And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red,
And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head,
And say, My boy, th' unwelcome hour is come,

850

When thou, transplanted from thy genial home,
Must find a colder soil and bleaker air,
And trust for safety to a stranger's care;
What character, what turn thou wilt assume
From constant converse with I know not whom;
Who there will court thy friendship, with what views,
And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose; 856
Though much depends on what thy choice shall be,
Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me.
Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids,

And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids ; 860
Free too, and under no constraining force,

Unless the sway of custom warp thy course ;

Lay such a stake upon the losing side

Merely to gratify so blind a guide?

Thou canst not! Nature, pulling at thine heart, 865 Condemns th' unfatherly, th' imprudent part.

Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tend'rest plea,
Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea,

Nor say, Go thither, conscious that there lay

A brood of asps or quicksands in his way;
Then, only govern'd by the self-same rule
Of nat❜ral pity, send him not to school.
No-guard him better. Is he not thine own,
Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone?
And hop'st thou not, ('tis ev'ry father's hope,)
That since thy strength must with thy years elope,
And thou wilt need some comfort to assuage

870

875

Health's last farewell, a staff in thine old age,

That then, in recompense of all thy cares,

Thy child shall show respect to thy gray hairs,.
Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft,
And give thy life its only cordial left!
Aware then how much danger intervenes,
To compass that good end forecast the means,

880

His heart, now passive, yields to thy command;
Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand.

885

890

If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide,
Nor heed what guest there enter and abide,
Complain not if attachments lewd and base
Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place
But, if thou guard its sacred chambers sure
From vicious inmates and delights impure,
Either his gratitude shall hold him fast,
And keep him warm and filial to the last;
Or, if he prove unkind, (as who can say
But, being man, and therefore frail, he may ?)
One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart,
Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part.
O barb'rous! wouldst thou with a Gothick hand
Pull down the schools-what!--all th' schools i' th'

land;

Or throw them up to liv'ry nags and grooms,
Or turn them into shops and auction rooms?
A captious question, sir, (and yours is one,)
Deserves an answer similar or none.
Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ,
(Appris'd that he is such,) a careless boy,

825

900

905

And feed him well, and give him handsome pay,

Merely to sleep, and let them run astray?

Survey our schools and colleges, and see

A sight not much unlike my simile.

910

From education, as the leading cause,

The publick character its colour draws;

Thence the prevailing manners take their cast,
Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste.

And, though I would not advertise them yet,
Nor write on each-This building to be let,
Unless the world were all prepar'd t' embrace
A plan well worthy to supply their place ;
Yet, backward as they are, and long have boen,
To cultivate and keep the morals clean,

915

920

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.

AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.

THE swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,

And bees in hives as idly wait

The call of early Spring.

II.

The keenest frost that binds the stream,

The wildest wind that blows,

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,
Secure of their repose.

III.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys!
With present ills his heart must ache,
And pant for brighter days.

IV.

Old Winter, halting o'er the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn;

But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head,
And whispers your return.

V.

Then April with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bow'rs,
And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day
To crown the smiling hours.

VI.

And if a tear, that speaks regret,

Of happier times, appear,

A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
Shall shine and dry the tear.

On the receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk, the gift of my cousin Ann Bodham,

O THAT those lips had language! Life has pass'd With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see, The same, that oft in childhood solac'd me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !” The meck intelligence of those dear eyes, (Bless'd be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles Time's tyrannick claim To quench it,) here shines on me still the same

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here !
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.

I will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,

A momentary dream, that thou art she.

My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss, Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in blissAh, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,

I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And turning from my nurs'ry window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adien!
But was it such ?-It was where thou art gore
Adicus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
And disappointed still, was still deceiv'd.
By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till all my stock of infant sorrows spent,

I learn'd at last submission to my lot,

But though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot.

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor; And where the gard'ner, Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the publick way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, Tis now become a hist'ry little known, That once we call'd the past'ral house our own. Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair, 'That mem'ry keeps of all the kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd A thousand other themes iess deeply trac'd. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,

The biscuit, or confectionary plum,

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd

By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd

All this, and more endearing still than all,

Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,