WHEN friendship or love

Our sympathies move,

When truth, in a glance, should appear;

The lips may beguile,

With a dimple or smile,

But the test of affection's a tear.

Too oft is a smile

But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,

Whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a tear.

Mild charity's glow,

To us mortals below,

Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt

Where this virtue is felt,

And its dew is diffused in a tear.

The man doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer;
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a tear.

The soldier braves death,
For a fanciful wreath,
In glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe,

When in battle laid low,

And bathes every wound with a tear.

If with high-bounding pride,

He return to his bride,
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid,

When, embracing the maid,

From her eyelid he kisses the tear.

Sweet scene of my youth,

Seat of friendship and truth,

Where love chased each fast-fleeting year;

Loath to leave thee, I mourn'd,

For a last look I turn'd,

But thy spire was scarce seen through a tear.

Though my vows I can pour

To my Mary no more,

My Mary to love once so dear;

In the shade of her bower,

I remember the hour,

She rewarded those vows with a tear.

By another possess'd,

May she live ever bless'd,

Her name still my

heart must revere;

With a sigh I resign

What I once thought was mine,

And forgive her deceit with a tear.

Ye friends of my heart,

Ere from you I depart,

This hope to my breast is most near;

If again we shall meet

In this rural retreat,

May we meet, as we part, with a tear.

When my soul wings her flight,
To the regions of night,

And my corse shall recline on its bier;
As ye pass by the tomb,
Where my ashes consume,

Oh! moisten their dust with a tear.

May no marble bestow

The splendour of wo,

Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame

Shall blazon my name,

All I ask, all I wish, is a tear.

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,

DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF « THE WHEEL OE FORTUNE," AT A PRIVATE THEATRE.

SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age,
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expunged licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;
Since now to please with purer scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from beauty's cheek;
Oh! let the modest muse some pity claim,
And meet indulgence though she find not fame.
Still, not for her alone, we wish respect,
Others appear more conscious of defect;
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;
No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here,
No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear;
To-night you throng to witness the debut
Of embryo actors, to the drama new;
Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try,
Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly;
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,

Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise,

But all our dramatis personæ wait,
In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these, each hero all his power displays,
Each timid heroine shrinks before your gaze;
Surely the last will some protection find,
None to the softer sex can prove unkind;
Whilst youth and beauty form the female shield,
The sternest censor to the fair must yield.
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail;
Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

ON THE DEATH OF MR FOX.

The following illiberal Impromptu appeared in a Morning Paper.

« OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death,
But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath;
These feelings wide let sense and truth unclue,
We give the palm where justice points it due."

To which the Author of these Pieces sent the following Reply.

OH! factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth;