Short Poems

Oft daedlata dome foreldit,
sigisitha gahuem, suuyltit thi ana.

( " Soyez comme l'oiseau. " )

Thou art like the bird
That alights and sings
Though the frail spray bends —
For he knows he has wings.

WITH THE PRINT OF A FEMALE FIGURE, SUPPORTING A YOUNG LAMB .

Of fair Benevolence divine
An humble emblem see!
This day, which Heaven allows to shine,
I send the gift to thee.
— 'Tis thine to copy — and improve
This artless image of benignant Love!

How often learning, wit, and merit fail,
When impudence and ignorance prevail?
This Maurus knows, nor feels the world's reproach,
But bears the pointed satire on his coach.

When well ourselves, we boast the doctor's skill,
And give advice to others that are ill.

Who dares with wrongs the needy to pursue,
Is base, nor base alone, but foolish too.
What thoughtless pride to spurn that humble state,
Which chance may make his own unpitied fate?
Though now he boasts his heaps of golden store,
Soon may those fail, and he be rich no more;
The streams of fortune, never at a stay,
Oft change their course, and quickly glide away.

Poetic Works, you say, are vain ,
Infants of a distemper'd Brain.
What then? my Verses still you read ;
And I my lab'ring Mind have freed .

What woes must such unequal union bring,
When hoary Winter weds the youthful Spring?
You, like Mezentius, in the nuptial bed
Once more unite the living and the dead.

Tar with Beau Fopling caught his Wife:
He scream'd, and fled; she beg'd for Life.
Tar saw Contrition in her Eyes,
And thus the good, blunt Sailor crys.
Spouse , the first Fault we may forgive;
But ne'er repeat it, while you live!

'Tis strange, Prudilla , you accuse
Of too much Warmth my wanton Muse ,
While you read on with all your Spite ,
And Practise , what I only Write .