O happy Britain! we have not to fear, Such hard and arbitrary measure here; Else, could a law, like that which I relate, Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old, Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, Might traverse England safely to and fro, An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within. TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY, THE Swallows in their torpid state The keenest frost that binds the stream, Are neither felt nor fear'd by them, Secure of their repose. But man, all feeling and awake, The gloomy scene surveys; Old Winter, halting o'er the mead, But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head, Then April, with her sister May, And if a tear, that speaks regret, A glimpse of joy, that we have met, TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE.-OCTOBER, 1780. THAT Ocean you have late survey'd, You from the flood-controlling steep, With conscious joy, the threatening deep, To me, the waves that ceaseless broke Of all my treasure lost. Your sea of troubles you have pass'd, TO THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. UNWIN, I should but ill repay The kindness of a friend, As ever Friendship penn'd, Thy name omitted in a page,* That would reclaim a vicious age. A union form'd, as mine with thee, And may as rich in comfort prove, The bud inserted in the rind, Not rich, I render what I may, Lest this should prove the last. 'Tis where it should be-in a plan That holds in view the good of man. The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN IF Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found, ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY, TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS. BY THE MOB, IN THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780. So then the Vandals of our isle, Sworn foes to sense and law, Than ever Roman saw! And MURRAY sighs o'er Pope and Swift, The well-judged purchase and the gift, Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn, The loss was his alone; But ages yet to come shall mourn |