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ADDRESSED TO HENRY GREATHEAD, ESQ. THE, INGE

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"TIS night, and hark! the eastern blast With fury blows upon the fhore;

And angry

The thunder rolls,-the rain pours faft,billows madly roar! Now for poor failors' fate falls many a tear, And many a bofom's fill'd with anxious fear.

The morn returns-ftill thunders roar-
Loud blows the wind-the billows foam-
Shall failors greet their friends on fhore,
Or fee again their much lov'd home?
Alas! fo dire, fo ruthless is the ftorm,
No chance of fafety Hope herself can form!

A fbriek now mingles with the blaft;
Each fad foreboding proves too true;

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See, on the rocks a fhip is caft,

See, to the rigging clings the crew!
Ah! who the fury of the furge can brave,
And fnatch the fuffrers from a watery grave?
Thy facred claims now, Pity, urge,

Now prompt to bold exploit the brave
Tis done-the Life-Boat cleaves the furge,
Intent the hapless crew to fave;

The wreck's approach'd-on board are all receiv'd,
Refcued from danger, and from death repriev'd.

Blow on, blow on, ye ruthlefs winds,
And idly rage, thou troubled main,
Snatch'd from your power, the failor finds
His much-lov'd friends and home again,
And bleffes oft, with grateful heart, the name
Of him whofe genius did the Life-Boat frame.
That name thall ever live renown'd,
Alike to Fame and Albion dear,
Whilst commerce spreads her fails around,
Whilft British tars the world revere;

To latest ages ftill it shall defcend,

Grac'd with the title of-The Sailor's Friend.

Newcastle

JOHN SHIELD.

On Mr Churchill's Death..

AYS Tom to Richard, Churchill's deads

S Says. Richard, Tom, you lie,

Old Rancour the report hath fpread,
But Genius cannot die.

CUNNINGHAM.

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LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A fomething to have fent you,
Tho' it fhould ferve nae other end
Than just a kind memento;
But how the fubject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a fang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world foon, my lad,
And Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco' fquad,
And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble fet your thought,
Ev'n when your end's attained;
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where ev'ry nerve is strained.

I'll no fay, men are villain's a';
The real, harden'd wicked,
Wha hae nae check but human law,
Are to a few reftricked:

But och, mankind are unco weak,
An' little to be trusted;
If felf the wavering balance shake,
Its rarely right adjusted!

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife,
Their fate we should na cenfure,
For ftill th' important end of life,
They equally may answer;
A man may hae an honest heart,
Tho' poortith hourly ftare him;
A man may tak a neebor's part,
Yet hae nae cab to fpare him.

Ay free, aff han' your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony ;
But ftill keep fomething to yoursel
Ye fcarcely tell to ony.
Conceal yourfel as weel's ye can
Frae critical diffection;
But keek thro' ev'ry other man,
Wi' fharpen'd fly inspection.

The facred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th' illicit rove,
Tho' naething should divulge it:
I wave the quantum o' the fin,
The hazard of concealing;
But och! it hardens a within,
And petrifies the feeling!

To catch dame Fortune's golden fmile,
Affiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's juftified by honor;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train-attendant;
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order; ·
But where ye feel your honor grip,
Let that ay be your border:
Its flightest touches, inftant pause-
Debar a' fide pretences;
And refolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring confequences.

The great Creator to revere,

Muft fure become the creature ;

But ftill the preaching cant forbear,

And ev❜n the rigid feature :

Yet ne'er with wits prophane to range,
Be complaifance extended;

An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!

When ranting round in pleafure's ring,
Religion may be blinded;
Or if the gie a random flings

It may be little minded;

But when on life we're tempeft-driv❜n,
A confcience but a canker-
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n,
Is fure a noble anchor !

Adieu, dear, amiable youth!

Your heart can ne'er be wanting! May prudence, fortitude, and truth, Erect your brow undaunting!

In ploughman phrase, God send you speed,” Still daily to grow wiser:

And may you better reck the rede,

Than ever did th' adviser.

BURNS.

A

An Epigram..

Member of the modern great
Pafs'd Sawney with his budget,
The Peer was in a car of state,
The tinker forc'd to trudge it.

But Sawney fhall receive the praife
His Lordship would parade for;
One's debtor for his dapple greys,
And t'other's fhoes are paid for.

CUNNINGHAM.

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