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JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. DEAR Joseph-five and twenty years ago Alas, how time escapes !—'tis even so— With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour—and now we never meet! As some grave gentleman in Terence

says ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days), Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings—. Strange fluctuation of all human things ! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, But distance only cannot change the heart; And, were I callid to prove the assertion true, One proof should serve--a reference to you.

Whence comes it then, that, in the wane of life Though nothing have occurr’d to kindle strife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch? No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.

Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overawed Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. Go, fellow!-whither?-turning short aboutNay. Stay at home-you're always going out. 'Tis but a step, Sir, just at the street's end.For what?-An please you, Sir, to see a friendA friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to startYea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw, I'll see him toothe first I ever saw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his plaything often when a child; But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close, Else he was seldom bitter or morose. Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, His grief might prompt him with the speech he

made; Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth, The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.

But not to moralize too much and strain, To prove an evil of which all complain, (I hate long arguments verbosely spun) One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, No matter where, in China or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well known duties of a friend, Convicted once should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. The punishment importing this, no doubt, That all was naught within, and all found out.

O happy Britain! we have not to fear Such hard and arbitrary measure here; Else, could a law, like that which I relate, Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old, Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold; While you, my friend, whateverwind should blow', Might traverse England safely to and fro, An honest man, close-button’d to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.

TO

THE REV. MR. NEWTON,

AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.

The swallows in their torpid state

Compose their useless wing, And bees in hives as idly wait

The call of early Spring. The keenest frost that binds the stream,

The wildest wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,

Secure of their repose.
But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys;
With present ills his heart must ache,

And pant for brighter days.
Old Winter, halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head,

And whispers your return. Then April, with her sister May,

Shall chase him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day,

To crown the smiling hours.
And if a tear, that speaks regret

Of happier times, appear,
A glimpse of joy, that we have met,

Shall shine, and dry the tear.
VOL. I.

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TO THE

REV. MR. NEWTON, ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE.- —остоBER, 1780. That ocean you have late survey'd,

Those rocks I too have seen,
But I afflicted and dismay'd,

You tranquil and serene.
You from the flood-controling steep,

Saw stretch'd before your view,
With conscious joy, the threatening deep,

No longer such to you.
To me, the waves that ceaseless broke

Upon the dangerous coast,
Hoarsely and ominously spoke

Of all my treasure lost.
Your sea of troubles you have pass’d,

And found the peaceful shore;
I, tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last,

Come home to port no more.

TO THE

REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. Unwin, I should but ill

repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay

As ever Friendship pennd,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a vicious age.

A union form'd as mine with thee,

Not rashly nor in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,

And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in comfort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.
The bud inserted in the rind,

The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind,

The stock whereon it grows,
With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair,
As if produced by Nature there.
Not rich, I render what I may,

I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,

Lest this should prove the last.
'Tis where it should be-in a plan
That holds in view the good of man.
The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,

Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame

Than ever blazed by art.
No Muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.

TO A YOUNG FRIEND,

ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN

HAD FALLEN THERE.-1793. If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he

found, While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around, Might fitly represent the Church, endow'd With heavenly gifts, to Heathens not allow’d;

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