Strange tremors, jealousies, and fears,
Anxieties, and bitter tears,

;

Must gall the Lover's glowing cheek ;
And anguish, which he dare not speak,
Must rankle in his glowing heart,
And point Despair's envenom'd dart.
Oh! he shall seek, with madden'd haste,
The horrors of the lone parch'd waste
Nor dread the rugged mountain's height,
Or dashing billow's wild affright;
But hie him to the briny shore,
Regardless of the hoarse storm's roar;
There, creeping to some desert cave,
The wretched sport of each salt wave,
See him on dank weeds weeping lie,
And wish-but ah! in vain-to die!

A

TOUCHSTONE FOR THE TIMES.

Midas, we read, with wond'rous art, of old, Whate'er he touch'd, at once transform'd to gold; This, modern statesmen can reverse with ease, Touch them with gold, they'll turn to what you please.

THE POET LAUREAT.

The following little jeu d'esprit was ascribed to a friend of Pope and addressed to Colly Cibber;

In merry old England it once was a rule,
For the king to employ both a poet and fool:
But now, we're so frugal, I'd have you to know it
That a laureat will serve both for fool and for poet.

THE YOUNG BARRISTER.

(A Soliloquy parodied from Hamlet.)

Scene-The Temple.

I do remember a young pleader,

And hereabouts he dwells; whom late I noted
In coat once black, with overwhelming brow,
Pondering o'er cases-sallow were his looks,
And midnight thought had worn him to the bone;
And in his sombre chambers lay confused,
Black dusty papers, "general issues" here,
"Demurrers special" there-matter apt to teach
That, to our noble law, justice and form
Alike are dear-and o'er his shelves

A beggarly account of dusty volumes-
Wentworth, and Coke, and Saunders-old editions
all,

With a few numbers of the late reports,
Were thinly scattered to make up a show.-
Noting his little practice, thus I said:
An' if a man would patch a rotten case,
Give to transaction dark a face of snow,
Here lives the lawyer that might draw the pleas.
Oh! this same thought doth but forerun my need-
I have a cause, and will retain him quickly.
As I remember, this should be the chamber;
But it not being term, the door is closed.-
What, ho!

ON A TEAR.

(From Metastasio.)

In tears, the heart oppress'd with grief,
Gives language to its woes;

In tears its fullness finds relief,
When rapture's tide o'erflows.

Who then for perfect bliss would seek,
On this terrestrial sphere,
When e'er delight can only speak,

Like sorrow in a tear?

THE DUKE OF ANGOULEME.

At a Levee in Paris, the last attended by the Duke de San Lorenzo, ambassador from the Spanish Cortes, his Excellency, seeing himself "rumped" by Prince Hilt, calmly observed to a friend,-" La Guerre dejà commence; Le general tourne le dos à l'ennemi!" When mighty Hilt by way of a rebuke, His back presented to Lorenzo's DukeThe latter, smiling to a friend (said he) "'Tis clear he takes me for an enemy !”

ON A MISER, NAMED MORE.

Iron was his chest,

Iron was his door;

His hand was iron,

And his heart was More.

ON A LADY WHO SQUINTED.

If ancient poets Argus prize,
Who boasted of an hundred eyes,
Sure greater praise to her is due,

Who looks an hundred ways with two.

WILLING FORGETFULNESS.

The wife protests, with labour almost wild,
Reliev'd, she'll never have another child;

But soon, delighted smiles succeed to pain.
Her vows forgot,- she's brought to bed again.

The toper too will by gone draughts deplore,
And vow to touch his much lov'd flask no more;
But, should the drawing cork his hearing gain,
He takes his seat, and gets as drunk again.

ON THE SALE OF INDULGENCES.

If Rome can pardon sins, as Romans hold,
And if those pardons can be bought and sold,—
It is no sin to adore and worship gold.

If they can purchase pardons with a sum,
For sins they may commit in time to come,
And for sins past,-'tis very well for Rome.

At this rate they are happiest who have most,
They'll purchase Heav'n at their own proper cost.
Alas! the poor (all that are so) are lost.

Whence came this knack? or, where did it begin?
What author have they? or, who brought it in?
Did Christ e'er keep a custom-house for sin ?

Some subtle devil, without more ado,
Did certainly this sly invention brew,
To gull them of their souls and money too.

ORIGIN OF POETRY.

The following lines are extracted from a scarce collection of Poems by Thomas Randolph, published early in the last century. Query: Does the definitiom apply to the poetry of this day as well as it did to the poetry of that?

"From witty men and mad
All poetry conception had;

No sires but these will poetry admit,-
Madness or wit."

This definition poetry doth fit,
It is a witty madness or mad wit;
Only these two, poetic heat admits,
A witty man, or one that's out of 's wits.

THE IRISHMAN'S RECKONING.

"Who lives there, honest fellow?" said a travelling stranger,

As on through the county of Antrim he sped, And who fancied that houses shut up implied danger:

"Lives there," answered Teague, "6 why a man that is dead."

"When did he die ?" cried the stranger more gaily; Teague paused, scratched his caxon so straight and so sleek,

Then replied, "By my conscience, my jewel, why really,

If he'd lived till to day, he'd been dead a whole week!"

ON FINDING A PAIR OF SHOES IN THE BED

OF A LADY,

Well may suspicion shake its head,

Well may Clarinda's spouse be jealous,
When the dear wanton takes to bed
Her very shoes-because they're fellows.

CALENDAR OF THE MONTHS.

See January first appear,

Best kept at home with plenteous cheer;