1782. Come, brave boys, and fill your glasses, Fame shall tell the nations so. Yields the sceptre of the main. Ο ON A TRAVELLING SPECULATOR. N scent of game, from town to town he flew, The soldier's curse pursued him on his way; Care in his eye, and anguish on his brow, He seemed a sea-hawk watching for his prey. With soothing words the widow's mite he gained, Bought where he must, and cheated where he could. Vast loads amassed of scrip, and who knows what; One Sunday morn, to church we saw him ride In cards and fun the livelong day they spent, With songs and smut prolonged the midnight feast, Three weeks, and more, thus passed in airs of state, Stopped short-and closed his triumphs in a jail. With you, whom reason taught to think, I haste to take the parting glass. The luckless wight, that still delays Old age steps up, and--breaks the glass! The nymph, who boasts no borrowed charms, Whose sprightly wit my fancy warms; What though she tends this country inn, And mixes wine, and deals out gin? With such a kind, obliging lass, I sigh to take the parting glass. With him, who always talks of gain With those that drink before they dine, The man, whose friendship is sincere, It would require a heart of brass With him to take the parting glass. With him who quaffs his pot of ale, ON THE RUINS OF A COUNTRY INN. WHERE now these mingled ruins lie A temple once to Bacchus rose, Beneath whose roof, aspiring high, Full many a guest forgot his woes. No more this dome, by tempests torn, But ravens here, with eye forlorn, And clustering bats henceforth will meet. The Priestess of this ruined shrine, The friendly Host, whose social hand And greets the weary guest no more. Old creeping Time, that brings decay, A temple or a tavern falls. Is this the place where mirth and joy, Coy nymphs, and sprightly lads were found? Indeed! no more the nymphs are coy, No more the flowing bowls go round. Is this the place where festive song Deceived the wintry hours away? Is this the place where Nancy slept No cold unfeeling guards were seen. 'Tis gone!-and Nancy tempts no more; Ye tyrant winds, whose ruffian blast Through doors and windows blew too strong, And all the roof to ruin cast,— The roof that sheltered us so long,— |