POLITICS.

But ah! ye Muses, keep your votary's feet
From tavern haunts, where Politicians meet.

CRABBE.

A school boy Politician! can there be
Sight worthier for the cynic to despise,
Or wise men pity — feelings, such as rise,
In men, from selfish interests oft, to see
Thus early ruling o'er the young and free,
The fair ingenuous mind. Well could I prate,
And confident, of party leaders then,

The magnates of a day, whose short lived date
Now scarce survives, in memory of men.

Strange! that, so soon, such follies should engage Youth's unbribed thoughts, in fancied cares of state, That crib the soaring mind in folly's cage. Yet small the difference; party zeal and hate Not more, in youth, are odious, than in age.

And can I pass thee, Dinah! o'er,
Thy savoury cake and ale!

And must my leisure stray no more
Adown this quiet vale ?

What pleasure was it, once a week,

(Not oftener did we dare!) Thy rural lodge, at eve, to seek, And taste its homely fare.

How neat the table, ready spread,
With napkin white as snow;
The wispering pine above our head,
The murmuring stream below.

And then to hear old Cuff dilate
On dangers met afar,

The varied turns of changeful fate,
When master went to war!

While Dinah's comely visage glows,

A pure transparent jet,

With coral lips, whose bright smile shows A mouth with ivory set !

Thy sparkling beaker, Dinah! ne'er

Does broil or discord breed ;
Yet well the heart of youth can cheer,
Of youth from study freed;

When bursting from restraints away,
The stern restraints of school,
Amid these silent groves we stray,
By stream and fountain cool.

The rich may boast of prouder fare;
But what does pride avail?

As well might age with youth compare,
As wine with Dinah's ale!

Oh! I may wander far, nor find
Such simple joys again;

To haunts of pleasure more refined,
Of pleasure mixed with pain.

The gay saloon, the gilded hall,
Where folly flirts in fashion's ring,
May well our humbler joys recall,
While seated by yon spring,

Where careless thrown the lawn along,

In thoughtless reverie,

We list the night bird's soothing song, Or hum of homeward bee.

Unknown alike to pomp and state,

To want, regret, and fear, Nor sullen pride, nor rival hate Disturbs our quiet here.

How soft the shades of evening close

O'er forest, dale, and hill;

While tranquil thoughts, in calm repose,

Like dews of night distil.

O'er lowly cot, and woodland scene,
Descends the welcome hour;
Nor less our hearts, in joy serene,
Partake the season's power.

Thy plastic power, great nature! then,
Can mould the thoughts of youth,

At evening felt, in rural glen,

The power of love and truth;

Of love and truth o'er gentle hearts,
While health its bloom bestows;
Where truth its charm to thought imparts,
And life with love o'erflows.

LOVE.

He feels, through thrilling nerve and quickened brain,
Love's piercing dart, from Beauty's laughing eye
At random shot, unconscious of its aim.

Love, in the young, while yet the heart is free,
Is nature's bounteous gift; the rich o'erflow
Of fond affection, ere he learns to know
Or choice, or difference; and in all can see
Bright charms, responsive to his fantasy,

Whereon his bland endearments to bestow.
The bud, in spring will swell, the lily blow,
Though none be near to mark it on the lea;

The lamb will frolic, and the kitten play, Instinctive taught; and blithe the linnet's lay Flows, unconstrained, in notes of native glee. Not less, in fervent youth, man's heart obeys The genial impulse, which all nature sways, When love first wakes, in Beauty's quickening ray.

SCHOOL BOY PASSION.

Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nickname to her purblind son and heir:
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied.

SHAKSPEARE.

The little Love God to this breast,
Like serpent in the sparrow's nest,
Hath crept, unwares, to break my rest,
And torture me.

I wist not ought of subtle guile,
In looks so soft, in that arch smile!
But ah! it won my heart, the while,
And tortures me.

Oh! could I touch that cruel heart;
Would she but yield to Cupid's dart :
But ah! she glories in the smart
That tortures me.

Bright Venus! lend thy powerful aid,
Oh! come in all thy charms arrayed,
And be on her that power displayed
That tortures me.

Come thou too, Cupid! sportive boy,
Come, heavenly source of earthly joy;
And thou, fair maid! no more be coy,
That torturest me.

Alas! nor maid, nor Cupid near ;
No Venus lends a favouring ear;
My love, my grief, is none will hear;

This tortures me.