Alas! alas! I see each day
Steals me from myself away;
And ev'ry step of life I tread,
I speed to mingle with the dead.
How many years are past, my friends,
I know, and there my knowledge ends:
How many years are still in store,
I neither can, nor would explore.
Then, since the hours incessant fly,
They all shall find me crown'd with joy.
To those, my cares I here bequeath,
Who meanly die for fear of death,
And daily with assiduous strife
Contrive to live, accurs'd with life.
Then, Care, begone! I'd dance and play;

" This Ring, this little Ring, " as spoke by Wells,
Brings Siddons' voice and manner so to view,
That e'en the copiest many a bosom swells,
With grief as potent, and as real too.

Exquisite charmer! Sorceress of delight!
Unrivall'd Wells assert thy magic force;
Go on, and please the wond'ring throngs each night,
And draw down plaudits from their secret source!

Surprise the town with Imitations new,

TO HIS MISTRESS.

The gods o'er mortals prove their sway,
 And steal them from thernselves away;
Transform'd by their almighty hand,
Sad Niobe an image stands;
And Philomel, upborne on wings,
Thro' air her mournful story sings.
 Would heav'n, indulgent to my vow,
The happy change I wish, allow;
The envy'd mirror I would be,
That thou might'st always gaze on me;
And could my naked heart appear,
Thou'dst see thyself—for thou art there.
O! were I made thy folding vest,
That thou might'st clasp me to thy breast!

Thou sweetest creature of thy kind,
Complacent, gentle, and refin'd!
How wou'd thy brethren of the wood,
Amaz'd and motionless have stood,
To see thee unconcern'd and free,
As when they hop from tree to tree!
With envy too they might have pin'd,
And ev'n sweet Liberty resign'd;
A Squirrel might have wish'd thy chain,
So soft a slav'ry to obtain:
Where no caprice or humour dwells,
A favourite's happiness excells.
What H ARRIET priz'd was surely blest,
For gentle kindness warm'd her breast;
And sure that little life was dear,

Thou gentle Orb! whose mild benignant light,
Softens the gloomy empire of the Night,
As Mercy decks the face of rigid pow'r!—
Oh thou! that rul'st soft Contemplation's hour,
Soothing each boist'rous passion into rest,
While Nature glimmers by thy spangled vest;
To thee, sweet Moon! has oft the wretch complain'd,
And oft the silent tear has been explain'd.
Forsaken by the world—forbid to die!
On thee Affliction turns its mournful eye;
The heart exhibits all its secret store,
And many a fatal wound is counted o'er,

Fain wou'd I court my weary muse,
Some portion of my debt to pay;
Perchance, the candour may excuse,
Which whilom has inspir'd my lay!

Oh thou! for whom fair Fancy's hand
The rosy chaplet shall decree,
For whom those precious flow'rs expand,
Which bloom more faint, perhaps for me!

L UCIUS ! 'tis strange thou shou'dst not please!
Such flatt'ring verses who can bear?
Not she, who trembling, now foresees
The terrors of a rival there.

Then how shall verse my thanks explain?
Since flatt'ry in such lays I view,

When Neptune in sorrow, gave up to despair,
On losing his Venus, who 'scap'd from his care;
The Nereides in pity assembl'd around,
And water'd with tears the sea-moisten'd ground.

The god much afflicted to see them distress'd;
In tenderness thus his Nereides address'd —
" Fly quick unto earth, if you'd lessen my grief,
" And bring from my Britons a speedy relief. "

The nymphs, in obedience immediately flew,
And soon recogniz'd their preservers in you.
Ten thousand young tars they with rapture decry'd,

To whom shall I my sorrows tell?
Who will listen to my woe?
Why in such a time farewell,
Comfort, wouldst thou bid, and go,
Leaving Love alone to dwell?

Hope, that fair appeared to me,
What away from me could wean thee?
Were I now thy face to see
Still wouldst thou a stranger be,
Since so long I have not seen thee!

They who sightless Love portray
No wise fancy so devise,
For Love has as many eyes
As the deaths for which I pray;
And not one to me replies.

Nature and Art, the other day,
Both most vehemently offended,
Just met each other on their way,
And thus with mutual warmth contended:

" Away! " cried Nature, in a passion,
" Thou that hast thought to be my equal!
" Thy short-liv'd pride, thou child of Fashion.
" Is all but folly in the sequel.

" With all thy boasting — all thy glory —
" And pompous metaphors, so fine,
" What is thy long, elab'rate story,
" To one pathetic glance of mine?

" Even in my wildest dishabille,

O Thou! for whom wise Socrates did die,
And Plato seek by Reason's feeble aid,
Descend, dear Angel! from the shining sky,
In Revelation's glorious light array'd;
With thy propitious smiles disperse the night,
That, like chaotic gloom, o'erwhelms my mental sight.

Lo! beauteous Virtue! Vice, in fair disguise,
Leads thousands, o'er her flow'ry paths, astray.
Remove, remove, from their deluded eyes,
The film of Sin, and shew thy heav'nly day;
Then Pleasure's seeming charms shall please no more —