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There the green emerald, there cornelians glow,
Of fair attire, the last recess displays,
Now through the hall melodious music stole,
For sweet refreshment all inviting seems
But when meek eve hung out her dewy star,
Divinely form'd, a downy couch arose,
BY DR. DRENNAN,
I. Here sits IP, and could I but find A pallet well charg’d with the colours of mind, I should venture to paint, with inadequate plan, The lights and the shades of this great, little man. Achilles, 'tis said, had a skin made of steel, And was callous to all, save the kibe on his heel; But our friend feels, all over, the sting or the smart, And wherever you touch, 'tis a pulse from the heart. With such sense, and such soreness, I can't understand Why he ne'er feels an itch—in the palm of the hand.
Acute, argumentative, agile, yet strong, With a heart ever right and a head seldom wrong; With passions too prompt to sit quiet and still; In his principles fix'd, with a wandering will; Perplex'd in his creed, and too apt, so to tell us; In his friendships a little too lovingly jealous ; Still eager to get or to give satisfaction, He drives after motives and misses the action. No axiom so clear, but he'll make it more plain; No action so fair, but he likes to explain. Too nice in the right; too sincere for profession, And with meaning so full that he fails in expression,
For when crowds of ideas all strive to rush oul,
steer; Nor ever declin'd from the patriot direction, "Till the lightning of Grattan once hurt the attraction; But the transient dip, and the slight deviation, Prove the needle points true in its natural station.
No prancing, curvetting, episcopal poney,
Such a pillar, when Samson was called out for sport, Perhaps might have sav'd the whole Philistine court. Sam might crack all his sinews, and bow with his
weight, But Will would uphold both the church and the
state. On all who dare shake that contenient alliance, He bends his black brows, and he scowls a defiance. Yet forgets, while he thunders against reformation, That what is establishment was innovation. Our patriots, alas! are all dwarfish and weak, Too puny to make aristocracy quake; But O! could thy principles change to the Whig, Coulds't thou throw them as readily off as thy wig, That old tyrant, called Custom, in vain would resist The momentum of such a republican fist : His strong castle would tumble, like Jericho's wall, And his talisman broken, the giant must fall.
More solid than shining, more weighty than wordy. In the right, very stout: in the wrong, very sturdy, Both sudden and sure, in the grasp of conception, But tuo fond of the rule, to admit the exception. Too tenacious in tenet to sport an opinion, Each dogma with him has despotic dominion. Too apt to mistake argumentative strife, And to lay down a word as he'd lay down his life. He takes always good aim, but tou quick in the timing, He fushes the bird, and his temper burns priming. His heart always flamues with good fuel, well fed, But it sends up, at times, a thick smoke to the head; And 'till that clears away, 'tis not easy to know The fact or the motive, the friend or the foe. Then take up this tankard of rough, massy plate, Not for fashion preferr'd, but for value and weight;
When you lift up the cover, then think of our Vicar,
But when genius and judgntent are called to the feast,
No collector of medals, or fossils so fine,