You suppose you 're a genius, that ought to engage You imagine that Pope-but yourself you beguile — Would have wrote the same things, had he chose the same style. Delude not yourself with so fruitless a hope, Had he chose the same style, he had never been Pope, You think of my muse with a friendly regard, When pleased with his honours, remember his fate. FRAGMENT. "Lord, what is man, that thou art mindful of him?" PROUD, little Man, opinion's slave, Aldborough, 1778. Error's fond child, too duteous to be free, Say, from the cradle to the grave, Is not the earth thou tread'st too grand for thee? THE RESURRECTION. Aldborough, 1778. THE wintry winds have ceased to blow, And trembling leaves appear; And hail the infant year. So, when the world and all its woes Fair scenes and wonderful repose When, from the confines of the grave, No more precarious passion's slave, Nor error's sacrifice. 'Tis but a sleep-and Sion's king Will call the many dead: 'Tis but a sleep- and then we sing, O'er dreams of sorrow fled. Yes! - wintry winds have ceased to blow, And Nature has her types to show MY BIRTH-DAY Aldborough, Dec. 24. 1778. THROUGH a dull tract of woe, of dread, The toiling year has pass'd and fled : Trembling and poor, I saw the light, Time in my pathway strews few flowers, Beccles, 1779. TO ELIZA. THE Hebrew king, with spleen possest, But, had he known Eliza's skill And not a care return'd again. LIFE. Aldborough, 1779. THINK ye the joys that fill our early day, The jovial swain that yokes the morning team, Lo! the gay lights of Youth are past—are dead, THE SACRAMENT. Aldborough, 1779 O! SACRED gift of God to man, A faith that looks above, And sees the deep amazing plan Of sanctifying love. Thou dear and yet tremendous God, How did'st thou change thy awful rod Shut up with sin, with shame, below, I do believe, that, God of light! I know thou did'st ordain for me, NIGHT. Aldborough, 1779. The sober stillness of the night That fills the silent air, And all that breathes along the shore Invite to solemn prayer. Vouchsafe to me that spirit, Lord! Which points the sacred way, FRAGMENT, WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. Он, great Apollo! by whose equal aid Aldborough, 1779. The verse is written, and the med'cine made; |