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THE birds put off their every hue,
To dress a room for Montagu.

The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes,
His rainbows and his starry eyes;
The Pheasant plumes, which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river-blanch'd, the Swan bis snow:
All tribes beside of Indian name,
That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises, and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dasbing shower,
Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower,
Shall drench again or discompose,
But, screen'd from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.

To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jovem
Imagination scattering round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile

Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires, to sacred Truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple, playing bright-
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, uot haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that, to which he keeps confined
The various treasures of his mind
All these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.

She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day;
The plume and poet both, we know,
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phæbus aiding,
Both poet saves and plume from fading.

VERSES

Supposed to be written by Alexaoder Selkirk, during

his solitary abode in the island of Juan Fernandez,

I.
I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none lo dispute ;
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

II.
I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the sound of my own. The beasts, that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.

III. Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man, O, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would' I taste you again ! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.

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IV.
Religion ! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd.

v. Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land, I shall visit no more,
My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

VI.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas ! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.

VII.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot,

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ON THE PROMOTION OF
EDWARD THURLOW, Esq.

TO

THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF

ENGLAND,

I.
ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,

And in his sportive days,
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth,
And Genius shed his rays.

II.
See! with united wonder cried

The experienced and the sage,
Ambition in a boy supplied
With all the skill of age!

III.
Discernment, eloquence, and

grace
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,

And bear the palm away.

IV.

The praise bestow'd was just and wise;

He sprang impetuous forth
Secure of conquest, where the prize
Attends superior worth.

V.
So the best courser on the plain:

Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain

What all had deem'd his own.

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