" alone. Since he is past running down the "fox in the field, he must e'en be allowed to

"hunt him in the parlour."

I

N° 85

1

N° 85. TUESDAY, February 29. 1780.

Possum oblivifci qui fuerim? Non fentire qui fim? Quo caream honore ? Qua gloria? Quibus liberis? Quibus fortunis?

A

CIC. ad ATT.

PERIODICAL publication, such as the MIRROR, is, from its nature, confined chiefly to prose compositions. My illustrious predeceffor, the SPECTATOR, has, however, fometimes inferted a little poem among his other efsays; and his example has been imitated by most of his successors. Perhaps it may be from this cause, that, among the variety of communications I have lately received, many of them consist of poetical compofitions. I must observe in general to these correfpondents, that, though the infertion of a poems now and then may not be altogether improper for a work of this kind, yet it is not every poetical compofition that is fit for it. A poem may be possessed of very confiderable merit, and may be intitled to applause, when published in a poetical collection, though, H 3 from.

from its fubject, its length, or the manner in which it is written, it may not be suited to the MIRROR. I hope my poetical correspondents, therefore, will receive this as an apology for their poems not being inserted, and will by no means confider their exclufion as proceeding from their being thought destitute of merit.

Among the poetical presents I have received, there is, however, one, which feems very well fuited to a work of this kind. The gentleman from whom I received it says, he has been informed, that it was founded on the following infcription (probably written from real feeling) on the window of an inn situated in the Highlands of Scotland.

"Of all the ills unhappy mortals know, "A life of wandering is the greatest wo; "On all their weary ways wait Care and Pain, " And Pine and Penury, a meagre train; "A wretched Exile to his country send,

"Long worn with griefs, and long, without a " friend!"

This poem contains a description of the fituation of a Scotch gentleman who had been obliged to leave his country for rebellion a

It

gainft our present happy government. points out the fatal consequences of fuch treasonable attempts, and represents the distress of the perfon described, in a very interesting and pathetic manner.

S

THE EXILE. AN ELEGY.

WHERE, 'midft the ruins of a fallen state, The once fam'd Tiber rolls his fcanty

wave,

Where half a column now derides the great, Where half a statue yet records the brave;

With trembling steps an Exile wander'd near, In Scottish weeds his shrivel'd limbs array'd; His furrow'd cheek was cross'd with many a

tear,

And frequent fighs his wounded foul betray'd.

Oh! Wretch! he cry'd, that like some trou

bled ghoft

Art doom'd to wander round this world of

wo,

While memory speaks of joys for ever loft,

Of peace, of comfort, thou hast ceas'd to endow'd,

These are the scenes, with fancy'd charms Where happier Britons, cafting pearls away, The fools of found, of empty trifles proud, Far from the land of bliss and freedom stray.

Wou'd that, for yonder dome, these eyes

could fee

The wither'd oak that crowns my native

hill!

These urns let ruin waste; but give to me
The tuft that trembles o'er its lonely rill.
Oh! facred haunts! and is the hillock green
That faw our infant-sports beguile the day?
Still are our feats of fairy fashion seen ?
Or is my little throne of mofs away?

Had but Ambition, in this tortur'd breast,
Ne'er fought to rule beyond the humble plain,
Where mild Dependence holds the vassal blest,
Where faith and friendship fix the chief-
tain's reign;

Thus had I liv'd the life my fathers led; Their name, their family, had not ceas'd

to be;

And thou, Monimia! on thy earthy bed !My name, my family, what were these to