Think, think what dangers wait thee now! for Thou'rt still an infant in a world of woe: [know Still in thy way Vice, Vanity, Disgrace

Spread the broad net that will obstruct thy race; Conceal the rock that tempts with specious show Thy foot, to plunge thee in the' abyss below; Haste thee, prepare thee for the' unequal strife, And take from me the leading strings of Life.

Be Virtue first thy care, thy wish, thy aim; Her rules thy standard, her applause thy fame: To her thy steps let fair Discretion lead; Let Truth inspire thy thought and crown thy deed; Let sage Experience guide thy hand and voice; Be slow to choose, but constant in thy choice; To Mercy's dictates open all thy breast!— Be good-and Heaven will teach thee to be bless'd.

BISHOP.

THE LEAF.

We all do fade as a leaf. Isaiak lxiv. 6.

SEE the leaves around us falling,
Dry and wither'd, to the ground;
Thus to thoughtless mortals calling
In a sad and solemn sound-
Sons of Adam, once in Eden,
Blighted when like us he fell,
Hear the lecture we are reading,
'Tis, alas! the truth we tell.
Virgins, much, too much presuming
On your boasted white and red,
View us, late in beauty blooming,
Number'd now among the dead.

Griping misers, nightly waking,

See the end of all your care;
Fled on wings of our own making,
We have left our owners bare.
Sons of honour, fed on praises,
Fluttering high in fancied worth,
Lo! the fickle air, that raises,
Brings us down to parent Earth.
Learned sophs, in systems jaded,
Who for new ones daily call,
Cease, at length, by us persuaded,
Every leaf must have its fall!
Youths, though yet no losses grieve you,
Gay in health and manly grace,
Let not cloudless skies deceive you,
Summer gives to autumn place.
Venerable sires, grown hoary,
Hither turn the' unwilling eye,
Think, amid your falling glory,
Autumn tells a winter nigh.
Yearly in our course returning,
Messengers of shortest stay,
Thus we preach this truth concerning,
'Heaven and earth shall pass away.'

On the Tree of Life eternal,

Man, let all thy hope be staid, Which alone, for ever vernal,

Bears a leaf that shall not fade.

BISHOP HORNE.

VOL. I.

RR

VERSES TO A FRIEND.

Eheu, fugaces Posthume, Posthume,
Labuntur anni!

Hor.

AH friend, we tread the downward road!
The vale of life extends below,
By age, with leaden footstep trode,
And sprinkled o'er with locks of snow.

There, Winter's icy sceptre rear'd,
Around, in pale assemblage, stand
The time-worn cheek, the silver beard,
The shrinking limbs, the palsied hand.
All move in sight; and, while they hail
Our near approach, within the shade
Dim lights that glimmer through the veil
Disclose the mansions of the dead.

When Memory o'er the busy past

Rolls back her eye, what forms are shown! Young airy shapes, too gay to last; A scene of bright illusion,-gone!

The freaks of Innocence, the play

Of Youth, that with the passing hour Skims, like the bee, from spray to spray, And sucks the sweets of every flower:

At these, that tell of, former days,

Trembling with age and bent with care, We shake our heads; yet fondly gaze, And envy joys we cannot share.

Then forward let us dart our sight
Beyond the forms by Fancy brought;
Nor sink within the double night

Of helpless age and gloomy thought.

Together let us stem the tide,

On Hope's light bark in triumph borne; And mark, rejoicing, as we glide

Through night, the' effulgent rays of morn.

Together let us break the force,

With Hope, our guardian and our friend, Of ills combined to check our course, Or blackening clouds that veil its end.

With philosophic calm, the fate

Be ours, to meet our final doom;
While she expands yon orient gate,
And points at scenes beyond the tomb!

DR. OGILVIE.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

SEE how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for a while,
And murmuring then subsides the rest.

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on Time's eventful sea;
And, having swell'd a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity!

T. MOORE.

THE WISH.

How short is life's uncertain space!
Alas! how quickly done!

How swift the wild precarious chase!
And yet how difficult the race!
How very hard to run!

Youth stops at first its wilful ears
To Wisdom's prudent voice;
Till now arrived to riper years,
Experienced Age worn out with cares
Repents its earlier choice.

What though its prospects now appear
So pleasing and refined;

Yet groundless hope and anxious fear
By turns the busy moments share,
And prey upon the mind.

Since then false joys our fancy cheat
With hopes of real bliss ;

Ye guardian powers that rule my fate,
The only wish that I create

Is all comprised in this.

May I through life's uncertain tide
Be still from pain exempt;

May all my wants be still supplied,
My state too low to' admit of pride,
And yet above contempt.

But should your Providence divine
A greater bliss intend,

May all those blessings you design
(If e'er those blessings shall be mine)
Be centred in a friend.

MERRICK.