of poetry, so long as the language in which it is written exists. The composition is perfect, there is not a defec→ tive line nor a faulty word. Two objections however may be made to it. It is of temporary application, and not adapted for "all time." It is complex, refering to three different states of enjoyment, love, drinking, and loyalty. The climax, if we may be allowed to call it so, in the succession of metaphors is well adapted, and the last stanza is altogether admirable.

SONG.

To General Goring, after the pacification of Berwick,

Now the peace is made at the foes rate,

Whilst men at arms to kettles their old helms translate, And drink in casques of honourable plate;

In every hand a cup be found,

That from all hearts a health may sound,

To Goring! to Goring! see't go round.

He whose glories shine so bright and high,

That captive they in triumph lead each ear and eye,
Claiming uncombated the victory;

And from the earth to heaven rebound,

Fix'd there eternal as this round,

To Goring! to Goring! see him crown'd.

To his lovely bride in love with scars,

Whose eyes wound deep in peace as doth his sword in

wars,

They shortly must depose the queen of stars:

Her cheeks the morning's blushes give,

And the benighted world reprieve ;

To Lettice! to Lettice! let her live.

Give me scorching heat, thy heat dry sun,
That to this pair I may drink off an ocean,

Yet leave my grateful thirst unquench'd, undone !
Or a full bowl of heavenly wine,

In which dissolved stars should shine!

To the couple! to the couple! they are divine!

AN ELEGY

On the death of Mrs. Cassandra Cotton, only sister to
Mr. C. Cotton.

Hither with hallowed steps as is the ground
That must inshrine this saint, with looks profound
And sad aspects as the black veils you wear,
Virgins oppress'd draw gently, gently near;
Enter the dismal chancel of this room,

Where each pale guest stands fix'd, a living tomb;
With trembling hands help to remove this earth
To its last death and first victorious birth;
Let gums and incense fume, who are at strife
To enter th' hearse and breathe in it new life;
Mingle your steps with flowers as you go,
Which as they haste to fade will speak your woe.
And when y' have plac'd your tapers on her urn,
How poor a tribute 'tis to weep and mourn!
That flood the channels of your eyelids fills,
When you lose trifles, or what's less your
If you'll be worthy of these obsequies,
Be blind unto the world and drop your eyes;
Waste and consume, burn downward as this fire
That's fed no more, so willingly expire;
Pass through the cold and obscure narrow way,

wills.

Then light your torches at the spring of day,

There, with her, triumph in your victory,
Such joy alone and sad solemnity,
Becomes this funeral of virginity.

Or, if you faint to be so blest: oh hear!
If not to die, dare but to live like her :
Dare to live virgins till the honour'd age
Of thrice fifteen calls matrous on the stage,
Whilst not a blemish or least stain is seen
On your white robe twixt fifty and fifteen

A LA BOURBON.

Donnez moi plus de pitie ou plus de cruaulte car sans ci je ne puis pas vivre, ni mourir.

Divine destroyer, pity me no more,

Or else more pity me!

Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more

Your glories are eclipsed, and hidden in the grave

Of this indifferency;

And Cælia, you can neither altars have,

Nor I a deity :

They are aspects divine

That still or smile, or shine,

Or like the offended sky

Frown death immediately!

ODE.

Culling Lucasta from her retirement.

From the dire monument of thy black room,
Where now that vestal flame thou dost entomb
As in the inmost cell of all earth's womb;

Sacred Lucasta, like the powerful ray
Of heavenly truth, pass this cimmerian way,
And all the standards of your beams display!

Arise, and climb our whitest highest hill,

These your sad thoughts with joy and wonder fill,
And see seas calm as earth,
earth as your
will.

Behold how lightning like a taper flies
And gilds your chariot, but ashamed dies,
Seeing itself out-gloried by your eyes!

Threat'ning and boist'rous tempests gently bow, And to your steps part in soft paths, when now There no where hangs a cloud, but on your brow.

No show'rs but 'twixt your lids, nor gelid snow, But what your whiter chaster breast doth owe, Whilst winds in chains colder your sorrow's blow.

Shrill trumpets now do only sound to eat,
Artillery hath laden every dish with meat,
And drums at every health alarums beat.

All things, Lucasta, but Lucasta call,
Trees borrow tongues, waters in accents fall,
The air doth sing, and fire is musical.

Awake from the dead vault in which you dwell,
All's loyal here, except your thoughts rebel,
Which so let loose, often their general quell.

See! she obeys!-by all obeyed thus,
No storms, heats, colds, or soul's contentious
Nor civil war is found,-I mean, to us.

Lovers and angels, though in heaven they show,
And see the woes and discords here below,
What they feel not, must not be said to know.

To comprehend this little Ode justly, the unhappy state of the country when it was written, must be borne in mind ;-the theatre of civil war and overrun by contending armies, and armed parties, who were frequently influenced by the desire of pillage and spoil, to attack private houses, and distress the helpless inhabitants.No caution was a complete security, and no retreat, however obscure and remote, a protection from insult and outrage.

Female Glory.

'Mongst the world's wonders, there doth yet remain
One greater than the rest, that's all those o'er again
And her own self beside; a lady whose soft breast
Is with vast honours soul, and virtue's life possess'd:
Fair as original light, first from the chaos shot,
When day in virgin-beams triumph'd, and night was not.
And as that breath infus'd in the new breather good,
When ill unknown was dumb, and bad not understood;
Cheerful as that aspect at this world's finishing
When cherubims clapp'd wings, and th' sons of heav'n
did sing!