Sometimes the fault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made known, By trespass or omission; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect, long hid froin sight, And even from suspicion, Then judge yourself, and prove your man As circumspectly as you can, And, having made election, Beware no negligence of your's, Such as a friend but ill endures, Enfeeble his affection. That secrets are a sacred trust, That constancy befits them, And all the world admits them. But 't is not timber, lead, and stone, To finish a fine building- The carving and the gilding. The man that hails you-Tom, or Jack, How he esteems your merit, To pardon or to bear it. As similarity of mind, First fixes our attention, Must save it from declension. Some act upon this prudent plan, Safe policy, but hateful- Unpleasant and ungrateful. The man I trust, if shy to me, No subterfuge or pleading A spy on my proceeding. These samples—for, alas! at last Of evils yet unmention'd- However well-intention'd, Pursue the search, and you will find To be at least expedient, A principal ingredient. The noblest friendship ever shown Though some have turn'd and turn'd it, Have not, it seems, discern'd it. O Friendship! if my soul forego To mortify and grieve me, Or may my friend deceive me. BOADICEA: AN ODE. When the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods, Sage, beneath the spreading oak, Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Ev'ry burning word he spoke, Fall of rage, and full of grief. « Princess! if your aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, T is because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. “ Rome shall perish-write that word In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorrd, Deep in ruin as in guilt. “ Rome, for empire far renown’d, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the groundHark! the Gaul is at her gates ! T “ Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. “ Then the progeny, that springs From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ; Dying, hurl'd them at the foe. “ Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heav'n awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you." |