Some fnug recefs impervious; shouldst thou try
The cuftom'd garden walks, thine eye fhall rue
The budding fragrance of thy tender fhrubs,
Myrtle or rofe, all crufh'd beneath the weight
Of coarse check'd apron, with impatient hand
Twitch'd off when fhow'rs impend: or croffing lines
Shall mar thy mufings, as the wet cold sheet
Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend
Whofe evil ftars have urg'd him forth to claim
On fuch a day the hofpitable rites;
Looks blank, at beft, and ftinted courtesy,
Shall he receive; vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roaft chicken, favoury pie,
Or tart or pudding:-pudding he nor tart
That day fhall eat!-nor, though the hufband try,
Mending what can't be help'd, to kindle mirth
From cheer deficient, shall his confort's brow
Clear up propitious; the unlucky guest
In filence dines, and early flinks away.
I well remember, when a child, the awe
This day ftruck into me; for then the maids,
I fcarce knew why, look'd cross, and drove me from them;
Nor foft carefs could I obtain, nor hope
Ufual indulgences; jelly or creams,
Relique of coftly fuppers, and fet by
For me their petted one; or butter'd toast,
When butter was forbid; or thrilling tale
Of ghoft, or witch, or murder-So I went
And shelter'd me befide the parlour fire;
There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms,
Tended the little ones, and watch'd from harm;
Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles
By elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins
Drawn from her ravell'd flocking, might have four'd
One lefs indulgent.—
At intervals, my mother's voice was heard,
Urging difpatch; brifkly the work went on,
All hands employ'd to wash, to rinfe, to wring,
To fold, and ftarch, and clap, and iron, and plait.
Then would I fit me down, and ponder much
Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow bole'
Of pipe amused we blew, and fent aloft
The floating bubbles, little dreaming then
To fee, Mongolfier, thy filken ball
Ride boyant through the clouds-fo near approach
The sports of children and the toils of men.
Earth, air, and fky, and ocean, hath its bubbles,
And verfe is one of them-this moft of all.
HY plaintive voice, fo eloquent and meek,
But filently I turn t' indulge the tear
Which pity gives! To me thine accents fpeak-
Haply of her, who knows no friend, the fate:
Or one to dark defpondency confign'd,
Or caft to the cold mercy of mankind,
On life's bleak wafte!-But thou, though defolate,
Shalt find no fheiter! through her proud abode,
Grandeur, in Folly's fplendid robes, fhall flaunt;
Riot his fong of merriment fhall chaunt:
But thou fhalt journey friendlefs on thy road,
Nor fhall one friendly brother think on thee,
Save him, who pitieth poverty, like me!
CHUP Riberal Fortune's golden funfhine fhare,
While love parental crowns your cloudless days,
Meets ev'ry wish, prevents each rising care;
HILDREN of Plenty, who the cheering rays
Ah! do not spurn misfortune's outcaft child,
Who knows no shelter, finds no friendly door;
A fnow-drop, fhatter'd in the dreary wild,
Nipt by the ftorm, with rain besprinkled o'er.
On me no father bends his partial eyes,
No mother in her foft'ring arms protects;
My daily wants no tenderness supplies,
My doubtful steps no precept now directs.
Can they deserve the parent's facred name,
Untrue to nature, and than brute less kind,
Who dare to riot in a guilty flame,
Nor own the feelings of parental mind?
Beat not e'en favage breasts with pious love,
Do thofe forget a parent's tender care?
E'en brutal inftinct foft affections prove;
The sweet fenfations even reptiles share.
Yet polifh'd life, unblufhing, dares difown
The first, the deareft feelings of the foul;
Falfely refin'd, and boldly fhameless grown,
Spurns at all law, defies all foft controul.
Condemn'd to pine, forfook by fickle love,
Of facred honour ftripp'd, of conscious pride;
Condemn'd ingratitude's fharp ftings to prove,
Of broken heart, alas! my mother dy’d.
In vain, 'tis faid, I ftretch'd my infant arms,
That afk'd to meet her fond, her warm embrace;
In vain the dawning blufh of orient charms
Sat fmiling in the roses of my face.
Ah! touch'd by death, beneath his icy pow'r,
No anfw'ring fmiles, no look could she repay;
So, nipt by vernal frofts, a tranfient flow'r
Hangs o'er the infant bud, and fades away.
On the wide world caft forth, forlorn, unknown,
No friendship bleeds, no kindred breaft, for me;
No ties of dear relationship I own,
The wand'ring child of cafual charity.
Canft thou, who gav'ft me birth, canft thou maintain,
In oftentatious pomp, yon menial crowd?
O! could the refufe of that wanton train
To feed these famish'd lips but be allow'd!
There proudly tow'ring o'er the fubje&t land,
By coftly art bedeck'd, and laviífh tafte,
Behold my father's fumptuous mansion stand,
The feat of riot, and licentious wafle.
In golden goblets laughs the lufcious wine,
High viands fick'ning appetite invite;
On filken beds their lux'ry finks fupine,
And wantonnefs and coft their pow'rs unite.
Each faithless friend the ready gate receives,
The cup of water cold where I implore;
My famifh'd appetite no fcrap relieves,
To me and want alone is clos'd the door.
Could I but lay this poor dejected head
Where e'en the fav'rite brute may fhelter'd feed; Could I but find the straw my humble bed,
Half as the hound belov'd, or pamper'd feed.
Yet he, with raptur'd eye, can fondly view
The offspring branch of wedded Avarice;
And is to me, alas! no pity due?
Thus, guiltlefs, muft I pay the tax of vice?
Has bounteous nature been to me lefs kind?
Lefs nicely bade my forming features grow?
With true affections lefs fupply'd my mind?
What ftain has God affix'd upon this brow?
No little bird that shelters in a tree,
No beaft that to the fecret covert hies,
But clearly proves kind Heav'n's vaft charity,
And bids me hope for Mercy's large fupplies.
Tis faid this face is caft in equal mould,
Where of the heart the pure fenfations play;
For oft, too oft, of beauty am I told,
By those who wish that beauty to betray.
Hear then, ye fons of Pleasure, hear my tale,
Who gaily wanton in variety;
And think, like me, how, pierc'd by ev'ry gale,
Your offspring afks the mite of charity.
AN aught be more fair to the eye
Than the bluth of the maidenly year?
Can aught with the orchard-bloom vie,
When in May its fweet bloffoms appear?
Can aught like the eglantine pleafe,
Or the rofe-budding ?-Tell me, what can ?
O! thrice more attractive than these
Is the cheek of my fweet little Anne.
What can charm like the fpring of the field,
When it trickles tranfparently by?
Or what fweeter pleasure can yield
Than to look on the gems of the fky?
What can win like the tremulous dew,
Which the zephyrs on goffamer fan?
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