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PAGE JUVENILIA 1 Solitude 1 A Song 3 Concluding Lines of Prize Poem on Hope 4 To Emma 4 Despair 5 Cupid 7 Song 8 8 Parody on "My Time, Oh ye Muses" 9 The Wish 10 INEBRIETY 11 JUVENILIA 37 37 Ye Gentle Gales 37 Mira 38 Hymn 39 The Wish 40 The Comparison 40 Goldsmith to the Author 41 Fragment 41 The Resurrection 42 My Birth-day 43 To Eliza 43 Life 44 The Sacrament 44 Night 45 Fragment, written at Midnight 45 MIDNIGHT 47 JUVENILIA 61 61 Time 62 The Choice 63 65 66 66 68 To the Right Honourable the Earl of Shelburne 69 An Epistle to a Friend 70 THE CANDIDATE 73 THE LIBRARY 100 THE VILLAGE 119 THE NEWSPAPER 137 THE PARISH REGISTER 158 THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY 223 REFLECTIONS 234 SIR EUSTACE GREY 238 THE HALL OF JUSTICE 252 WOMAN! 261 THE BOROUGH 263

JUVENILIA

SOLITUDE.

Free from envy, strife and sorrow, Jealous doubts, and heart-felt fears; Free from thoughts of what to-morrow May o'er-charge the soul with cares--

Near me ancient ruins falling From a worn-out castle's brow; 10 Once the greatest installing, Where are all their honours now?

Here in midnight's gloomy terror I enjoy the silent night; Darkness shews the soul her error, Darkness leads to inward light.

Here I walk in meditation, Pond'ring all sublunar things, From the silent soft persuasion, Which from virtue's basis springs. 20

What, says truth, are pomp and riches? Guilded baits to folly lent; Honour, which the soul bewitches, When obtain'd, we may repent.

Silent as the gloomy graves are Now the mansions once so loud; 30 Still and quiet as the brave, or All the horrors of a croud.

This was once the seat of plunder, Blood of heroes stain'd the floor; Heroes, nature's pride and wonder, Heroes heard of now no more.

Owls and ravens haunt the buildings, Sending gloomy dread to all; Yellow moss the summit yielding, Pellitory decks the wall. 40

Time with rapid speed still wanders, Journies on an even pace; Fame of greatest actions squanders, But perpetuates disgrace.

Sigh not then for pomp or glory; What avails a heroe's name? Future times may tell your story, To your then disgrace and shame.

Chuse some humble cot as this is, In sweet philosophic ease; 50 With dame Nature's frugal blisses Live in joy, and die in peace.

G. EBBARE.

A SONG.

As Chloe fair, a new-made bride, Sat knotting in an arbour, To Colin now the damsel ty'd, No strange affection harbour.

"How poor," says single life, A maid's affected carriage; Spent in sighs and inward strife, Things unknown in marriage.

"Virgins vainly say they're free, None so much confin'd are; 10 Lovers kind and good may be, Husbands may be kinder.

"Then shun not wedlock's happy chain, Nor wantonly still fly man; A single life is care and pain, Blessings wait on Hymen."

G. EBBARE.

CONCLUDING LINES OF PRIZE POEM ON HOPE.

TO EMMA.

View, my fair, the fading flower, Clad like thee in arms, Idle pageant of an hour; Soon shall time its tints devour, And what are then its charms?

Early pluck'd, it might produce A remedy to mortal pain, Afford a balmy cordial juice, That might celestial ease diffuse, Nor blossom quite in vain. 10

So 'tis with thee, my Emma fair, If nature's law's unpaid, If thou refuse our vows to hear And steel thy heart to ev'ry pray'r, A cruel frozen maid.

But yield, my fair one, yield to love, And joys unnumber'd find, In Cupid's mystic circle move, Eternal raptures thou shalt prove, Which leave no pang behind. 20

G. EBBAAC.

DESPAIR.

G. EBBARE.

CUPID.

What is he, who clad in arms, Hither seems in haste to move, Bringing with him soft alarms, Fears the heart of man to prove; Yet attended too by charms-- Is he Cupid, God of Love?

Yes, it is, behold him nigh, Odd compound of ease and smart; Near him a nymph, whose sigh Grief and joy, and love impart; 10 Pleasure dances in her eye, Yet she seems to grieve at heart.

Lo! a quiver by his side, Arm'd with darts, a fatal store! See him, with a haughty pride, Ages, sexes, all devour; Yet, as pleasure is describ'd, Glad we meet the tyrant's power.

Doubts and cares before him go, Canker'd jealousy behind; 20 Round about him spells he'll throw, Scatt'ring with each gust of wind On the motley crew below, Who, like him, are render'd blind.

This is love! a tyrant kind, Giving extacy and pain; Fond deluder of the mind, Ever feigning not to feign; Whom no savage laws can bind, None escape his pleasing chain. 30

G. EBBARE.

SONG.

Cease to bid me not to sing. Spite of Fate I'll tune my lyre: Hither, god of music, bring Food to feed the gentle fire; And on Paegasean wing Mount my soul enraptur'd higher.

Some there are who'd curb the mind, And would blast the springing bays; All essays are vain, they'll find, Nought shall drown the muse's lays, 10 Nought shall curb a free-born mind, Nought shall damp Apollo's praise.

G. EBBARE.

What though no trophies peer above his dust, Nor sculptured conquests deck his sober bust; What though no earthly thunders sound his name, Death gives him conquest, and our sorrows fame: One sigh reflection heaves, but shuns excess-- More should we mourn him, did we love him less.

PARODY ON "MY TIME, OH YE MUSES."

My days, oh ye lovers, were happily sped Ere you or your whimsies got into my head; I could laugh, I could sing, I could trifle and jest, And my heart play'd a regular tune in my breast. But now, lack-a-day! what a change for the worse, 'Tis as heavy as lead, yet as wild as a horse.

THE WISH.

My Mira, shepherds, is as fair As sylvan nymphs who haunt the vale, As sylphs who dwell in purest air, As fays who skim the dusky dale, As Venus was when Venus fled From watery Triton's oozy bed.

INEBRIETY.

The PREFACE.

The WORLD!--how pompous, and yet how trifling the sound. Every MAN, Gentle Reader, has a WORLD of his own, & whether it consists of half a score, or half a thousand Friends, 'tis his, and he loves to boast of it. Into my WORLD, therefore, I commit this, my Muse's earliest labor, nothing doubting the Clemency of the Climate, nor fearing the Partiality of the censorious.

PART the FIRST.

When in the vaulted arch Lucina gleams, And gaily dances o'er the azure streams; 60 When in the wide cerulean space on high The vivid stars shoot lustre through the sky; On silent Ether when a trembling sound Reverberates, and wildly floats around, Breaking through trackless space upon the ear-- Conclude the Bacchanalian Rustic near; O'er Hills and vales the jovial Savage reels, Fire in his head and Frenzy at his heels; From paths direct the bending Hero swerves, And shapes his way in ill-proportion'd curves; 70 Now safe arriv'd, his sleeping Rib he calls, And madly thunders on the muddy walls; The well-known sounds an equal fury move, For rage meets rage, as love enkindles love; The buxom Quean from bed of flocks descends } With vengeful ire, a civil war portends, } An oaken plant the Hero's breast defends. } In vain the 'waken'd infant's accents shrill The humble regions of the cottage fill; In vain the Cricket chirps the mansion through, 80 'Tis war, and Blood and Battle must ensue. As when, on humble stage, him Satan hight Defies the brazen Hero to the fight; From twanging strokes what dire misfortunes rise, What fate to maple arms, and glassen eyes; Here lies a leg of elm, and there a stroke From ashen neck has whirl'd a Head of oak. So drops from either power, with vengeance big, A remnant night-cap, and an old cut wig; Titles unmusical, retorted round, 90 On either ear with leaden vengeance sound; 'Till equal Valour equal Wounds create, And drowsy peace concludes the fell debate; Sleep in her woolen mantle wraps the pair, And sheds her poppies on the ambient air; Intoxication flies, as fury fled, On rocky pinions quits the aching head; Returning Reason cools the fiery blood, And drives from memory's seat the rosy God. Yet still he holds o'er some his madd'ning rule, 100 Still sways his Sceptre, and still knows his Fool; Witness the livid lip and fiery front, With many a smarting trophy plac'd upon't; The hollow Eye, which plays in misty springs, And the hoarse Voice, which rough and broken rings. These are his triumphs, and o'er these he reigns, The blinking Deity of reeling brains.

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