What! we, Sir, we?

MINISTERS.

We'll hang you on a tree !

'Twas Hew that let the French escape-not Arthur, but Hew ! PEOPLE.

We heed you not a feather:

You're drivellers all together!

!

A.

And we'll hang you all together up; yes, you, Sirs, and you
Oct. 26, 1808.

[Whoever has paid a visit to Mr. Bozley, of Esless Lodge, near Wrexham, in Denbighshire, must have been delighted with the sagacity of his favourite Dog George; who, after entertaining his master and his friends for fifteen years, died lately; -and the following Epitaph is placed on a tablet to his memory:]

He Who ne'er did any one offend;
ERE lies poor George !-my Dog, my Friend,

He pass'd his harmless days with me,
Where'er I was, there too was he.

When

When bus'ness call'd me far from home,
He, like a faithful friend, would come,
To cheer me with his pranks by day;
At night to guard my lonely way.
No more, alas! with merry dance,
Will he, with joy, my soul enhance ;
No more lie stretch'd before my fire;
No more the harp or flute admire!
No more his sparkling eyes will tell
How much he lov'd me-and how well.
Alas! poor George-this grateful tear
Will show my love too was-

-sincere.
Farewell, fond friend-for e'er farewell!
I to the world thy feats will tell.
Long may I search-but search in vain,
I ne'er shall see thy like again,

Esless Lodge, Aug. 20th, 1808.

LINES ADDRESSED TO MISS EGERTON,

BY THE REV. MR. THYER.

[Miss Egerton, daughter of Samuel Egerton, Esq. of Tatton-park, Cheshire, had rallied, but very good-humouredly, the Rev. Mr. Thyer, for some little awkwardness at table.-Mr. Thyer was a celebrated critic; he lived with them at Tatton-park: the next morning at breakfast he brought her the following Copy of Verses.]

IMITATION OF THE MUCH ADMIRED DIALOGUE BE

TWEEN HORACE AND LYDIA.

L'

TO THE MOON.

[From the Morning Herald.]

UNA, whilst o'er yon eastern barrier mounting,
With stately step, and face serenely bright,

Thou look'st as grave and silent as if counting

The little stars that stud the crown of Night.

* In the original cortice levoir, which is a proverbial expression for inconstancy of character, and levity of disposition; in this sense the poet here seems to have used it.

Thy

Thy head reclining on a cloudy pillow,
Thou seem'st to listen to the whispering gale-
Now piercing through a pendant shade of willow,
Thy glance pursues the streamlet of the vale.
And now behind some duskier vapour's awning,
In frolic mood thou seem'st to skulk from view:
That thy full charms, in heighten'd splendor dawning,
May strike the disappointed sight anew.

So pleasingly coquettish is thy motion,
Ev'n stupid Darkness it delights to see-
No wonder that an object of devotion,

O lovely Wanderer! Heathens reckon'd thee.

1

ODE TO EVENING.

MILD Ev'ning, oh, arise!

And o'er the azure skies
Thy dusky mantle spread;
Then 'midst thy pleasing gloom,
On some lone mould'ring tomb,
I'll pensive rest my head.
And think on all the cares,.

The sorrows and the fears,

The mad ambitious brave;
Whilst Death with scornful pride,
Their folly to deride,

Stands pointing at the grave.

But a few hours are fled,
Since golden Phœbus shed
His lustre from on high :
Ev'ning succeeds to noon,
Then fades away as soon,

And gloomy night is nigh.

So youth's bright beams decay,
Emit a fainter ray,

Then cease to yield their light;
Years move with winged feet.
The circle is complete,

And Death leads on the night.

But if religion warm

The soul, this night is calm,

Kind angels soothe to rest;
Heav'n bursts upon the sight,
With endless glories bright;

And hails its ent'ring guest.

ན་

VERSES

VERSE S.

ON A FOUNTAIN IN HAMPSHIRE, WHICH AFFORDS A CONSTANT SUPPLY OF WATER TO A LARGE FISH-POND,

SAL

[From the Same.]

AINT PATRICK, as in legends told,
The morning being very cold,

In order to assuage the weather,
Collected bits of ice together;
Then gently breath'd upon the pyre,
When every fragment blaz'd on fire.
Oh! if the saint had been so kind
As to have left the gift behind,
To such a lovelorn wretch as me,
Who daily struggle to be free;-
I'd be content-content with part,
I'd only ask to THAW the heart-
The frozen heart of POLLY ROE,

With eyes of blue-and breast of snow.

POETICAL DESCRIPTION OF THE RIVER LAGAN.

WRITTEN DURING A FLOOD.

[From the Morning Herald.]

"The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.”

ARSH and discordant, Lagan! is thy note,

HARSH

And stern the frown upon thy wintry face;

While the fierce deluge and the storm's loud throat
Expel thy Naiads, and their bowers erase.

Thy parent Hill, with looks of wild dismay,
Beholds thy frantic speed and headstrong force,
As thundering from its base thou bear'st away,
O'erturning all that dare obstruct thy course.

Drumara