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• Besides, pretty lady, you're greatly mistaken,

* If pleasure you promise yourself in the fight;
• For, unseen by your friends, by admirers forsaken,

There's none will regard an impalpable sprite.'

• Nay, nay!' quoth the countess, if that be the case,

• Take your passport again ; I'll have no more chagrin :
A fig for fine fights, if unseen one's fine face!
• What signifies seeing, if one is not seen!'

THE CONTENTED PHILOSOPHER.

BY THE REV. MR. CUNNINGHAME.

D

E E P filence reign'd, and dewy Night

Her filver vestment wore ;
The western gale breath'd calm delight,

And busy day was o'er ;

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Till, where the trembling beams of night

O'er limpid currents play'd,
Meandering-fix'd my roving fight

On deep Retirement's shade.

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The unambitious dome, conceald,

Fear'd no intrusive foes ;
From deep-embowering trees reveal'd

The feat of calm repose.

'Twas Sophron’s grove, an aged fire,

Who, vers’d in Wisdom's lore, Now tun'd his confecrated lyre,

To clofe the silent hour.

The hallow'd strain inflam'd my breaft,

I gain'd the rustick cell;
The courteous father bless'd his guest,

Then gave th’instructive tale.

« How false the aim of erring life !

« Hów fruitless the employ! « That treads the pompous maze of strifey

• In queft of folid joy!

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Thus reftlefs Nature loves to range,

! Thro’ life's gay scenes to rove ; « Till Reason prompts the happier change,

• To Contemplation's grove !

. When

$ When Fortune smil'd, when Pleasure woo'd,

• How indolently gay,
Life's transitory stream I view'd
• Unheeded waste away!

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For wealth, be smiling peace my share !

With friendship's generous love ; And, loft to each ambitious care,

Be mine the flowery grove !

There studious thought would wear the day,

In each instructive page ;
Or happier speed the hours away,

In converse with the fage.

Taught by the awful voice of Truth,

Life's syren suares to fly,
By Reason's card conduct my youth,

And like my Sophron die !

тн Е

B A S T A RD,

BY RICHARD SAVAGE, ESQ.

,

N gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,

The Muse exulting, thus her lay began. { Bless'd be the Bastard's birth! thro' wond'rous ways, He shines excentrick, like a comet's blaze !

No fickly fruit of faint compliance He!

He ! itamp'd in Nature's mint of extasy! • He lives to build, not boast a generous race ;

No tenth transmitter of a foolish face. • His daring hope no sire’s example bounds ; • His firit-born lights no prejudice confounds. • He, kindling from within, requires no flame;

He glories in a Baftard's glowing name.

· Born to himself, by no possession led, ? In freedom faster'd, and by Fortune fed ;

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Nor guides, nor rules, his sov’reign choice controul, ' His body independent as his soul. • Luos'd to the world's wide range; enjoin'd no aim ; Prescrib’d no duty, and assign'd no name: « Nature's unbounded son, he stands alone, • His heart unbiass’d, and his mind his own!

« O Mother, yet no mother ! 'tis to you, My thanks for such distinguish'd claims are due. ! You, unenslav'd to Nature's narrow laws,

Warm championess for Freedom's facred cause, • From all the dry devoirs of blood and line,

From ties maternal, moral and divine, • Discharg'd my grasping foul, push'd me from shore, • And launch'd me into life without an oar.

• What had I loft, if conjugally kind, By nature hating, yet by vows confin’d,

Untaught the matrimonial bounds to flight, • And coldly conscious of a husband's right, « You had faint-drawn me with a form alone, • A lawful lump of life by force your own! • Then, while your backward will retrench'd desire, • And unconcurring spirits lent no fire, • I had been born your dull, domestick heir ; • Load of your life, and motive of your care : • Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great ; • The slave of pomp, a cypher in the state ;

Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown, • And Numb'ring in a seat—by chance my own.

• Far nobler blessings wait the Bastard's lot ;
• Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot !
• Strong as Neceflity, he starts away,
• Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day!"

Thus, unprophetick, lately misinspir’d,
I sung ; gay flutt'ring Hope my fancy fir'd;
Inly secure, thro' conscious scorn of ill,
Nor taught by Wisdom how to balance will,

Rathly

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