e of little Love,
His silken wings, soft limbs, and laughing face!

Then Nature wept o'er each expressive line,
To think the sweet creation so confin'd,
That such a boy, so fair, and so divine,
Was but the playful prattler of her mind;

And had he near the royal easel flown,
And seen the features of this mimic brother,
He would have known the portrait for his own,
And claim'd the beauteous painter for his mother.

EPITAPH

TO THE MEMORY OF A WORTHY MAN,

_THE REV. MR. SLEEP_,

CURATE OF KINGSWEAR CHURCH, DEVON,

_Whose devotional Elocution was remarkably impregnated with
soporific Qualities_.

Reader! since Parson Sleep is gone,
And lies beneath yon humble stone,
Whene'er to Kingswear Church we go,
Holy the sabbath-day to keep
(Indeed 'tis right it should be so),
We never more shall go to _sleep_.

LINES,

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A FEMALE FRIEND,

_Upon an Infant recommended to her Care by its dying Mother_.

Bless'd be thy slumbers, little love!
Unconscious of the ills so near;
May no rude noise thy dreams remote,
Or prompt the artless early tear;--

For she who gave thee life is gone,
Whose trust it was thy life to rear,
Now in the cold and mould'ring stone
Calls for that artless early tear.

Sleep on, thou little dreamer! sleep;
For, long as I shall tarry here,
I'll soothe thee; thou shalt never weep,
Tho' flows for thee the tend'rest tear.

Then be thy gentle visions blest,
Nor e'er thy bosom know that fear,
Which thro' the night disturbs my rest,
And prompts Affection's trembling tear.

LINES

ON THE CALEDONIAN HARP BEING SUCCEEDED

BY THE HIGHLAND BAGPIPES.

In days that long have glided by,
Beneath keen Scotia's weeping sky,
On many a hill of purple heath,
In many a gloomy glen beneath,
The wand'ring Lyrist once was known
To pour his harp's entrancing tone.
Then, when the castle's rocky form
Rose 'mid the dark surrounding storm,
The Harper had a sacred seat,
Whence he might breathe his wild notes sweet.
Oh! then, when many a twinkling star
Shone in the azure vault afar,
And mute was ev'ry mountain-bird,
Soft music from the harp was heard;
And when the morning's blushes shed
On hill, or tow'r, their varying red,
Oh! then the harp was heard to cheer,
With earliest sound, th' enraptur'd ear;
Then many a lady fair was known,
With snowy hand, to wake its tone;
And infant fingers press'd the string,
And back recoil'd,