ORIGINAL POETRY.

HORACE IN LONDON.

BOOK II. ODE XVIII.

Non ebur, neque aureum &c.

SAGE elephant, thou'rt safe, I hold
No ivory, save one tooth-pick case;
My paper boasts no edge of gold,
My stationer is Henry Hase.

My stucco is of Gallic grey,

One convex mirror shines on me;
My pillars spurn the gaudy sway
Of anti-christian porphyry.

Unbent by heaps of sordid gain,

No plunder'd heirs my fraud bemoan;

I bear no golden fleece from Spain,
To patch a Joseph of my own.

Yet honour and the lib'ral arts,
To Fashion's dome my steps invite;
And, when the god of day departs,
I kiss the Muse by Dian's light.

Thro' life's low vale I take my way,

From wealthy friends no wealth I borrow,

Content to see the passing day

So us'd as not to mar the morrow.

In earth our splendour to enshrine,
Like sightless moles we downward toil;
For this, pale Avarice digs the mine,

And ruddy Labour ploughs the soil.

Ye monarchs, doom'd at last to die,
Where now is all your golden store?
Where now ?-but, if you won't reply,
'Twere waste of words to ask you more.

BOOK I. ODE XXVI.

Musis amicus, tristitiam et metus &c.

J.

BELOV'D by the Nine, I leave care till to-morrow, And cull pleasure's roses, while yet in their bloom; The winds that blow round me shall dissipate sorrow, And bear the blue devils to Pharoah's red tomb.

Thy emperor, Gaul, may astonish the nations,
While Neptune forbids him to Britain to roam;
He's free to sow discord in German plantations,

Then marry, the better to reap it at home.

Ye Muses, who bathe in clear fountains, and dwell in
The regions of rhyme with Apollo above,

Oh! aid me to sing of my favourite Ellen,
And warble in chorus the accents of love.

Come, weave me a chaplet to deck her straw bonnet, Tho' small the applause that your labour secures, For sure, if there's faith in my sight or my sonnet, Her roses and lilies are brighter than yours.

J.

THE GENTIANELLA.

WHEN glows at noon the solar beam,
Thou open'st slowly to the view,
(Sweet subject of the poet's theme,)
Thy velvet petal's purple hue.

So when maternal fondness seeks
The couch where infant beauty lies,
Joy blushes on its dimpled cheeks,
And sparkles in its laughing eyes.

But if, or wintry blast alarms,

Or cold and cheerless be the night, Shrinking, thou foldest up thy charms, Impervious to the longing sight.

So when, alas! by Fashion led

No soft maternal feelings move, The little cherub drops its head, And sickens at a hireling's love.

Instructive flower! thy beauty's flame,

Those beauties clos'd as 'twere in scorn, Proclaim-"the shade which follows fame, But leaves to weep the wretch forlorn."

Yet be it thine, when social mirth
Imparts a charm we know not why,
To tell the cause which gives it birth,
Daughter of Love, 'tis thou art by!

Sweet flower, like thee when droops the heart,
At the chill thought of mortal wiles,
"When nothing can a charm impart,”
It opens to lov'd woman's smiles.

J. C.

WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF CAMPBELL'S

PLEASURES OF HOPE.

1.

How hard the slave's imperious lot,
Forc'd from his home, his parent cot;
To other climes his course he steers,
And tho', with eyes bedew'd with tears,
Borne on his voyage with speedy sail,
He weeps his grief o'erburthen'd tale,
Yet pleasures still his thoughts illume,
Thy prospects, Hope, avert the gloom.

2.

The hardy seaman ploughs the wave,
Nor fears to meet a wat'ry grave;
While dangers on his voyage attend,
He trusts in Hope, his early friend;
Tho' storms arise, and lightnings glare,
And peals of thunder rend the air,
His manly soul can front them all,
Inspir'd by Hope, he braves the squall.

3.

The lover doom'd by fate to part
From her who holds his willing heart,
And drooping takes the farewell kiss,
Feels all the luxuries of bliss ;
For less reserv'd the maid appears,
In pity views his sighs and tears;
And silken Hope unto him shows,
Th' approaching end of all his woes,

JOHN ADAMSON.