When the Spring's delightful store
Brought the blue-birds to our bowers,
And the poplar at the door
Shook the fragrance from its flowers,
Then there came two wedded doves,
And they built among the limbs,
And the murmur of their loves
Fell like mellow, distant hymns;
There, until the Spring had flown,
Did they sit and sing alone,
In the broad and flowery branches.

With the scented Summer breeze
How their music swam around,
Till my spirit sailed the seas
Of enchanted realms of sound!

To a certain Lady in Bath, in Answer to some Verses of her's inserted in a public Paper, sign'd B ELINDA , and address'd to the Impartialist: The Satire is meant to reflect upon the Father and Brother only, who grosly maltreated me for endeavouring to prevent the Ruin of the latter, whom the Father was about to connect in Partnership with a certain House in Town, ( then in a tottering State ,) and of which I gave him the most friendly and disinterested Intimation .
It is enough — I know you, Fair,
(Witness the Hill of Belvidere)
I wou'd not give design'd Offence,

O Thou in all thy might so far,
In all thy love so near,
Beyond the range of sun and star,
And yet beside us here, —

What heart can comprehend thy name,
Or, searching, find thee out,
Who art, within, a quickening Flame,
A Presence round about?

Yet though I know thee but in part,
I ask not, Lord, for more:
Enough for me to know thou art,
To love thee and adore.

O sweeter far than aught besides,
The tender mystery
That like a veil of shadow hides
The Light I may not see!

Address'd to a Relation.

Strange to relate, and yet how true,
Whene'er of late I hear from you,
Though your quick Answer to a Line,
But just receiv'd, (in which was Rhime)
You seem with most incurious Eye,
As by Design, to pass it by,
Don't think I fish for Praise, my Bro',
My Scrolls have no Desert, I know;
And yet I think some slight Regard,
You might bestow on Mushroom Bard;
Not that because I'm born to write,
Peruse you must in very Spite:
In Pill and Bolus you abound,
Give me of good Rump-Stake a Pound.

They were " ratty " , they were hooted by the meanest and the least,
When they woke the Drum of Glory long ago in London East.
They were often mobbed by hoodlums — they were few, but unafraid —
And their Lassies were insulted, but they banged the drum — and prayed.
Prayed in public for the sinners, prayed in private for release,
Till they saved some brawny lumpers — then they banged the drum in peace.
(Saved some prize-fighters and burglars — and they banged the drum in peace.)

A certain rich man, stern and proud,
Yet, like a winter hemlock, bowed
With the accumulated weight
Of many snows, o'er his estate
Led his fair grandchild by the hand,
Showing her miles and miles of land,
Meadows and forests, and fields of grain,
Far as her wondering eye could strain;
And all to be hers some future day;
All hers! The realms which round them lay,
Descended were from a lofty line,
Whose precious blood was wine, old wine,
While others' was but water! Now
Their noble tree, from root to bough,

A CHARACTER .

Rous'd up at Eight from Night's Repose,
By dear Rappee an ample Dose,
First he salutes, with friendly Care,
Your Humble thus, " Well, how does fare,
You rested well I hope last Night? "
Well my good Friend — thus far we're right:
Then strait he takes to Ground, provides
His Pall her Tea, my Mess besides.
But hold, before we further speak
His Actions, of his Dress we'll treat;
His Morning's Trim, (but here take Note,
You'll find he has a cleaner Coat)

Upon seeing a very beautiful young Lady in Mr . L EAKE'S Shop at Bath , ( Oct . 24, 1767.)

I.

Lolling at Ease in Elbow-Chair,
That Danger was so pressing near,
How little did I dream?

II.

When, lo! to strike us with Surprize,
So sweet a Form, such brilliant Eyes,
An unknown Fair display'd!

III.

I felt my Heart beat strange Alarms,
I gaz'd with Rapture on her Charms;
A Cymon's Iphigene!

IV.

But as the Sun in high Mid-day,

Oh! my poor Husband! cries the plaintive Wife,
Late the sole Joy and Comfort of my Life!
And art thou gone? Alas! the cruel Day,
Which snatch'd, by far my better Half away!
To me how irksome is this bustling Stage!
" Fie on't! O fie! " no longer I'll engage; —
Betsy, take Care you bury th' dear Soul
With high Respect; — my Sorrows to controul,
I'll post for Bath ; the sprightly Ball may prove,
A sovereign Balm to cure — (and whet her Love)
Well, down she comes, shines forth in lovely Weeds,
And plainly shows her Grief, from Heart proceeds .

With terrour thundring to affright the heart,
Inbred corruption you caus'd to depart,
Lively you peirce , and to the bottom dive,
Letting sin know, he must not there alive
Inhabit longer; in each corner you
A search most diligently do pursu,
Making the sword of Gods blest spirit peirce ,

Passing unto the heart with vigour fierce,
Even limning so the law unto the life,
Reviving up again the ancient strife,
Cur'st sin with grace that was of yore maintained,
Encouraging faire vertue, sin restrayned.