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The Biter Bit.

And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that won my ear,

Wave their silver blossoms o'er him, as he leads his bridal fere.

He will pass the stream, mother, where first my hand he pressed,

By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion he confessed;

And down the hedgerows, where we've strayed again and yet again;

But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane.

He said that I was proud, mother-that I looked for rank and gold;

He said I did not love him-he said my words were cold; He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game; It may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same?

I did not know my heart, mother-I know it now too late;

I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler

mate;

But no nobler suitor sought me, and he has taken wing, And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted

thing.

You may lay me in my bed, mother-my head is throb

bing sore;

And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before; And if you'd do a kindness to your poor desponding

child,

Draw me a pot of beer, mother-and, mother, draw it

mild!

BON GAULtier.

XLVII.

ON A MISER.

A MISER, traversing his house,
Espied, unusual there, a mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest
Briskly inquisitive, addrest,

"Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it

I owe this unexpected visit?"

The mouse her host obliquely eyed,
And smiling, pleasantly replied;

"Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard!

I came to lodge, and not to board.”

COWPER.

XLVIII.

SONNET.

THOSE lips, that Love's own hand did make,
Breath'd forth the sound that said, "I hate,"

To me that languish for her sake.
But when she saw my woful state,

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Dum Vivimus Vivamus.

Straight to her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet,
Was us'd in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet:
"I hate" she utter'd with an end
That follow'd it as gentle day

Doth follow night, who like a fiend,
From Heaven to hell is flown away.
"I hate "-from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying

"Not you."

SHAKESPEARE.

XLIX.

ON DR. DODDRIDGE'S MOTTO: "DUM VIVIMUS

VIVAMUS."

BY HIMSELF.

"LIVE while you live," the epicure would say,
"And seize the pleasure of the present day."
"Live while you live," the sacred preacher cries,
"And give to God each moment as it flies."
Lord, in my views let both united be,

I live in pleasure while I live to Thee!

L.

FAITH, Hope, and Love were questioned what they thought

Of future glory, which religion taught:

Now Faith believed it to be firmly true,

And Hope expected so to find it too.

Love answered, smiling with a conscious glow,

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Believe, expect, I know it to be so."

JOHN WESLEY.

Epitaph on John Adams.

LI.

EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS, THE CARRIER OF SOUTHWELL,

WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS.

JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell,
A carrier who carried his can to his mouth well;
He carried so much, and he carried so fast,
He could carry no more-so was carried at last :
For the liquor he drank being too much for one,
He could not carry off-so he's now carrion.

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THE golden sun that brings the day,

And lends men light to see withal,

In vain doth cast his beams away,

When they are blind on whom they fall:
There is no force in all his light

To give the mole a perfect sight.

But thou my sun, more bright than he
That shines at noon in summer tide,
Hast given me light and power to see
With perfect skill my sight to guide;