VERSES BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK. 179 IV. Religion! what treasure untold V. Ye winds that have made me your sport, Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. VI. How fleet is a glance of the mind! And the swift-winged arrows of light. VII. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, And I to my cabin repair. And reconciles man to his lot. ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THUKLOW, ESQ. To the Lord High Chancellorship of England. I. ROUND Thurlow's head, in early youth, And in his sportive days, Fair Science pour'd the light of truth Discernment, eloquence, and grace, IV. The praise bestow'd was just and wise V. So the best courser on the plain ODE TO PEACE. I. COME, peace of mind, delightful guest: Return and make thy downy nest Once more in this sad heart: Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, And pleasure's fatal wiles? For whom, alas! dost thou prepare The great, the gay, shall they partake, That murmurs through the dewy mead, For thee I panted, thee I priz'd, Whate'er I lov'd before; And shall I see thee start away, VOL. I. HUMAN FRAILTY I. WEAK and irresolute is man ; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away. II. The bow well bent, and smart the spring, And it revives again. III. Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent, But Pleasure wins his heart. IV. Tis here the folly of the wise Through all his heart we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies His conscience owns it true. V. Bound on a voyage of awful length A stranger to superiour strength, But oars alone can ne'er prevail, To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. THE MODERN PATRIOT. I. REBELLION is my theme all day : (As who knows but perhaps it may ?) A little nearer home. II. Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight I always held them in the right, III. When lawless mobs insult the court, But, O! for him my fancy culls Who constitutionally pulls Your house about your ears. Such civil broils are my delight, Though some folks can't endure them, Who say the mob are mad outright, A rope! I wish we patriots had Such strings for all who need 'emWhat! hang a man for going mad! Then farewell British freedom. |