Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade;
If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame,
And the charms of thy cause have not power to
persuade,

Yet think how to Freedom thou'rt pledged by thy
Name.

Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's decree
Set apart for the Fane and its service divine,
So the branches, that spring from the old Russell

tree,

Are by Liberty claim'd for the use of her Shrine.

MY BIRTH-DAY.

"My birth-day"-what a diff"rent sound That word had in my youthful ears! And how, each time the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears!

When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as Youth counts the shining links,
That Time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks

How hard that chain will press at last.
Vain was the man, and false as vain,

Who said" were he ordain'd to run "His long career of life again,

"He would do all that he had done."-
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells
In sober birth-days, speaks to me;
Far otherwise-of time it tells,

Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly;
Of counsel mock'd; of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines;
Of nursing many a wrong desire;
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire,

That cross'd my pathway, for his star.-
All this it tells, and, could I trace

Th' imperfect picture o'er again,
With pow'r to add, retouch, efface

The lights and shades, the joy and pain,
How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away—
All-but that Freedom of the Mind,

Which hath been more than wealth to me;

1 FONTENELLE.-"Si je recommençais ma carrière, je ferai tout ce que j'ai fait."

Those friendships, in my boyhood twined,

And kept till now unchangingly;

And that dear home, that saving ark,

Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round!

FANCY.

THE more I've view'd this world, the more I've

found,

That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, Fancy commands, within her own bright round, A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. Nor is it that her power can call up there

A single charm, that's not from nature won,--
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear
A single tint unborrow'd from the sun;
But 'tis the mental medium it shines through,
That lends to Beauty all its charms and hue;
As the same light, that o'er the level lake
One dull monotony of lustre flings,

Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colors as gay as those on angels' wings!

SONG.

FANNY, DEAREST!

YES! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh;
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears when thou art nigh.
But, between love, and wine, and sleep,
So busy a life I live,

That even the time it would take to weep
Is more than my heart can give.
Then wish me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!
The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies;
But, ah! the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimm'd too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty's light,

Who view it through sorrow's tear;
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beams clear.

Such fare may suit those bards, who're able
To banquet at Duke Humphrey's table;
But as for me, who've long been taught

To eat and drink like other people;
And can put ap with mutton, bought

Where Bromham3 rears its ancient steeple

If Lansdowne will consent to share
My humble feast, though rude the fare,
Yet, season'd by that salt he brings
From Attica's salinest springs,

"Twill turn to dainties ;-while the cup
Beneath his influence bright'ning up,
Like that of Baucis, touch'd by Jove,
Will sparkle fit for gods above!

VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE'S INKSTAND.*

WRITTEN MAY, 1832.

ALL, as he left it!-ev'n the pen,

So lately at that mind's command, Carelessly lying, as if then

Just fallon from his gifted hand.

Have we then lost him? scarce an hour, A little hour, seems to have pass'd, Since Life and Inspiration's power Around that relic breathed their last.

Ah, powerless now-like talisman,

Found in some vanish'd wizard's halls, Whose mighty charm with him began, Whose charm with him extinguish'd falls.

4 Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of that gentleman did me the honor of presenting to me the inkstand, pencil, &c., which their distinguished father had long been in the habit of using.