2796. 
And muft one moment dafh the happy fcene, — 
“nd darken each fair profpeét Hope has made? 
‘Oh ! that fuch pleafures I had never feen, 
Or never Known the blilsful vifion fade ! 
The fun at even finks below the tky, 
And in the morning rifes as before: 
My hopes, alas ! (f {peak it with a figh) 
Are‘fet in forrow, and thal] rife no more. 
1796. MARTIS-COLL. 
SE = 
ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF ANIMATION, 
[Vide Darwin's Zoonomia, Vol. 1.] 
Indited on a journey on horfeback laft qwinter, and 
travelling late at nig ht. 
O THOU ! whofe prefence none can trace 
*Midtt ali the fons of ApAm’s race, 
Nor tel, or where, or when, 
Or how thou fprang’ft to lite at firit, 
@r in what corner thou wait nurit 
Of this frail houfe of men: 
Dear to my head, my heart moff dear, 
Spirit or Animation! hear, 
Nor let our union end. 
Z own, without thee Vm undone: © 
And where could’it thou for fhelter run, 
Should’ i thou defert thy friend? 9° 
i know thy alderman defire $ 
For drink and reft, Jor food and fire, # 
Whilft I am cold and wet: : 
But patience till we reach yon inn; 
Wl ply thee then with ale and gin, 
And many a dik Pil get. z 
But mark, when fill’d, no pranks like thofe 
Which learned Doctor DARwin thews, 
Who fays, that when thou’rt full, 
Thouw’ st an to play men many a trick, 
“ind fritk about, and tois, and kick, 
mad town-bull. 
jut hike a 
This houfe, remember, thou act in, 
Ys but of clay, and built but thin, 
And {son is puild to pieces: 
Yet fhould’# theu rend this houfe in twain, 
Perchance thoul’t not a better gain, 
Wor one oi fon, ser leafes, 
— eel EE 
ON A LATE CONNUBIAL 
IN HIGH LIFE. 
i SICH, fair iuajur d firan Bt ! for thy fate ; 
Bat aie the allt fhe lys avail thee ? thy poor heart, 
Mid ali the # pomp ‘and circum fance’? of ftate, 
Shivers inn: niceametss Unb dden, ftart 
Sad recolle&tions of Hope’s garifh dream, 
That fhap’da f{eraph form, and nam’d it Love, 
Its hues ,ay-varying, as the orient beam 
Varies the neck of Cytherea’s dove. 
i 
RUPTURE 
To one foft accent of domeftic joy, 
Poor are the fhouts that fhake the high- 
arch’d dome ; 
Thofe plaudits, that th ny fublic path annoy, 
fslas! they tell theg---Thow rt a wretch at 
home ! 
#h 
Original Poetry. 
647 
O then retire, and weep! Their very euees 
Solace the guiltlefs. Drop the pearly flood 
On thy fweet infant, as the FULL-BLoww 
rofe, 
- Surcharg’d with dew, bends o’er its neigh- 
b’ring BUD. 
And ah! that Truth fome holy feel might 
lend : 
To lure thy wanderer from the fyren? $ powers 
Then bid your fouls infeparably blend, 
Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a 
flower. Ae an 
Si Comer pce. 

SONNET. @e 
S one, whom the dark phantoms of the 
nisht, 
Troubling his wilder’d phantafy, have led 
Amid the dim damp manfions of the dead, 
Or from fome precipice’s giddy height 
Abruptly thruft; when morning’s orent ey 
W=kes him to fafety, loves to ponde 21 0’er 
The vifion’d terrors terrible no more 3: 
So f look back on the departed day. 
When as I journeyed along iite’s dull read, 
Hope fled my wounded bofom, fullen Care 
Sat ohn my brew, and fternly fad De ‘pair 
Courted to reftwithin his dark abode ; 
a fad lyre echoed then the penfive fong, 



et footh’d the wearying hours that lingering. 
lage’d along. B. 
el 
Rie, Capt (Pr 
TO MAKE A SALLY-LUN. (a. well-known 
cake at Bath.) 
Written by the late Major Drews, of Exeter. 
“Ne more I heed the muffin’s zeft, 
The Yorkfhire ae or bun, 
Sweet Mufe of Pattry! teach me how 
To make a » Sally- -Lun. - 
Take thou of lufcious wholefome cream 
What the full pint contains, - 
Warm as the native blood which glows 
> In youthful virgin’s veins. 
Haft thou not feen in olive rind, 
The wall-tree’s rounded nut ? 
_ OF juicy butter juft its fize, sek 
In thy clean paftry put. 
Haft thou not feen the golden yolk, 
In chryflal thrine immur’d ; 
Whence, broodéd o’er by foft’ring wing, 
- Forth {prings the warrior bird : > 
Oh! | fave three birds from pee man, 
And combat’s fangmine hour; | 
Cruih in three yolks the feeds of life, 
And on the butter pour. 
Take then a‘cup, that holds the juice, 
Nam’d China’s fairett pride : 
Let foaming yeaft its concave fill, 
And froth adown its Gde. 
t 
But 



Oe a RD oe Ee ET OE ne 
SSE Tee ee 
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