This Poem is, as regards its poetic form, a parody of that by R. SOUTHEY at pp. 184, 185.

SAPPHICS.

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

NEEDY Knife-Grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order,
Bleak blows the blast! Your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!

Weary Knife-Grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who, in their coaches, roll along the turnpike-
road, what hard work 'tis crying, all day, Knives and
Scissors to grind, O!'

Tell me, Knife-Grinder! how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the 'Squire? or Parson of the parish?
Or the Attorney?

Was it the 'Squire, for killing of his Game? or
Covetous Parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish Lawyer made you lose your little
All in a law-suit?

Have you not read the Rights of Man, by TOM PAINE?
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.

KNIFE-GRINDER.

Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir!
Only, last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

Constables came up for to take me into
Custody. They took me before the Justice.
Justice OLDMIXON put me in the Parish

Stocks for a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in A Pot of Beer, if you would give me sixpence; But, for my part, I never love to meddle

With politics, Sir!

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

I give thee sixpence! I will see thee hanged first! Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to

vengeance!

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!

(Kicks the Knife-Grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.)

THE SEA NYMPH.

Down, down a thousand fathoms deep,
Among the sounding seas I go!
Play round the foot of every steep,
Whose cliffs above the ocean grow!

There, within their secret caves,
I hear the mighty rivers' roar ;

And guide their streams, through NEPTUNE's waves,
To bless the green earth's inmost shore:

And bid the freshened waters glide,

For fern-crowned Nymphs of lake, or brook, Through winding woods and pastures wide, And many a wild romantic nook!

For this, the Nymphs, at fall of eve,
Oft dance upon the flow'ry banks;
And sing my name, and garlands weave
To bear beneath the wave their thanks.

In coral bowers I love to lie,

And hear the surges roll above;

And, through the waters, view on high

The proud ships sail, and gay clouds move.

And oft, at midnight's stillest hour,
When summer seas the vessels lave,
I love to prove my charmful power,
While floating on the moonlit wave;

And when deep sleep the crew has bound,
And the sad Lover musing leans

O'er the ship's side, I breathe around
Such strains as speak no mortal means!

O'er the dim waves his searching eye
Sees but the vessel's lengthened shade;
Above, the moon and azure sky;

Entranced he hears, and half afraid!

Sometimes, a single note I swell
That, softly sweet, at distance dies!

Then, wake the magic of

my shell;

And choral voices round me rise!

The trembling Youth, charmed with my strain,
Calls up the crew; who, silent, bend

O'er the high deck, but list in vain!
My Song is hushed! my wonders end!

Within the mountain's woody bay,
Where the tall bark at anchor rides,
At twilight hour, with Tritons gay,
I dance upon the lapsing tides:

And with my Sister Nymphs I sport,
Till the broad sun looks o'er the floods;
Then, swift we seek our Crystal Court
Deep in the wave, 'mid NEPTUNE'S woods.

In cool arcades and glassy halls,

We pass the sultry hours of noon, Beyond wherever sunbeam falls;

Weaving sea-flowers in gay festoon.

The while, we chant our Ditties sweet,
To some soft shell, that warbles near;
Joined by the murmuring currents fleet,
That glide along our halls so clear.

There, the pale pearl and sapphire blue,
And ruby red and em'rald green,
Dart from the domes a changing hue;
And sparry columns deck the scene.

When the dark storm scowls o'er the deep,
And long, long, peals of thunder sound;
On some high cliff, my watch I keep
O'er all the restless seas around,

Till, on the ridgy wave, afar,

Comes the lone vessel, labouring slow, Spreading the white foam in the air, With sail and topmast bending low: