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Many I see have riches plenty, Fine coaches, livery-servants twenty—

But envy never pains me;My appetite's as good as theirs,
I sleep as sound, as free from fears—I've only what maintains me.

And while the precious joys I prove
Of John's true friendship, and the love

Of bonny blue-eyed Jenny
Ye Gods! my wishes are confin'd
To health of body, peace of mind,

Clean linen, and a guinea.

EPITAPH

On Robert Griffin, who died suddenly, on the point of Marriage, in his 22d Year.

If matchless virtue, if unspotted truth,

If ripen'd talents in the bloom of youth,

If polish'd manners, and if sterling sense,

With sportive wit, that never gave offence;

A face, whose features beam'd th' ingenuous mind,

A form more just than Phidias e'er design'd,

Griffin, if these—if Beauty's tears could save,

Thou hadst not sunk in this untimely grave.

For thee, dear youth! the torch of Hymen glow'd,

Bright burn'd the flame, and pure the passion flow'd;

Three tedious summers had its fervor prov'd,

And with thy own chaste fire Belinda lov'd.

Gay glides the vessel to the destin'd shore,

Sudden the tempests rage, the surges roar;

In one dire instant quench the sacred light,

And whelm the Bridegroom in eternal night.

auiiun Huseuh. T. MAURICE.

THE NOSEGAY.

Full of the muse, with doubtful feet,

I sought her grateful bower, Half hoping—half afraid to meet,

Some kind inspiring power.

When fleet along the rising gale,

The queen fair Fancy pass'd, And thro' her rainbow-tinged veil

A glance benignant call.

Then pointing to a fragrant glade,

Come see, she cry'd, the train, Who own in this sequefter'd shade

My visionary reign.

Proud to obey the glad command,
I took with silent awe my ftand;
Meanwhile with many a varied veft,
Of mystic texture aptly drest,
Ideal myriads seem'd to move
Promiscuous thro' the colour'd grove;
And each as inbred impulse led,
From ev'ry flower-embroider'd bed,
Some certain plant, whose blossom rose
Significantly placing, chose.

With frank, firm look, and light, though steady tread,
Came Courage first, and cropt the dew-charg'd rose;
For in the crimson rose might best be read
Her very essence—bloom, which gently glows,

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Refresh'd by genial breath, prone to dispense
To all—all sweetness; yet alert to shew,
If rash Ambition ruder deeds commence,
That warm Resentment points the thorn below.

Retiring from the public eye, The maiden meek Humility, Was seen to turn with mildeft grace, To heaven her thoughts, to earth her face:And all unconscious what fair fame Merit like her's might well assume,
Preferr'd to every other claim

The modest daisy's simple bloom.

Some bauble each moment arranging,

Admiring, exploding, and changing,
The coquette Affectation skimm'd wantonly by;

In her breast a Narcissus she wore,

As if, with Narcissus of yore,
For a form like her own she could languish and die.

Heedless of the scorner's joke,
Smiling at the ruffian's stroke,
Persevering Patience stood,
Conquering evil still with good;
Binding for her brows the while,
Artless wreaths of camomile,
Hardy plant! whose vigorous shoot
Springs beneath th' oppressor's foot.

Tiptoe o'er the level plain,

Ardent Hope all panting flew,
Prompt her eager eyes to strain,

Apt to catch the distant view,

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Quick from haunt to haunt to stray,

She the primrose held most dear, First-born of returning May,

Promise of the future year.

Superstition came telling her steps and her beads, Like Jack in a box hung all over with green;Agnus Castus by wholesale she brought from the meads,
And stuck with due care holy-thistle between:A chaplet of monks-hood she wrought for the head,
And rosemary sprigs from the graves of the dead.

Pure Constancy, whose hallow'd fires,
Time dignifies, and truth inspires,

In spite of absence, grief, and pain,
Approves the faithful marigold:
Whose leaves their saffron blaze unfold,

Soon as the sun asserts his reign,
Hail his glad progress through the day,
Close gradual with his parting ray,

Nor open till he shines again.

Ill-Nature to a corner stole,

And taught her blood-shot eyes to roll,

As if they meant to blight
Each flower of happier scent, or hue;
For none she chose of all that grew,

Save poisonous aconite.

Hand in hand, for they never asunder are seen,
All graceful their features, all easy their mien,

Contentment and Innocence tript it along:
By the delicate snow-drop was Innocence known,
Contentment took heart's-ease and call'd it her own;
Nor envy'd the gay or the great in the throng.

LINES

FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS.

Hymen! ere yet, with chasten'd heart, I pass'd

Thy threshold, I hung up the idle lute:

For better offerings suit thy blessed shrine,

Oh, holy Power! I gather now no more

Garlands of gay and perishable flowers,

But in the summer-tide of life present

The summer fruits. Enough were thirty years

Of youth and folly. Even the mettled steed,

Obedient to the rein, will bend at last

His stately-arching neck. The blood grows cool,

Passions' wild tempests to a quiet calm

Subside; and from the witcheries of Vice

Her waken'd captive starts. Oh, holy Power!

Who but would bow the neck to thee, and court

The freedom of thy yoke? With thankful heart

I bless thee, Hymen, for that seraph form, ,

In whom thou gaveft me another soul,

Doubling existence. Thou haft given to me

Truth, tenderness, and all the nameless joys

Of quiet life, making me live indeed!

Who but would bow the neck to thee, and court

The freedom of thy yoke f Oh, holy Power!

I have escap'd from Babylon, and bless

Thy saviour aid.

T. Y.

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