Nor to the suppliant's wail resound;

The open doors the needy bless,

Th' unfriended hail their calm recess, And gladness smiles around.

There to the sympathetic heart
Life's best delights belong,

To mitigate the mourner's smart,
To guard the weak from wrong.
Ye Sons of Luxury, be wise:
Know, happiness for ever flies
The cold and solitary breast;
Then let the social instinct glow,
And learn to feel another's wo,
And in his joy be bless'd.

Q yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare
For unsuspecting youth;

Ere Flattery her song prepare
To check the voice of Truth;

O may his country's guardian Power
Attend the slumbering Infant's bower,

And bright, inspiring dreams impart;
To rouse th' hereditary fire.
To kindle each sublime desire,

Exalt, and warm the heart.

Swift to reward a Parent's fears,
A Parent's hopes to crown,

Roll on in peace, ye blooming years,
That rear him to renown;

When in his finish'd form and face.
Admiring multitudes shall trace

Each patrimonial charm combined,

The courteous yet majestic mien,
The liberal smile, the look serene,

The great and gentle mind.

Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes,

And win a nation's love,

Let not thy towering mind despise

The village and the grove.

Nor slander there shall wound thy fame,

No ruffian take his deadly aim,

No rival weave the secret snare:

For Innocence with angel smile,

Simplicity that knows no guile,

And Love and Peace are there.

When winds the mountain oak assail,

And lays its glories waste,

Content may slumber in the vale,

Unconscious of the blast.

Through scenes of tumult while we roam,

The heart, alas! is ne'er at home,

It hopes in time to roam no more;
The mariner, not vainly brave,

Combats the storm, and rides the wave,

To rest at last on shore.

Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,

How vain your mask of state !

The good alone have joy sincere,

The good alone are great:

Great, when, amid the vale of peace,

They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,

And hear the voice of artless praise;
As when along the trophy'd plain
Sublime they lead the victor train,

While shouting nations gaze.

TO THE

RIGHT HON. LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON,
Dressed in a Tartan Scotch Bonnet with Plumes, &c.

WHY, Lady, wilt thou bind thy lovely brow
With the dread semblance of that warlike helm,
That nodding plume, and wreathe of various glow,
That graced the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm?

Thou knowest that virtue is of power the
And all her magic to thy eyes is given;

source,

We own their empire, while we feel their force,
Beaming with the benignity of heaven.

The plumy helmet, and the martial mien,
Might dignify Minerva's awful charms;
But more resistless far th' Idalian queen....
Smiles, graces, gentleness, her only arms.

THE HERMIT.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove:
'T was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a Hermit began ;
No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a Sage, though he felt as a Man.

“Ah why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo,
"Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?
"For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
"And Sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral.
"But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,

"Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; "O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away: "Full quickly they pass....but they never return.