LORD MAYOR’S DAY. _A Mock Elegy._ The sun creeps slowly o’er the eastern hills, The lazy pacing hours attend his way, Thro’ the thick fog the scarce pervading beam, Gives LONDON’S LORD his gorgeous gaudy day. Now the grim’d scavenger his besom plies, And whistles at his work, unwonted glee, The streets look decent, ev’n in courtier’s eyes, While the wretch sweeps for _dirtier soil_ than he. And now the city bells, in many a peal, Bursting at once upon the vacant ear, Bid the glad freemen from their counters steal, And hail the day to beef and pudding dear. Nor pass we by the capon and the chine, Nor heedless, leave the turkey’s praise unsung! The many-mixtur’d punch, th’ inspiring wine, Joy of each heart, and theme of every tongue. The feasting o’er, the ball, the sprightly dance, With jocund glee beguile the night away; The crowds retire when Sunday hours advance, “_And eat, in dreams, the custard of the day._” From _The New Foundling Hospital for Wit_. Vol. V. London, 1786. ―――― ELEGY. Written at the Hotwells, Bristol, July, 1789. By the Rev. W. L. Bowles. Published by Cadell and Davies, Strand, London. It commences as follows:―― The morning wakes in shadowy mantle grey, The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold, Prone from the cliff the falcon whirls her way, And long and loud the bell’s slow chime is tol’d. The redd’ning light gains fast upon the skies, And far away the glist’ning vapours sail, Down the rough steep th’ accustom’d hedger hies, And the stream winds in brightness thro’ the Vale. ―――― ELEGY. _Written in Poets Corner, Westminster Abbey._ Now sinks the hum confus’d of busy care, And solemn Eve begins her placid reign; Mild contemplation muses on the air, And silence bends before her vestal train. * * * * * There are fifteen verses in this imitation, it is given in full in _The Spirit Of the Public Journals_. Volume VI. 1803. ―――― THE NUNNERY. Now pants the night breeze thro’ the darken’d air, And silence soothes the vestal world to rest, Save where some pale fac’d novice (wrapt in pray’r) Heaves a deep moan, and smites her guiltless breast. * * * * * From an anonymous imitation. ―――― ELEGY. _Supposed to be written on a Field of Battle._ The wrathful storm hath swept along the dale; The madd’ning fury of the fight is o’er; Discord’s loud notes have ceas’d upon the gale―― The clang of arms, and pealing cannon’s roar;