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How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of it's flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the seafowl is gone to her nest,
And I to my cabin repair.
And reconciles man to his lot.
ON THE PROMOTION OF
EDWARD THURLOW, Esq.,
TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND.
ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth,
See! with united wonder cried
Discernment, eloquence, and grace
The balance in the highest place,
The praise bestow'd was just and wise;
So the best courser on the plain
What all had deem'd his own.
ODE TO PEACE.
COME, peace of mind, delightful guest!
Nor riches I nor pow'r pursue,
Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
And pleasure's fatal wiles?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets, that I was wont to share,
The great, the gay, shall they partake The Heav'n that thou alone canst make? And wilt thou quit the stream,
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequester'd shed,
To be a guest with them?