You suppose you 're a genius, that ought to engage You imagine that Pope-but yourself you beguile style. Delude not yourself with so fruitless a hope, – Had he chose the same style, he had never been Pope, You think of my muse with a friendly regard, When pleased with his honours, remember his fate. FRAGMENT. "Lord, what is man, that thou art mindful of him?" PROUD, little Man, opinion's slave, Aldborough, 1778. Error's fond child, too duteous to be free, Say, from the cradle to the grave, Is not the earth thou tread'st too grand for thee? THE RESURRECTION. Aldborough, 1778. THE wintry winds have ceased to blow, And trembling leaves appear; And hail the infant year. Yes! wintry winds have ceased to blow, And Nature has her types to show MY BIRTH-DAY Aldborough, Dec. 24. 1778. THROUGH a dull tract of woe, of dread, The toiling year has pass'd and fled : Trembling and poor, I saw the light, Time in my pathway strews few flowers, Beccles, 1779. TO ELIZA. THE Hebrew king, with spleen possest, But, had he known Eliza's skill And fan the flame of fond desire, And not a care return'd again. LIFE. Aldborough, 1779. THINK ye the joys that fill our early day, Are the poor prelude to some full repast. - The purest ever, they are oft the last. The jovial swain that yokes the morning team, We at the summit of our hill arrive : Lo! the gay lights of Youth are past - are dead, THE SACRAMENT. Aldborough, 1779 O! SACRED gift of God to man, A faith that looks above, And sees the deep amazing plan Of sanctifying love. Thou dear and yet tremendous God, How did'st thou change thy awful rod Shut up with sin, with shame, below, A great, a glorious change to know, |