Papa 
aa Tae 
ee [Apri t, 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
Rempel 
IMPROMPTU, TO LORD STRANGFORD,. 
By MR. PRATT. 
BY sober City men, ’tis said, 
The thriving gentlefolk in trade, 
Sworn enemies to wit, 
That Bards and a!\ the sing-song Nine, 
Who boast a pedigree divine, 
Are for this world unfit. 
The moni’d elves, with»purse-proud spite, 
Bless their good stars, they never write, 
Except to note the needful 5 
While Poets, scrawling volumes o’ery 
At once are prodigal and poor, 
Of the main chance unheedful. 
And if to shillings, pounds, and pence, 
Or business, they make pretence, 
Poets are men of straw! 
Better te join, by way of joke, 
Tiny Tom Thumb with great Lord Coke, 
That giant of the law! 
That this is false, I’ve vouchers plenty, 
And in a minute could count twenty, 
To prove Lrade-sneers abusive 5 
From Anprson and Aaron Hitt, 
To Roscoe, Rogers, living still, 
Brin. SHERIDAN inclusive. 
Nay, a Lord Chancellor,* who late 
Was made a pillar of the state, 
Beats all the dunces hollow ; 
¥ or tho’ o’er parchments he can plod, 
His bosom labours with the God, 
The Poet's God, Apollo! 
And whocould once more near the heart 
Than Fox the tuneful strain impart, 
While state-affairs were planning ? 
‘Or who, presenting each in season, 
More sweet can rhyme, or better reason, 
Than Secretary Canning ? 
And you, beyond dispute, my lord, 
Another happy proof afford, 
As all the Muses know; 
The gentle Camoens by your side, 
The double task you well divide, 
Poet and Plenipo. 
Your kindred SypNEY, too, is fired 
By all that talents e’er inspired, 
By all but those called Stoic 5 
And tho’ the lyre he may not use, 
The brave are loved by every Muse, 
Or tender or heroic! 
His ardent mien, empassioned eye, 
Of verse sublime the fire supply, 
His countenance the proem; 
Whether poetical or no, 
He glows with all the dard can glow, 
And /ecks an Epic poem ! 
Long may ye both, by flood and field, 
Of peace and war the symbols wield, 
a a TPT 
* Lord Erskine, 
Then to loved Britain come ; 
There bless the isle—ah! bless’d alone, 
Long may she mark ye for her own, 
Long give the sweets of home! 
And health, the choicest boon of Heav’ny 
In bounty large to both be given; 
For ot ! without its aid, 
The bard forgets his cherub birth, 
The struggling hero sinks to earthy 
And lite itself’s a shade. 
EE 
EPITAPH 
ON GENERAL WOLFE, 
From Sins Edition of Mickle's Poems. 
BRITON, approach with awe this hallowed 
shrine 5 
And if a Father’s sacred name be thine, 
If thou hast mark’d thy stripling’s cheeks to 
glow, 
When war was mentioned, or the Gallic 
foe 5 
If shining arms his infant sports employ, 
And warm his ragemhere bring the warlike 
boy. 
Here let him stand, whilst thou, enrapt, shalt 
tell er. 
How fought the glorious Wolfes—-how glo- 
rious fell! 
Then, when thou mark’st his burning ardours 
rise, | 
And all the warrior flashing in his eyes, 
Catch his young hand, and, while he lifts it 
here, : 
By Wolfe’s great soul the future Wolfe shall 
swear 
Eternal hate against the faithless Gaul——= 
Like Wolfe to conquer, or like Wolfe to fall! 
What future Hannibals shall England see, 
Raised and inspired, O gallant Wolfe! by 
thee. : 
ores 
Translation of the abowe. 
SI tibi sit Natus, supplex delubra, Britanne, 
Inttes: si Juvenis vultum calor eccupet;.. 
Arma 
Si ludo tractet fera; si, cum Bella feruntur, 
Ingentes animos tollat; tune siste, Britanney. 
Hic juvenem 3 dices animosus przlia, dices 
Ut cecidit Volfus, Gallosque in morte fuga 
vit. | 
$i furtim in faciem veniet calor, et micet 
ardor 
Martius ex oculis, juvenis celer arripe dex- 
tram, i 
Keroumque animos testetur,»se arma pa- 
rare ; 
Eterna in Gallos, Volfuniqne imitarier ausis‘ 
Quot quos Hannibales perlzta Britannia cer- 
net, [ 
Emula si pubes Virtutem, et facta, sequatur 
Volfe tuam ! a 2 
TRANSLATION 
