« הקודםהמשך »
He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
[Taking a jump through the stage door.
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.
Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart; Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.
o Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of wo,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes : Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead!
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH,
Struck Blind by Lightning.
SURE 'twas by Providence designed
Rather in pity than in hate,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear ?
She long had wanted cause of fear.
From the Oratorio of the Captivity.
The wretch condemned with life to part,
Still, still on hope relies;
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way; And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
Intended to have been sung in the Comedy of " She
Stoops to Conquer."
Ah me! when shall I marry me?
O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and’vain, To former joys recurring every
And turning all the past to pain :
Thou, like the world, the oppressed oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretches wo; And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.
STANZAS ON WOMAN.
WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
The only art her guilt to cover,
THE CLOWN'S REPLY.
JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears? « An't please you,' quoth John, “ I'm not given to
letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters, Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses."
EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL.
Tais tomb inscribed to gentle Parnell's pame,
EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.*
Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack :
I dont think he'll wish to come back.
* This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin ; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's Henriade.