424 
ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PASSIONS 
BY DR. FREE. 
Say, Love, for what good end design’d, 
Wert thou to mortals giv’n? 
Was it to fix on earth the mind, 
Or raise the heart to heay’n? 
Deladed oft we still pursue 
' The fleeting bliss we sought, 
As children chase the bird in view, 
That’s never to be caught. 
O! who shall teach me to sustain 
A more than manly part? 
To go thro’ life, nor suffer pain 
Nor joy to touch my heart. 
Thou, blest Indifference, be my guide, 
I court thy gentle reign ; 
When Passion turns my steps aside, 
Still call me back again. 
Teach me to see thro’ Beauty’s art, 
How oft its trappings hide 
A base, a lewd, a treacherous heart, 
With thousand ills beside. 
Nor let my gen’rous soul give way 
Too much to serve my friends; 
Let reason still control their sway, 
And show where duty ends. 
Tf to my lot.a wife should fall, 
May friendship be our love ; 
The passion, that is transport all, 
Does seldom lasting prove. 
If lasting, *tis too great for peace, 
The pleasure’s so profuse ; 
The heart can never be at ease, 
Which has too much to lose. 
Calm let me estimate this life, 
Which I must leave behind ; 
Nor let fond passion raise a strife, 
To discompose my mind. 
When Nature calls, may I steal by. 
As rising from a feast ; 
I’ve had my fill of life, and why 
Should I disturb the rest? 
—<_ 
ON THE CORONATION. 
Written by a Young Gentleman at West- 
minster School. 
To mount their throne, here monarchs bend their 
way, 
O’er pavements where their predecessors lay. 
Ye sons of empire! who in pompous hour, 
Attend to wear the cumb’rous robe of power, 
n ye proceed along the shonting way, 
Think, there’s a second visit still to pay ; 
And when in state on buried kings you tread, 
While swelling robes sweep o’er th’ imperial dead, 
While like a god your worship’d eyes move round, 
Think bore oh! think, you walk on treach’rous 
ground: 
Tho’ firm the checquer’d pavement seems to be, 
7F will surely open, and give way for thee! 
While crowding Lords address their duties near, 
Th’ anointin Prelate, and the kneeling Peer; 
While with obsequious diligence they bow, 
And spread their careful honours o’er thy brow ; 
While the high-rais’d spectators shout around, 
And the long aisles and vaulted roofs resound ;— 
Then snatch a sudden thought, an’ turn thy head: 
From the loud living to the silent dead, 
Original Poetry. 
[June 1, 
With conscious eye, the neighb’ring tombs survey, 
Those will instruct thee, better far than they; 
What now thou art, in yon gay homage see, 
But these best show what thou wilt surely be. 
— 
TOLERANCE, 
ReviLE not those whoditi’sent paths pursue, 
Yet thirst as much for sacred truth as you; 
Their’s may be wrong, and want a clearer 
light, 
Or yonr’s the error, and ’tis they are right ; 
Or both mistaken. Judgment is too weak : 
What shall decide where reason cannot 
speak? x 
—— 
TO LADY INGLEBY, 
ON HER MARRIAGE; 
BY MISS CAPP. 
Witt Ripley's lady deign to hear 
A minstrel's song, which once was dear; 
When oft, in Darwin’s classic shades, 
She bade me woo th’ Roman maids, 
And tune my measure to the rill, 
Which softly, slowly, bubbles still. 
I would not give a venal lay 
To court the great, the rich, or gay ; 
But when my friends are rich and great, 
I'm poet still, and cannot hate. 
Tis hard for me, thou art not poor, 
I then were licens’d to adore ; 
And no crabb’d critic dare to say,— 
What, Zamza, court the rich and gay? 
I may not hate thee, lady dear,’ 
But, oh! ’twere death to be sincere ; 
Each grace of thine, extoll’d by me, 
Makes “ flatterer, flatter’d,” ‘tee and fee.” 
And those who well could brook such lay, 
Might from my temple rend the bay, 
With some poor epithet, to show 
How, like themselves, they deem me low. 
But thy kind heart and blameless mind, 
Will see the friend who dares be kind; 
Will know the poet of the bower, 
Who little recks of wealth or power, 
Compar’d with virtues suchas thine, 
To which she still had given a line, 
Had lowly fortune fix’d thy lot 
In some secluded peasant’s cot. 
Stockwell. 
—=—— 
LINES 
ADDRESSED TO A LADY. 
“Elle est toujours charmante....” 
Tuo’ Summer rage with scorching ray, 
And pour her fervid glories down; 
Tho’ Autumn strip the blooming spray, 
And Winter, with tempestuous frown, 
His cold rude bosom bare. 
Yet still shall Mira’s smile benign, 
Bid Summer's fragrant breezes blow ; 
Her social love, her charms divine, 
Shall make the languid bosom glow, 
. When Winter rules the year. 
Brompton Academy ; L. L. 
April 18, 1822. 
STEPHENSTIANA. 
