Haply some cit may say :

"The crowd among

"Oft have we seen him, at the close of day, "Bustling with hasty footsteps thro' the throng,

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To gain his favourite seat at some new play.

There, in the midway region of the pit, "Where Critics oft their arts malignant ply, "Near to the orchestra, sedate he'd sit,

"And pore upon the scene with curious eye.

'Beneath yon elm, that each new loiterer woos, “He lov'd to sit absorb'd in musings deep;

"Then up the Green-Park, or by Chelsea-Mews, "He'd briskly run; or, tir'd, would slowly creep.

"One eve I miss'd him on the accustom'd way,

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Along the park, and near his favorite tree; "Another came-I sought him at the play, "Nor in pit, box, nor gallery was he."

The next in dreary hearse, with sad array,

Slow to the uncypress'd church-yard he was borne. Approach and read (if thou hast time) the lay,

Grav'd on the stone, that no proud lies adorn.

EPITAPH.

Here rests his head beneath the barren soil,

An Author, once to wits and patrons known; The Critics frown'd not on his humble toil, Nor did the world his labours quite disown.

Large his editions, but his readers few ;
Fate did a recompence as largely send :
He wisely bade to Booksellers adieu,

And in the Chandler found a readier friend.

No longer now pil'd up in useless state,
His pages freely circulate thro' town:
Perhaps, at last, doom'd by capricious fate
To kindle pipes, or curl some crazy crown.

C.

The HAUNTED BEACH.

By Mrs. ROBINSON.

Upon a lonely desart beach,

Where the white foam was scatter'd,

A little shed uprear'd its head,

Tho' lofty barks were shatter'd!

The sea-weeds gathering near the door,

A sombre path display'd,

And, all around, the deafening roar
Re-echo'd on the chalky shore,
By the green billows made.

Above, a jutting cliff was seen,

Where sea-birds hover'd, craving,
And all around, the craggs were bound
With weeds, for ever waving;
And, here and there, a cavern wide
Its shadowy jaws display'd,

And near the sand, at ebb of tide,
A shatter'd mast was seen to ride,

Where the green billows stray'd.

And often, while the morning wind
Stole o'er the summer ocean;
The moonlight scene was all serene,
The waters scarce in motion,
Then, while the smoothly slanting sand
The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade,
The FISHERMAN beheld a band

Of SPECTRES, gliding hand in hand,
Where the green billows play'd!

And pale their faces were, as snow!
And sullenly they wander'd!
And to the skies, with hollow eyes,

They look'd, as tho' they ponder'd!
And sometimes from their hammock shroud,
They dismal howlings made!

And while the blast blew strong and loud, The clear MooN mark'd the ghastly crowd, Where the green billows play'd!

And then, above the haunted hut,
The CURLEWS, screaming, hover'd :
And the low door, with furious roar,
The frothy breakers cover'd.
For, in the FISHERMAN's lone shed,
A MURDER'D MAN was laid,
With ten wide gashes on his head,
And deep was made his sandy bed,
Where the green billows played.

The SPECTRE band, his MESSMATES bold,
Sunk in the yawning ocean!
While to the mast, he lash'd him fast,

And brav'd the storm's commotion !
The winter MOON upon the sand

A silvery carpet made,

And mark'd the sailor reach the land

And mark'd his MURDERER wash his hand,

Where the green billows play'd!