POETRY. 917 



ON THE WHIP CLUB. 



TWO varying races are in Britain born, 

 One courts a nation's praises, one her scorn ; 

 Those pant her sons o'er tented fields to guide, 

 Or steer her thunders thro' the foaming tide; 

 Whilst these, disgraceful born in luckless hour. 

 Burn but to guide with skill a coach-and-four. 

 To guess their sires each a sure clue affords, 

 These are the coachman's sons, and those my Lord's ! 

 Both follow Fame, pursuing different courses ; 

 Those, Britain, scourge thy foes — and these thy horses ; 

 Give them their due, nor let occasion slip ; 

 On those thy laurels lay — on these the whip ! 



Satirist. 



ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONE PLEASANT 

 MORNING IN SPRING. 



£From the Remains of Henry Kirke White, late of St. John's College, 



Cambridge.] 



THE morning sun's enchanting rays 

 Now call forth every songster's praise : 

 Now the lark, with upward flight, 

 Gayly ushers in the light ; 

 While wildly warbling from each tree, 

 The birds sing songs to Liberty. 



But for me no songster sings, 

 For me no joyous lark up-springs; 

 For I, confin'd in gloomy school, 

 Must own the pedant's iron rule, 

 And far from sylvan shades and bowers, 

 In durance vile must pass the hours ; 

 There can the scholiast's dreary lines. 

 Where no bright ray of genius shines, 

 And close to rugged learning cling, 

 While laughs around the jocund spring. 



How gladly would ray soul forego 

 All that arithmeticians know. 

 Or stiff' grammarians quaintly teach. 

 Or all that industry can reach, 

 To taste each morn of all the joys 

 That with the laughing sun arise ; 



And 



