The parson's maid-sore cause had she to rue Beam'd on the ruins of a one-horse chaise, To stop the titt'ring laugh, the blush to hide. Must ye be mothers; maids at least no more. THE COUNTRY JUSTICE. TO ROBERT WILSON CRACROFT, ESQ. BORN with a gentle heart, and born to please With native goodness, of no fortune vain, The social aspect of inviting ease, The kind opinion, and the sense humane; To thee, my Cracroft, whom, in early youth, With lenient hand, and anxious love I led Thro' paths where science points to manly truth: And glory gilds the mansions of the dead : To thee this offering of maturer thought, That since wild Fancy flung the lyre aside, With heedful hand the moral Muse hath wrought, That Muse devotes, and bears with honest pride. Yet not that period of the human year, All Nature's seasons different aspects wear, That wav'd their green uncertainty of shade; Nor yet the days consum'd in Hackthorn's vale, That lonely on the heath's wide bosom lies, Should we with stern severity bewail, And all the lighter hours of life despise. For Nature's seasons different aspects wear, And now her flowers, and now herfruits are due; Awhile she freed us from the scourge of Care, But told us then-for social ends we grew. To find some virtue trac'd on life's short page, Some mark of service paid to human kind, Alone can cheer the wintry paths of age, Alone support the far-reflecting mind. Oh! often thought-when Smith's discerning care To further days prolong'd this failing frame! To die, was little-But what heart could bear To die, and leave an undistinguish'd name Blagdon House, Feb. 22, 1775. PROTECTION OF THE POOR. YET', while thy rod restrains the needy crew, But still, forgot the grandeur of thy reign, Let age no longer toil with feeble strife, Worn by long service in the war of life; Nor leave the head, that time hath whiten'd, bare To the rude insults of the searching air; Nor bid the knee, by labour harden'd, bend, O thou, the poor man's hope, the poor man's friend! If, when from Heav'n severer seasons fall, Fled from the frozen roof, and mouldering wall, Each face the picture of a winter-day, [tray;More strong than Teniers' pencil could pourIf then to thee resort the shivering train, Of cruel days, and cruel mah complain, Say to thy heart (remembering him who said) "These people come from far, and have no bread." Nor leave thy venal clerk empower'd to hear; The voice of want is sacred to thy ear. He, where no fees his sordid pen invite, Sports with their tears, too indolent to write; Like the fed monkey in the fable, vain To hear more helpless animals complain. A monster furnish'd with a human frame, But chief thy notice shall one monster claim, 'Refers to the conclusion of the first part. 2 The Mahometan princes seem to have a re gular system of begging. Nothing so common as to hear that the dey of Algiers, &c. &c. are dissatisfied with their presents. It must be owned, it would be for the welfare of the world, if princes in general would adhere to the maxim, that "it is better to beg than to steal." Tu poscis vilia rerum, Quamvis fers te nullius egentem. 3 The parish-officer!-tho' verse disdain Terms that deform the splendour of the strain; When the poor hind, with length of years de- Leans feebly on his once subduing spade, When harvest's burning suns and sick'ning air From labour's unbrac'd hand the grasp'd hook tear, Where shall the hapless family be fed, If in thy courts this caitiff wretch appear, To something more than magistrate aspire? And, first we'll range this mountain's stormy Where the rude winds the shepherd's roof de- -That roof have I remember'd many a year; Here, in those days, we found an aged pair;- there? "Horrour!-By Heav'n, extended on a bed 'Tis the shepherd and his wife. I knew the scene, and brought thee to behold What speaks more strongly than the story told. They died thro' want "By every power I swear, If the wretch treads the earth, or breathes the Thro' whose default of duty, or design, [air, These victims fell, he dies." Sooth'd by his pity, by his bounty fed, E'en these, unhappy! who, beheld too late, In vain To rave at mischief, if the cause remain. O days long lost to man in each degree! The golden days of hospitality! When liberal fortunes vied with liberal strife To fill the noblest offices of life; [gate When Wealth was Virtue's handmaid, and her Gave a free refuge from the wrongs of fate; The poor at hand their natural patrons saw, And lawgivers were supplements of law. Lost are those days, and Fashion's boundless Has borne the guardian magistrate away: [sway Save in Augusta's streets, on Gallia's shore, The rural patron is beheld no more. No more the poor his kind protection share, Unknown their wants, and unreceiv'd their pray'r. Yet has that Fashion, long so light and vain, Reform'd at last, and led the moral train? Have her gay vot'ries nobler worth to boast For Nature's love, for Nature's virtue lost? No-fled from these, the sons of fortune find What poor respect to wealth remains behind. The mock regard alone of menial slaves, The worship'd calves of their outwitting knaves! Foregone the social, hospitable days, When wide vales echo'd with their owner's Of all that ancient consequence bereft, [praise, What has the modern man of fashion left? Does he, perchance, to rural scenes repair, And "waste his sweetness" on the essenc'd air? Ah! gently lave the feeble frame he brings, Ye scouring seas! and ye sulphureous springs! And thou, Brightelmstone, where no cits annoy (All borne to Margate, in the Margate-hoy,) Where, if the hasty creditor advance, Lies the light skiff, and ever-bailing France, Do thou defend him in the dog-day suns; Secure in winter from the rage of duns! While the grim catchpole, the grim porter swear, One that he is, and one, he is not there, The tortur'd us'rer, as he murmurs by, Eyes the Venetian blinds, and heaves a sigh O, from each title folly ever took, From these and all the garbage of the great, Lies in sweet ambush for thy careless hours; Than haunts of rapine, harbours of disease? Will no kind slumbers o'er thine eyelids creep, Is it thy passion Linley's voice to hear, Is it on Garrick's attitude you dont; Superior here the scene in every part! Here reigns great Nature, and there little art! Here let thy life assume a nobler plan, To Nature faithful, and the friend of man! Unnumber'd objects ask thy honest care, Beside the orphan's tear, the widow's pray'r. Far as thy power can save, thy bounty bless, Unnumber'd evils call for thy redress. Seest thou afar yon solitary thorn, [torn? With horrour stopp'd a felon in his flight; Far other treatment she who breathless lay Worn with long toil on many a painful road, That toil increas'd by nature's growing load, When ev'ning brought the friendly hour of rest, And all the mother throng'd about her breast, The ruffian officer oppos'd her stay, And, cruel, bore her in her pangs away; So far beyond the town's last limits drove, That to return were hopeless, had she strove. Abandon'd there-with famine, pain and cold, That thief shall live, that overseer shall die.” O, No!-sir John-the Muse's gentle art Yet would I praise the pious zeal that saves Come then, long skill'd in theft's illusive ways, Lord of the clue that threds her mighty maze! Together let us beat all Giles's fields, Try what the night-house, what the round-house yields, Hang when we must, be candid when we please, But leave no bawd, unlicens'd, at her ease. Say first, of thieves above, or thieves below, What can we order till their haunts we know? Far from St. James's let your Nimrods stray, But stop and call at Stephen's in their way. That ancient victualler, we've been told, of late, Has kept bad hours, encourag'd high debate? That those without still pelting those within, Have stunn'd the peaceful neighbours with their That if you close his private walls invest, [din; 'Tis odds, you meet with some unruly guestGood Lord, sir John, how would the people stare, To see the present and the late lord mayor', Bow to the majesty of Bow-street chair! 1 This was written about the year 1776. Illustrious chiefs! can I your haunts pass by, Yet here, in vain-Oh, had her toil been vain, Oh, patriots, ever patriots out of place, And thou, O Ch-m, once a nation's pride, Oh, patriots, ever patriots out of place, Where forty-five once mark'd the dirty door, And the chain'd knife ' invites the paltry whore ; Tho' far, methinks, the choicest guests are fled, And Wilkes and Humphrey number'd with the dead, Wilkes, who in death would friendship's vows fulfil, True to his cause, and dines with Humphrey still No-much, alas! for you, for me remains, 'Chain'd to the table, to prevent depredations. -For them I ask not, hostile to thy sway, PRISONS. Yet, gentle power, thy absence I bewail, And blush to think the Gothic age unclos'd! FILIATION. Oh, more than Goths, who yet decline to raze Th' unnatural monarch, to the sex unkind, Here, then, O Justice! thy own power forbear; Yet shalt thou know, nor is the diff'rence nice, Left to the shameless lash, the hardning jail, The down-cast eye, the tear that flows amain, How loth they leave a gentle breast to blame ! The sole protector of th' unpitied fair! THE ORIGIN OF THE VEIL. 17 Jac. c. 4. To Tweedale's taste, to Edgecumbe's sense serene, And (Envy spare this boast) to Britain's queen; She saw the path to new, tho' humble fame, Dread that endears, and softness that disarms. [thrall, That drinks the day's first glories as they rise; Yet the soft blush, untutor'd to control, Far as the long records of time we trace⚫ Still flow'd the veil o'er modesty's fair face: The guard of beauty, in whose friendly shade, Safe from each eye the featur'd soul is laid,The pensive thought that paler looks betray, The tender grief that steals in tears away, The hopeless wish that prompts the frequent sigh Bleeds in the blush, or melts upon the eye. The man of faith thro' Gerar doom'd to stray, A nation waiting his eventful way, His fortune's fair companion at his side, The world his promise, Providence his guide; Once, more than virtue dar'd to value life, And call'd a sister whom he own'd a wife. Mistaken fatber of the faithful race, Thy fears alone could purchase thy disgrace. "Go" to the fair, when conscious of the tale, Said Gerar's prince, "thy husband is thy veil ." O ancient faith! O virtue mourn'd in vain! When Hymen's altar never held a stain; When his pure torch shed undiminish'd rays, And fires unholy died beneath the blaze! For faith like this fair Greece was early known, And claim'd the veil's first honours as her own. The Fables of Flora. 2 Plato mentions two provinces in Persia, one of which was called the Queen's Girdle, the other the Queen's Veil, the revenues of which, no doubt, were employed in purchasing those parts of ber majesty's dress. It was about the middle of the third century, that the eastern women, on taking the vow of virginity, assumed that veil which had before been worn by the Pagan priestesses, and which is used by the religious among the Romanists now. 3" He is the veil of thine eyes to all that are with thee, and to all others."-Gen. xx. 16. Vet. Trans. Ere half her sons, o'er Asia's trembling coast, Arm'd to revenge one woman's virtue lost; Ere he, whom Circe sought to charm in vain, Follow'd wild fortune o'er the various main, In youth's gay bloom he plied th' exulting oar, From Ithaca's white rocks to Sparta's shore: Free to Nerician gales the vessel glides, And wild Eurotas 5 smoothes his warrior tides; For am'rous Greece, when Love conducts the way, Beholds her waters, and her winds obey. No object hers but Love's impression knows, No wave that wanders, and no breeze that blows, Her groves, her mountains have his power confest, And Zephyr sigh'd not but for Flora's breast. 'Twas when his sighs in sweetest whispers stray'd Far o'er Laconia's plains from Eva's shade! warms, All princely virtues, and all manly charms, "No bloom so fair Messene's banks disclose, "To vows that vainly waste their warmth in Insidious hopes that lead but to despair, wave. "But not for him their hopes or fears alone! They seek the promis'd partner of his throne; For her their incense breathes, their altars blaze, For her to Heaven the suppliant eye they raise. Ah! shall they know their prince implor'd in vain? Can my heart live beneath a nation's pain?" There spoke the virtue that her soul admir'd, The Spartan soul, with patriot ardour fir'd. "Enough!" she cried-" Be mine to boast a part In him, who holds his country to his heart. Worth, honour, faith, that fair affection gives, And with that virtue, ev'ry virtue lives." 4 From the mountain Neritos in Ithaca, now called Nericia. 5 The Spartan river. E merite d'Alberghe amore.-Tasso. 7 A mountain in Peloponnesus. • Omnes omnium caritates, &c.-Cic. |