* * * MILITARY FAME. O thou that sigh’st to join the scenes of war, And gain the glories of the martial train; Reflect what woes surround the trophied car, What crimson tints the wish’d-for circlet stain. If tender sympathy be not unknown, If heaven-born mercy in thy bosom glow, Reject the impurpl’d wreath, the laurel crown Can flourish only in the scenes of woe. Wert thou the noblest bravest son of Mars, Did fear precede thee, conquest still attend; All the long glories of successive wars On fickle Fortune’s favouring smile depend. Ev’n godlike Paoli’s confest her sway, By her they flourish and by her they fade; The adverse fortune of one hapless day Condemns thee to oblivion’s dreary shade. Such is a brittle bubble blown in air, Such the bright lustre of the morning skies; So some tall tree may vernal honours bear, And bloomy verdure charm the wondering eyes: But, ah! how fleeting the illusive glare When the clouds gather, and the storms arise! MATILDA. NEW-YORK. * * * * * REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCH-YARD. All hail ye peaceful scenes, in whose still plain Sweet solitude and melancholy dwell; Where uncontrolled awe doth pensive reign, And rev’rence muses in each silent cell. With mem’ry’s retrospective eye I view These ghastly figures--(loathsome to the eyes) These are the skulls of those I lately knew, The once adored, beautiful, and wise! The statesman and the clown here peaceful lie, The slave for liberty don’t here dispute: With death’s decree Neptune and Mars comply, And patriotic eloquence lies mute! When Sol the East with blushes does adorn; The rose expands her leaves to every ray: Tho’ thus compos’d of beauty in the morn, At eve she bows her head and doth decay. So lies the maid who once with beauty blest, And at whose feet youths supplicating lay, While beauty reign’d she was by them carest: But none pays tribute to her breathless clay. Each silent tomb methinks lets fall a tear, While ev’ry grave in plaintive accents say; “In pride of youth like you we did appear, “But you like us, must moulder and decay.” “Ye sons of dissipation, new pursue “The paths of rectitude--for short’s the span, “Remember while these monuments you view, “The chiefest study of mankind is man.” * * * * * * * * * ON MY BEARD.--A SONNET. The orb of day seven times, this fatal morn, Has sped his course thro’ each revolving sign, Since first in evil hour, reluctant torn, The down of youth forsook these cheeks of mine. Ah! fashion! had I view’d thy sneers with scorn, Unravag’d still the sacred growth would shine: The majesty of manhood, still unshorn, Shou’d sweep my breast luxuriant as the vine.