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Poor Ass! thy Master should have learnt to shew
Pity—best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famished in a land of Luxury !
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, “ And have I then one Friend ?”
Innocent Foal! thou poor despised Forlorn!
I hail thee BROTHER—spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer HBALTH his Bride,
And LAUGHTER tickle PLENTY's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as Lamb

or Kitten
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be,
Than warbled Melodies that sooth to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast !

gay!

DOMESTIC PEACE.

Tell me, on what holy ground
May Dumestic Peace be found?
Halcyon Daughter of the skies,
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of Sceptered State,
From the Rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells !
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honour's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
SORROW smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ
MEMORY, bosom-spring of joy.

THE SIGH.

When Youth his faery reign began
Ere Sorrow had proclaimed me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely Prospect smiled ;
Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heard the painless Sign for thee.

And when, along the waves of woe,
My harassed Heart was doomed to know
The frantic Burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen ;
Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea
I heaved an anguished Siou for thee!

But soon Reflection's

power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!

And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would sooth the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys that were !
Thy Image may not banished be-
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.

June, 1794.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,

Death came with friendly care ; The opening bud to Heaven conveyed

And bade it blossom there.

LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S-ARMS,

ROSS,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE “MAN OF ROSS."

Richer than Miser o'er his countless hoards,
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted LORDS,
Here dwelt the Man or Ross! O Traveller, hear!
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth ;
He hears the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of praise,
He marked the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow-shrivelled captive lay,
Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray.
Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass :
To higher zest shall MEMORY wake thy soul,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been ;
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught,
Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought;
Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt,
And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt !

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