Can lend it golden wings to fly,
As t'were native of the sky.

Yet when 'tis full, oh let it rest,
A gift to her you love the best!
In her kind hand it still shall prove
A friend to Bounty as to Love;
And I next year will send to you
An empty sack, for filling too.

LINES

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. MOODY *.

WHILE genuine worth without pretence,

And genuine wit, without offence;
A temper equal, soft and kind,

A mirthful heart, a serious mind;
A fancy vivid, gay, and warm,
And true good-humour's constant charm;
In generous sympathy sincere,

A gift to Want, to Woe a tear;-
While courteous manners, accents mild,

'Midst spirits blithe and frolic wild,

And hospitality that knew

No narrow art, no sordid view,

The wife of the gentleman to whom the foregoing verses were ad dressed.

But

But flow'd spontaneous from the breast,
Delighting to make others blest :-
While these remain a theme of praise,
Thy death the tender sigh shall raise,
And till all these shall charm no more
Thy early fate shall we deplore.

ON THE DIFFICULTY OF DELINEATING THE CHARACTER OF A FAVOURITE SISTER LATELY DECEASED

JULY 15TH, 1803.

VAINLY I Court the Muses' tender aid
To pay due tribute to thy gentle shade:
Far from my plaintive prayer they drooping turn,
To shed soft pity o'er my Harriet's urn.
No gleam of Genius, or of Fancy's ray,
To raise the mind or drive despair away;
No genial smile, alas! they deign to send,
And all the Poet's vanish'd in the Friend.

When Time with lenient balm shall ease bestow,
When fades the past, and tears less frequent flow;
When Memory, still too faithful to forget
Her anguish, softens into mild regret;

Then Love shall vibrate less on Sorrow's string,
The Muse revive, and mount on tuneful wing;

These feeling lines are by the Lady who has contributed the pleasing pieces which follow those of the Fair Invisible, in a former part of the present volume.

VOL. III.

2 F

Perchance

Perchance her wonted energy regain,

And sweet Invention deck the hallowed strain.

But, ah, blest Spirit! Sister of my love! No time one sacred truth can e'er removeThe Poet most inspir'd could ne'er impart Thy Virtues, best recorded in the heart.

TO MR. SIGMOND*,

ON DRAWING ONE OF THE AUTHOR'S TEETH.

To lose a friend, who, in this vale of tears,
Had been an honest helpmate fifty years!
A friend, who all that time had firmly stood,
And prov'd, in hardest duty, firm and good;
So close our union, that we seem'd but one,
Flesh of the mutual flesh, and bone of bone:
And when, full oft, on desperate service plac'd,
Each tough encounter like a hero fac'd!

Yet, O! from such a friend at length to part-
Ye, who e'er lost a tooth-O tell the smart!

Thrice every day-still eager for the fight,
He waged the war, and fought with all his might;
Prepar'd the muffin, touch'd the toast so nice,
And help'd at dinner through each dainty slice;
And, O! what toils Herculean did he brave!
A stout day-labourer, an unwcaried slave.

• A celebrated Dentist at Bath

Now

Now the gigantic ox he piece-meal tore,
Now fang'd the ham of the Westphalian boar;
Now to the mouth the tempting lamb he drew,
And seiz'd on all the cook or butcher slew:

Yet, O! from such a friend at length to part--
Ye, who e'er lost a tooth-O tell the smart!

A sanguine compact!-But since men must eat,
And, spite of Ritson*, will not leave off meat,
Poor hungry morals go devouring on,
And the long course of devastation run;
And blest the man, who safely can depend,
In deeds so bloody, on a fearless friend!

Yet, O! from such a friend at length to part-
Ye, who e'er lost a tooth-O tell the smart!

Then what to cruel Sigmond shall I say,
Whose ruthless forceps dragg'd this friend away?
And, like the fatal Furies with their sheers,
Struck at the pride of half a hundred years?
And as the helpless victim bleeding lay,
And show'd the mortal signs of life's decay,
What shall we say to him who thus could sever
Such a deep-rooted favourite for ever?

Yet friends, alas! there are, who, though they prov'd

For many a year deserving to be lov'd,

Have false and hollow on the sudden turn'd,
And tarnish'd all the laurels they had earn'd;
Such was the out-cast-long an honour'd guest-
Who stung at length the lips he once possess'd.

• Who wrote a treatise on the virtue of abstinence from animal food.

Then, thanks to Sigmond! whose sagacious eye
Could the foul traitor in his frauds espy--
See him at length his wonted aid give o'er,

Still fair in form, yet rotten at the core!

Yes, Sigmond, thanks! and could thy skill perceive All the false friends, which, like that tooth, deceive; Couldst thou detect each changeling's hollow part, And pluck the rooted mischief from the heart; Each lurking unsound flatterer make thy prey, And drag the smiling traitor into day; O couldst thou-ere the deadly poison spreadCheck the foul venom ere all truth were dead; Could lancets, probes, or lotions cleanse the sore, Ere Falsehood ulcerate each tainted pore,

What meed, blest Artist! could e'en Kings bestow?— Were they to give their thrones, they still would owe.

LINES

TO THE GOVERNORS AND BENEFACTORS OF THE DISPENSARY FOR VISITING AND ATTENDING THE

SICK AT THEIR OWN HOUSES *.

Written November 1802, a few minutes previous to the Anniversary Meeting of the Governors.

O FOR the favour'd Prophet's holy fires,
Ethereal light, which sacred thought inspires;

* An account of this excellent Charityis amongst the Prose Contributions of Mr. Morfit; and a pathetic tribute to Dr. Rogers, its physician, has appeared by the same hand amongst the poetic presents to the GLEANER.

The