Seek not (vain hope) their merits to disclose, Nor paint their faults to sadden their condition; These let them try with trembling hope t’ expose, And those defend――on bench of Opposition. From _The Morning Chronicle_ (London). Jan. 18, 1811. ――――:o:―――― AN ELEGY IN A LONDON CHURCHYARD. Great Tom now sounds the close of busy day, The weary dray horse rests from labour free, From town, till morn, the merchant speeds his way, And London leaves to tumult and to me. Now stars terrestrial glimmer through each street, Thro’ all the air a din confus’d is spread, Save where perchance some list’ning crowd you meet, By nightly songsters’ strain discordant led; Save that from yonder watch-box standing near, The old night-guardian tells his wonted tale; Or urged by outrage dire to timely fear, Makes his loud rattle sound upon the gale. On cobbler’s stall, or screen’d by friendly shed, Full many a maid once breath’d her nightly woes; Yet here from chill misfortune ever fled, The houseless wand’rers of the street repose. The noisy call of Smithfield’s early train, The sweep’s shrill matins from the chimney stack, The dustman’s bell, or post-boy’s piping strain, No more shall call their fleeting spirits back. (_Eight verses omitted_) * * * * * Full many a forest oak of stately size To menial purpose bends it’s lofty head; Full many a treasure undiscover’d lies Beneath the passenger’s unconscious tread. Some latent WREN, who up the scaffold high, Obedient hasten’d to the bricklayers call: Some poor harmonic Tinker here may lie, Some Statesman guiltless of his country’s fall. The Virtuoso’s praises to command, The soul to lift with transports to the skies, To scatter mis’ry o’er a smiling land, And fruitless schemes of conquest to devise. Their lot forbade:――nor yet did fortune frown, But equally their crimes and fame confin’d; Forbade to wade thro’ folly to renown And gain the execration of mankind. (_Seven verses omitted_) * * * * * Haply some cit may say:――“The crowd among “Oft have we seen him at the close of day, “Bustling with hasty foot-steps thro’ the throng, “To gain his fav’rite 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 loit’rer wooes, “He lov’d to sit, absorbed 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 th’ accustom’d way: “Along the park, and near his fav’rite tree, “Another came――I sought him at the play, “Nor in the pit, box, nor gallery, was he