His powder'd head, his filken hofe,
The dafhing buckles on his toes,
Seem'd fuited for a court;
The muslin round a pudding roll'd,
In which he kept his chin from cold,
Was of the finest fort.
He trod on flow; but 'midst the tide
A brewer's dray was feen to glide-
Unmindful of the mud;
Before which stalk'd, with fteps quite bold,
Two high-fed steeds of beauteous mould-
The pride of Whitbread's ftud.
The fplashing made on every fide
The lane, which was not over-wide,
Quite terrified the elf:
He faw the carelefs fteeds come on,
But dar'd not stand, nor dar'd to 'run-
Left he should splash himself.
At length, poor youth! he made a stop,
And would have got into a fhop-
But, ah! the door was thût !
When, lo! th' advanc'd proceffion greets
The hapless beau with all the sweets
Collected in the rut !
He fwore, and call'd the drayman wight
Untaught, unlearn'd, and unpolite,
And faid he 'd thrath the blade;
But he did not-good reafon why;
Alas, no Hercules was nigh,
To give Narciffus aid!
Then, all ye bucks who walk the street,
So fpruce, fo buxom, and so neat,
Learn, this fad tale by reading,
To keep at home on rainy days,
Left
you fhould meet with any drays-
For draymen have no breeding!
FRANTIC LOVER.
By the late George Steevens, Esq.*
Imo in corde pudor, mistoque infania lucu,
Et Furiis agitatus Amor.
ND fhall then another embrace thee, my fair?
Muft envy ftill add to the pangs of defpair?
Shall I live to behold the reciprocal blifs--
Death, death is a refuge-Elyfium to this!
The ftar of the evening now bids thee retire:-
A curs'd be its orb, and extinguish'd its fire;
For it fhows me my rival prepar'd to invade
Thofe charms which at once I admir'd and obey'd!
Far off each forbidding incumbrance is thrown,
And, Sally, thy beauties no more are thy own;
Thy coynefs, too, flies, as love brings to thy view
A trance more ecftatic than faint ever knew!
And yet I behold thee, though longing to die,
Approach the new heav'n with a tear and a figh;
For, oh, the fond figh 'midst enjoyment will tray-
And a tear is the tribute which rapture must pay!
Still, ftill, doft thou tremble that pleasure to seek
Which pants on thy bofom and glows on thy cheek;
Confufion and fhame thy foft wishes deftroy--
And terror cuts off the weak bloffom of joy!
Ah, had I been bleft with thy beauty, my fair,
With fondeft attention, with delicate care,
My heart would have tried all thy fears to remove,
And pluck'd ev'ry thorn from the roses of love!
These verses, we believe, are the only fpecimen of his poetical talents that has ever been published. [The last verse is attributed to Mr. Hayley.]
My infolent rival, more proud of his right,
Contemns the fweet office-that foul of delight!
Lefs tender he feizes thy lips as his prey-
And all thy dear limbs the rough fummons obey!
E'en now more licentious!- -Rash mortal, forbear-
Restrain him, O Venus!-let him, too, despair!
Freeze, freeze, the fwift ftreams which now hurry to join→→→
And curfe him with paffions unfated like mine!
How weak is thy rage his fierce joy to control!-
A kifs from thy body fhoots life to his foul!
Thy froft, too, diffolv'd, in one current is run-
And all thy keen feelings are blended in one !
Thy limbs from his limbs a new warmth fhall acquire,
His paffions from thine fhall redouble their fire;
Till wreck'd and o'erwhelm'd in the storm of delight,
Thine ears lose their hearing-thine eyes lofe their fight!
Here conqueft muft paufe (though it ne'er can be cloy'd),
To view the rich plunder of beauty enjoy'd!-
The treffes difhevell'd, the bøfom difplay'd-
And the wishes of years in a moment repaid!
A thousand soft thoughts in thy fancy combine;
A thousand wild horrors affemble in mine!
Relieve me, kind Death; fhut the scene from
And fave me, O fave me, ere madness enfue!
ADDRESSED TO THE LOVERS OF MODERN POETRY.
[From the Morning Herald.]
BEAR me, ye Zephyrs, where no fleety showers,
On mifty wing no angry whirlwind lowers,
No horrid ice its bulk enormous rears,
Unthaw'd through beamlef. funs and waste of years;
No defert's black uncultur'd ruin lies,
Spreads its vaft plain, and mingles with the fkies;
Wild-screaming Famine fweeps along the fhore,
In concert dread with the wide ocean's roar :—
But, ripe with life, all forms their incense bring,
Stretch the young limb, and clap the quiv'ring wing,
Refplendent fylphs in orient ether stray,
And glance their glittering fides, and hymn the blaze of day!
Dart their swift light with undulation fine,
Wheel their bright ranks, indent the varying line,
Mount on the clouds, direct the fpringing rain,
And float triumphant o'er the laughing plain;
Rocks, hills, and woods, in gay confufion rife,
Impearl'd with dewdrops, gliften to the skies;
The glorious fun harmonious rolls along,
Gaze of the fage, and idol of the throng,
The lord of life and light, and patron of the fong.
Where gentle love, in confentaneous minds,
An off'ring pure, an honest altar finds,
My Delia where, reclufe in dim retreat,
Relenting comes, her lover's vows to meet-
In that fweet hour, when fairy twilight's reign
Sweeps the long fhadows o'er the glimm'ring plain,
Through the fine frame when panting tremors move,
And melts the foul in ecftacies of love.
Each fwelling grace and undulated charm,
The bofom's pant, the rofy-winding arm,
The thrilling languish of the liquid eye,
Which coyly grants the love it feems to fly!
All these my Delia owns-nor these alone
Beam the blue eye, or heave the virgin zone;
The generous tranfports of a feeling mind,
Slave to no precept, by no rule confin'd;
No bigot prejudice, with rude control,
Chill'd the young ardour of her buoyant foul;
But rapturous hope, and eager fond surprise,
Lives in her mien and fparkles in her eyes!
Each look is love, and every action grace,
Nature each word, all intelle&t her face!
I feel her thrilling touch, her glance of fire,
Each reeling fenfe in ecftacy expire,
Throbs
every nerve, while rapture whelms my breaft-
Come then, expreffive filence, mufe the reft,
IN THE MANNER OF SOME MODERN POETS*.
H Puddle, doom'd to wander through the street,
And force thy way o'er many a rugged stone,
The Mufe, tear-tributing, thy ftream fhall greet,
And fympathize with thee in gurgling groan.
Pure was thy fource as morn's ethereal dew.
Though now, mud-mingling, must thy current flow,
Ordain'd to creep the broken pavement through,
And sputter-fplafh the stockings of the beau.
Pure too was 'man, when in his infant state,
Ere vice fprang forth, that puddle of the foul;
And man in thee may trace his kindred fate,
As both along Time's mazy kennel roll.
For man, fin-foil'd, at fcouring penance aims,
As thou to clean thyself in filver Thames.
AN AIR FROM THE BUBBLEANDSQUEAKINI OF
KITCHENER.
(Cookilina pokes & perspires.)
THE pot doth boil, the fire doth roar,
The damfel ftirs it still the more;
The dumplings they tumble up and up,
She ladles them out, and takes a fup-
Her bofom is panting with heat.
As the works of these gentlemen are "of special merit, but of little note," it may be proper to obferve, that the chief characteristics of their poetry are, a familiar fubject—the more familiar, indeed, the better; plenty of compound epithets, to inveft it with fuitable dignity; a pathetic humility, to soften the feelings; and, above all things, a levelling moral.
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