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"Tis Providence alone secures
The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade,
her destin'd course ;
THE POET'S NEW YEAR'S-GIFT
TO MRS. (NOW LADY) TAROCKMURTON.
MARIA! I have ev'ry good
For thee wish'd many a time, Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possess'd
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire ?
None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine ;
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish on some fair future day,
Which Fate shall brig £tly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may).
I wish it all fulfill'd.
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That, to the wrong side leaning,
And little or no meaning.
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
In constant exhalations,
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous to drink,
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air
It floats a vapour now, ! Impell’d through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow.
i Ordain'd nerhaps ere summer flies,
Combin'd with millions more,
Though black and foul beforê.