1824.] 

 Tbat is, to smoke, to drink, and chat, 

 With kindred souls, of this and that, 



On weekdays, and e'en Sundays holy. 



The rural sports were his delight, 

 And ever 

 The foremost of the cliace, 

 He loosen'd rein to leap, or kept it tight 

 As clever 

 As hunisnian, or a minister in place ; 

 And, tho' he chanc'd to t»imble now and 



then, 

 Quickly he'd mount, and "Tally-ho!" again. 



Howe'cr, one summei-'s evening, he 

 Had pocketed his fee, 



And (ill'd his spacious skin 

 With many a draught of liquor strong^ 

 And sang he many a song 



(Of course 'twas not a sin) : 

 "For parsons love, (said he,) 



Tho' preaching oft, and fasting, 

 In mirth's abodes to be 



For everlasting." 



And, like a valiant sot, 

 He stagger'd as lie man'd his steed, 



And upwards got, 

 To have a few hours' fishing in the mead. 



Thro' hedgy lanes, with tackle dangling 

 down. 



The horse's heels were often upward 

 thrown, 

 (This rais'd a heavy frown,) 



For Smiler was to wincing prone. 

 But to the river they repair, 



And " brother, Bob," do'st think? 

 Uednose must fisii upon his mare, 



And mare, forsooth, must drink. 



Beneath a willow-tree they tugg'd, 

 The mare was sober, but her rider mugg'd; 

 Holding the bit betwixt her lip, 

 She forward thrust her neck to sip, 



And over loll'd the lump of clay, 

 Flounce like a poipus in the wave; 



His hat and wig both swam astray, — 

 He in a watery grave. 



But thitiicr came a miller with his net, 



A merry wag was he : 

 " Save me !" the parson cried. * Not yet,' 



The miller bray'd with glee ; 

 Then, with his shoulders circling round, 

 he threw 

 His net upon the amphibious fish, 

 And, with a skilful purpose, drew 



This muiiister shoreward for a dish. 

 "Ood bless you I" cried the parson. ' Yes,' 

 The miller said, 

 'And shook his head ; 

 ' I guess ! 

 But, ere you land, my tythcs let free.' 



" What! nothing less!" 

 ' No! or perish thou for me.' 

 Tho pur^ou cried, " (''orgiven !'' 

 (A passport, too, for heaven.) 

 * Right,' (juotli the miller with liiy prize. 

 Laughing and tu;;i;ing, turning up his eyc«. 

 The parson putf 'd and gaip'd lor brcutli, 

 Just like a fish near death ; 

 Monthly Mao, No. j'JJ. 



Original Poetry. 



And many a benediction stole 

 Forth from his grateful soul. 



The miller, nodding his assent, 

 Declar'd it wisely meant ; 

 And, with a careful duty, led 



The parson and his mare, 



A yielding pair, 

 Home to the vicarage and bed. 



I4» 



ODE TO VENUS. 

 Haii,! ye bright waves, that fair Cylherea 



lave. 

 From whence, in pomp of youth and 

 loveliness, 

 With fragrant roses crown'd, 

 Thou, heavenly goddess, rose ; 

 Thine hallow'd birth, in strains melodious, 

 Tritons, on argent pinions, hov'ring sung. 

 Smooth as the lay which floats 

 From lone Pierian shades ; 

 When, high euthron'd upon the eternal 



skies, 

 Night's gentle regent her effnlgence pale^ 

 While 'neath embow'ring groves, 

 Thy tender vol'ries roam. 

 By thee encharm'd, the rash adventtirous 



youth. 

 With martial ardor, flies to fields wliepe 

 Fame, 

 'Mid shadowing trophies, speeds 

 Her blood-fraught dire career. 

 Yet not for thee, oh Fame ! his bosouv 



burns. 

 Nor for the garland honora of thy brow. 

 Nor all the gay parade 

 Thy favour'd followers prize : 

 But love, delightful love, invites him on,— 

 A softer flame liis throbbing heart pervades; 

 And thine extatic smile, 

 A war's fatigue repays ; 

 The simple carle, who from his plains 



ne'er stray'd, 

 Oft' times reclineg beside the brawling 

 brook, 

 And in the silent hour 

 Hymns his desires to thee. 

 While Hesper laves in dew his pearly light,. 

 And music, borne on wings of gossamer, 

 In sweet impassion'd notes, 

 Entrance his listening ear; 

 Oh bliss supreme 'shis lot with her to dwell, 

 Whose virtuous mind, wliose unaflecled 

 grace. 

 Adorns life's ehecqner'd scenes. 

 And turns its tears to smiles. 

 Enchanting power! oh grant my early song. 

 Thy warbling voice, thy softly thrilling 

 sway, 

 To win the nymph I love. 

 Thy liquid mnnbers give. 



And when the mum, from umaranthiuc 



conch. 

 O'er the horizon sheds her vermeil light. 

 Again tho Muse shall vaisti 

 Her orisons to thee. . 

 Manchcskr. Cassrin. 



U NEW 



