This table and mirror within,
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust:

This moveable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired and its use,
And charged with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce;
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
My poems enchanted I view,
And hope, in due time to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too:

This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a buffet,
But what the gods call it above,

Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet: These curtains, that keep the room warm Or cool, as the season demands,

These stoves that for pattern and form, Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands;

All these are not half that I owe
To One, from her earliest youth
To me ever ready to show

Benignity, friendship, and truth;
For time, the destroyer declar'd
And foe of our perishing kind,

If even her face he has spar'd,

Much less could he alter her mind.

Thus compass'd about with the goods
And chattels of leisure and ease,
I indulge my poetical moods

In many such fancies as these;
And fancies I fear they will seem―
Poets' goods are not often so fine;
The poets will swear that I dream,
When I sing of the splendour of mine.

THE FLATTING-MILL.

AN ILLUSTRATION,

WHEN a bar of pure silver, or ingot of gold,
Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length,
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength.

Thus tortur'd and squeezed, at last it appears
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show,
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,
And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow.

This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain
The thump-after-thump of a gold-beater's mallet,
And at last is of service in sickness or pain
To cover a pill for a delicate palate.

Alas for the Poet! who dares undertake

To urge reformation of national ill—

His head and his heart are both likely to ache With the double employment of mallet and mill.

If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight,
Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow,
Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight,
And catch in its progress a sensible glow.

After all, he must beat it as thin and as fine
As the leaf that unfolds what an invalid swallows,
For truth is unwelcome, however divine,
And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.

LINES

COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF

ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH,

`BY HIS NEPHEW, WILLIAM OF WESTON.

[June, 1788.]

FAREWELL! endued with all that could engage
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old:

In life's last stage-O blessings rarely foundPleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd; Through every period of this changeful state Unchang'd thyself-wise, good, affectionate!

Marble may flatter; and lest this should seem O'ercharg'd with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.

ON THE

QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON,

THE NIGHT OF THE 17th MARCH, 1789.

WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne
George took his seat again,

By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign.

Then Loyalty, with all his lamps

New trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness, and the damps,
Set London in a glow.

Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares,

Which form'd the chief display,

These most resembling cluster'd stars,

Those the long milky way.

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires;
And rockets flew, self-driv'n,
To hang their momentary fires
Amid the vault of Heav'n.

So, fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
T'express unwieldy joy.

Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,
And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd,

For no such sight had England's Queen
Forsaken her retreat,

Where, George recover'd, made a scene
Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescri'd,

How much the object of her love
Was lov'd by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er
In aid of her design-