First course-a Phoenix, at the head,
Done in its own celestial ashes;
At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing
All the time its neck was wringing.
Side dishes, thus-Minerva's owl,
Or any such like learned fowl:
Doves, such as heav'n's poulterer gets,
When Cupid shoots his mother's pets.
Larks, stew'd in Morning's roseate breath,
Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendour;
And nightingales, berhymed to death-

Like young pigs whipp'd to make them tender.

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 up with mutton, bought

Where Bromham3 rears its ancient steepleIf 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. 4

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 fall'n from his gifted hand.

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

Ah, pow'rless 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 honour of presenting to me the inkstand, pencil, &c. which their distinguished father had long been in the habit of using.

I've seen thee look, all radiant, down,
With smiles that to the hoary frown
Of centuries round thee lent a ray,
Chasing even Age's gloom away; —
Or, in the world's resplendent throng,
As I have mark'd thee glide along,
Among the crowds of fair and great
A spirit, pure and separate,
To which even Admiration's eye
Was fearful to approach too nigh ;-
A creature, circled by a spell

Within which nothing wrong could dwell;
And fresh and clear as from the source,
Holding through life her limpid course,
Like Arethusa through the sea,
Stealing in fountain purity.

Now, too, another change of light! As noble bride, still meekly bright, Thou bring'st thy Lord a dower above All earthly price, pure woman's love; And show'st what lustre Rank receives, When with his proud Corinthian leaves Her rose thus high-bred Beauty weaves.

Wonder not if, where all's so fair

To choose were more than bard can dare;
Wonder not if, while every scene

I've watch'd thee through so bright hath been,
The' enamour'd Muse should, in her quest

Of beauty, know not where to rest,

But, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall,

Hailing thee beautiful in all !