MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SKEPTICISM. ERE Psyche drank the cup, that shed Which, mingling darkly with the stream, ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. PURE as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood So pure, so precious shall the memory be, Be, like ELISHA's cruise, a holy charm, Wherewith to "heal the waters" of this life! TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ., ON HIS MAKING ME A PRESENT OF A WINE STRAINER. Brighton, June, 1825. Tis life, dear Corry, who can doubt ?Resembles much friend Ewart's' wine, When first the rosy drops come out, How beautiful, how clear they shine! And thus awhile they keep their tint, So free from even a shade with some, That they would smile, did you but hint, That darker drops would ever come. 1 A wine-merchant Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out, Whatever statesmen did or said, If not exactly brought about, "Twas all, at least, contrived by Ned. With NAP, if Russia went to war, "Twas owing, under Providence, To certain hints Ned gave the Czar― (Vide his pamphlet―price, sixpence.) If France was beat at Waterloo As all but Frenchmen think she wasTo Ned, as Wellington well knew, Was owing half that day's applause. Then for his news-no envoy's bag Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. Such tales he had of foreign plots, From Poland, owskis by the dozen. When George, alarm'd for England's creed, For though, by some unlucky miss, He had not downright seen the King, WHAT SHALL I SING THEE? TO WHAT shall I sing thee? Shall I tell As they, who sail beyond the Line, What shall I sing thee? Shall I weave Danced till the sunlight faded round, Of lute like mine, whose day is past, To call up even a dream again Of the fresh light those moments cast. |