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Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorn'd in heaven, though little notic'd here.

Could time, his flight revers’d, restore the hours
When playing with thy vefure's tissued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jaffamine,
I prick'd them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head and smile)
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
Seems fo to be desir'd, perhaps I might. -
But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be lor'd, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound fpirit into bonds again.

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cros’d) Shoots into port at some well-haven'd ille, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; So thou, with fails how swift! hast reach'd the shore “ Where tempests never beat nor billows roar *,"



* Garth.

And thy lov'd confort on the dang'rous tide
Oi life, long lioce, has anchor'd at thy fide.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that reít,
Always from port withheld, always diftrefs'd-
Me howling winds drive devious, tempelt toss'd,
Sails ript, seans op'ning vide, and compass lost,
And day by day fome current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
But oh the thought, that thou art fafe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my

From loins enthron’d and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell-time, unrevok'd, has run
His wonted course, yet what I wilh'd is done.
By contemplations help, not fought in vain,
I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the fin os violating thine ;
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic slew of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in bis theft
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.







John GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's fpoufe said to her dear

Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our,'

And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton

All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister's child,

Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise ; fo you must ride

On horseback after we.

He soon replied-I do admire

Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear,

Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender

Will lend his horse to go.

Quoth Mrs Gilpin- That's well faid

And, for that wine is dear, We will be furnith'd with our own,

Which is both bright and clear.

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;

O'erjoy'd was he to find
That, though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allow'd
To drive up to the door, least all

Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaife was stay'd,

Where they did all get in ; Six precious fouls, and all agog

To dath through thick and thin!

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,

Were never folk so glad,
The fones did rattle anderneath

As if Cheapfide were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seiz'd fast the flowing mane,


in haste to ride, But foon came down again ;

And up

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