG, Not long before his Lordship's death. KIND companion of my youth, He, who parts and virtue gave, THE WILD HUNTSMAN. The tradition of the Wild Huntsman is a popular superstition, very generally believed by peasants in Germany.-The original of the Ballad is by Biirger. THE Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, . To horse! to horse! halloo! halloo! The eager pack, from couples freed, Dash thro' the bush, the brier, the brake, While answering horn, and hound, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake. The beams of God's own hallow'd day Loud, long, and deep, the bell had told. But still the Wildgrave onward rides, * A German title corresponding to the Earl Warden of a royal forest. Who was each stranger, left and right, The right hand horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight light'ning's lurid ray. He wav'd his huntsman's cap on high, "Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,” Cry'd the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. To day the ill-omen'd chace forbear; Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To day the warning spirit hear, To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain." "Away and sweep the glades along," |