Silent and chafte fhe fteals along

Far from the world's gay bufy throng,

With gentle yet prevailing force

Intent upon her deftin'd course,

Graceful and useful all fhe does,
Bleffing and bleft where'er fhe goes,
Pure-bofom'd as that wat'ry glass,

And heav'n reflected in her face.

VERSES, fuppofed to be written by ALEXANDER SELKIRK, during his folitary Abode in the Island of JUAN FERNANDEZ.

I.

I AM monarch of all I furvey,

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

I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Oh folitude! where are the charms

That fages 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 fweet mufic of fpeech,
I ftart at the found of my own.
The beafts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference fee,

They are fo unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is fhocking to me.

III.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man,

Oh had I the wings of a dove,

How foon wou'd I taste you again!

My forrows I then might affuage

In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth.

IV. Reli

Refides in that heav'nly word!
More precious than filver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.

But the found of the church going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard,

Ne'er figh'd at the found of a knell,
Or fmil'd when a fabbath appear'd.

V.

Ye winds that have made me your sport,

Convey to this defolate fhore,

Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I fhall vifit no more.

My friends do they now and then fend
A wish or a thought after me?

O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to fee.

VI.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compar'd with the speed of its flight,
The tempeft itself lags behind,

And the swift winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I feem to be there;

But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

VII.

But the fea fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair,

Ev'n here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

There is mercy in ev'ry place,

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

On

On the Promotion of EDWARD THURLOW, Efq. 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 fhed his rays.

II.

See! with united wonder, cry'ḍ

Th' experienc'd and the fage, Ambition in a boy fupplied

With all the skill of age.

III.

Difcernment, eloquence and grace,
Proclaim him born to fway

The balance in th' higheft place,

And bear the palm away.

IV.

The praise bestow'd was juft and wife,

He sprang impetuous forth,

Secure of conqueft where the prize

Attends fuperior worth,