IMPROMPTU, ON WRITING A LETTER WITHOUT HAVING ANYTHING TO SAY. So have I seen the maids in vain And cry, Till the right end at last is found; ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, THE NIGHT OF THE George took his seat again, WHEN, long sequestered from his throne, By right of worth, not blood alone, Then Loyalty, with all her lamps New trimmed, a gallant show, 'Twas hard to tell of streets or squares Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the And rockets flew, self-driven, So, fire with water to compare, Had all the pageants of the world For no such sight had England's Queen Where George recovered made a scene, 17TH MARCH, 1789. Yet glad she came that night to prove, How much the object of her love Darkness the skies had mantled o'er Darkness, O Queen! ne'er called before On borrowed wheels away she flies, That night, except her own. Arrived, a night like noon she sees, Pleased she beheld aloft portrayed, Unlike the enigmatic line, So difficult to spell, Which shook Belshazzar at his wine Soon, watery grew her eyes and dim, None else, except in prayer for him, It was a scene in every part Like those in fable feigned, But other magic there, she knew, That cordial thought her spirits cheered, So, ancient poets say, serene The sea-maid rides the waves, And fearless of the billowy scene Her peaceful bosom laves. With more than astronomic eyes She viewed the sparkling show; One Georgian star adorns the skies, She myriads found below. Yet let the glories of a night Like that, once seen, suffice; Heaven grant us no such future sight, Such previous woe the price! THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND. MUSE, hide his name of whom I sing, Lest his surviving house thou bring For his sake into scorn; Nor speak the school from which he drew The much or little that he knew, Nor place where he was born. That such a man once was, may seem Worthy of record (if the theme Perchance may credit win), For proof to man what man may prove, If grace depart, and demons move The source of guilt within. This man (for since the howling wild Could make him such; and he had worth, In social talk and ready jest Illustrious in the eyes of those Methinks I see him powdered red, With bushy locks his well-dressed head Winged broad on either side, The mossy rosebud not so sweet; Can such be cruel? Such can be A tyrant entertained With barbarous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight 'Twixt birds to battle trained. One feathered champion he possessed, His darling far beyond the rest, Which never knew disgrace, Nor e'er had fought but he made flow The life-blood of his fiercest foe, The Cæsar of his race. It chanced at last, when on a day He doomed his favourite dead. He seized him fast, and from the pit BB 2 THE straw-stuffed hamper with his ruthless steel Forth came The rustling package; first, bright straw of wheat, Or oats, or barley; next a bottle, green, Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distilled Drop after drop odorous, by the art Of the fair mother of his friend--the Rose. Sept. 11, 1789. ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 1789. O SOVEREIGN of an isle renowned Wherever o'er yon gulf profound Her navies wing their way; With juster claim she builds at length Her empire on the sea, And well may boast the waves her strength, Which strength restored to thee. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, 66 ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE AD LIBRUM SUUM." FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ. 1790. June, 1790 OTHER stones the era tell When some feeble mortal fell; Which shall longest brave the sky, I must moulder and decay; Cherish honour, virtue, truth, Stone at heart, and cannot grow. ANOTHER, FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR. Reader! behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Anno 1791. TO MRS. KING, ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK QUILT of HER OWN MAKING. THE Bard, if e'er he feel at all, Both on his heart and head, Who deigns to deck his bed. A bed like this, in ancient time, (As Homer's Epic shows), Composed of sweetest vernal flowers, Without the aid of sun or showers, For Jove and Juno rose. Less beautiful, however gay, Who, laying his long scythe aside, August 14, 1790. What labours of the loom I see! Looms numberless have groaned for me! To scramble for the patch that bears And oh, what havoc would ensue ! All in a moment fled ! As if a storm should strip the bowers Thanks, then, to every gentle fair, STANZAS ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS OF THE GREAT MILTON, ANNO 1790. "ME too, perchance, in future days, |