"LOVE STILL HAS SOMETHING." BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. [SIR CHARLES SEDIEY was born at Aylesford, in Kent, in 1639, and was educated at Oxford. He was one of the leading wits of the Court of Charles II., where he squandered his estate, his time, and his moral character. But in his latter years he redeemed his reputation; and opposed, in Parliament, the arbitrary measures of James II. His daughter was the mistress of that monarch, who made her Countess of Dorchester; and when Sedley was asked why he promoted the revolution, he replied that he did it out of gratitude; for since the king made his daughter a countess, it was fit that he should make the king's daughter a queen. He died in 1701.] LOVE still has something of the sea, From whence his mother rose; No time his slaves from doubt can free, They are becalm'd in clearest days, And in rough weather toss'd; Or are in tempests lost. One while they seem to touch the port, The vessel drives again. At first disdain and pride they fear, A hundred thousand oaths your fears Perhaps would not remove; And if I gazed a thousand years, I could not deeper love. THE CHOICE. BY JOHN POMFRET. [JOHN POMFRET was born at Luton, in Bedfordshire, in 1667, and educated at Cambridge. He took orders, and obtained the living of Malden, in Bedfordshire. But going to London, in 1703, to vindicate himself to the Bishop from a charge of having introduced immoral sentiments into his poem of "The Choice," this amiable and unfortunate man took the small-pox and died. This piece, from which we have selected an extract, derives most of its charms from the delightful images of a country life which it calls up in the mind; but its beauties in this way have been thrown into the shade by similar efforts of Thomson and Cowper, and hence it is, in a great degree, forgotten.] IF Heaven the grateful liberty would give Near some fair town I'd have a private seat, Built uniform, not little, nor too great; Better, if on a rising ground it stood; On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood. Methinks 'tis nauseous; and I'd ne'er endure The needless pomp of gaudy furniture. A little garden grateful to the eye, And a cool rivulet run murmuring by; Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too, In some of these, as fancy should advise, A little more, sometimes t'oblige a friend. Too much at fortune; they should taste of mine; Should be relieved with what my wants could spare ; For that our Maker has too largely given To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor. But what's sufficient to make nature strong, |