One, who can think that crystal floods,
And mossy banks are solid goods:
So for my turn, as, if she pleases,

To make my sermons, or my cheeses.
And when I've found her-shall I marry?
Why Reason still cries, "Tarry-tarry.
"The way for you is yet but thorny,
Though 'twas so easy for the Attorney,
"His is a money-getting trade.
"Ill fate hath you a Parson made
"And given you so small a living,

"That you can never think of thriving.
"And children too-your wife may breed them
"Faster than both of you can feed them:
"Then her meek spirit and your own
"Under a weight of care must groan :
"You die-your daughter and your son
"And your dear wife are all undone".
If this for me be matrimony,

It has much more of gall than honey.
Better to muse among the flocks,
And grave my Sonnets on the rocks;
Than ever to desire to know

A joy so intermix'd with woe.

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF OUR PASSIONS.

SAY, Love, for what good end design'd

Wert thou to mortals given

Was it to fix on earth the mind?

Or raise the heart to heaven?

Deluded oft we still pursue

The fleeting bliss we sought,
As children chase the bird in view,
That's never to be caught.

O! who shall teach me to sustain,
A more than manly part?
To go through life, nor suffer pain
Nor joy to touch my heart.

Thou blest Indifference, be my guide,
I court thy gentle reign;
When Passion turns my steps aside,

Still call me back again.

Teach me to see through Beauty's art,
How oft its trappings hide

A base, a lewd, a treacherous heart,

With thousand ills beside.

Nor let my generous soul give way, Too much to serve my friends; Let Reason still controul their sway, And shew where Duty ends.

If to my lot a wife should fall,
May Friendship be our Love;
The Passion, that is transport all,
Does seldom lasting prove :

If lasting, 'tis too great for Peace,
The pleasure's so profuse;

The heart can never be at ease,
Which has too much to lose.

Calm let me estimate this life, Which I must leave behind, Nor let fond Passions raise a strife, To discompose my mind.

When Nature calls, may I steal by,

As rising from a feast;

I've had my fill of life, and why

Should I disturb the rest?

EPITAPH.

STRANGER, approach! and shed a tender tear,
If ever Virtue to thy soul was dear;

If ever Friend in distant climate lost
Unknown to all, or known to few at most,
Thy heart, if ever female sweetness warm'd,
Or lively wit, or strength of reason charm'd,
Or suffering Beauty bade thy sorrows flow,
Here stop a-while to melt at others' woe:
And learn an husband's, brother's, parent's moan
For such a consort, sister, daughter' gone.

THOMAS BLACKLOCK.

1721.1791.

Thomas Blacklock, though born in Scotland, was the son of English parents, his father was a bricklayer: at the age of six months he was deprived of his sight by the smallpox; this calamity was counterbalanced by an acute and comprehensive mind, and an amiable disposition; he acquired an early taste for poetry, by hearing it from his father's readings; as he advanced in age, he acquired the Latin, Greek, and French languages, and a knowledge of Philosophy; his poems are very extraordinary pro ductions, and demonstrate the power of genius, to overcome obstacles, which even nature has thrown in its way; the combined powers of his other senses, and the ideas he received through them, enabled him to form such associations, as that of sight would have assisted to supply him with, and it very seldom occurs in reading his works, that any trace of the deficiency of this sense can be discovered. The author of his life says, 'Mr. Black