TO MY DEAR FRIEND, MRS. ANNA
FLAXMAN.

THIS song to the flower of Flaxman's joy ;
To the blossom of hope, for a sweet decoy ;
Do all that you can, or all that you may,
To entice him to Felpham and far away.

Away to sweet Felpham, for heaven is there,
The ladder of angels descends through the air;
On the turret its spiral does softly descend,
Through the village then winds, at my cot it does end.

You stand in the village and look up to heaven;
The precious stones glitter on flight seventy-seven ;
And my brother is there; and my friend and thine
Descend and ascend with the bread and the wine.

The bread of sweet thought and the wine of delight Feed the village of Felpham by day and by night; And at his own door the bless'd hermit does stand, Dispensing, unceasing, to all the wide land.

THE PILGRIM.

PHOBE dressed like beauty's queen,

Jellicoe in faint pea-green,

Sitting all beneath a grot,

Where the little lambkins trot.

Maidens dancing ;-lovers sporting;
All the country folks a-courting,
Susan, Johnny, Bob and Joe,
Lightly tripping on a row.

Happy people, who can be

In happiness compared to ye?
The pilgrim, with his crook and hat,
Sees your happiness complete.

PROVERBS.

A ROBIN Redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage;

A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.

A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state;

A game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Doth the rising sun affright;

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul;
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear;
A skylark wounded on the wing
Doth make a cherub cease to sing.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men ;
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved;
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity;
He who torments the chafer's sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief;

The wild deer wandering here and there
Keep the human soul from care;
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgment draweth nigh;
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou shalt grow fat.
Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe;
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright;

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue;
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot;
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy ;

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Cæsar's laurel crown.

Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armourer's iron brace;
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.

H

When gold and gems adorn the plough,
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Do to rags the heavens tear;

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or, if protected from on high,

Shall that whole nation sell and buy ;
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate;
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave Old England's winding-sheet ;
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Shall dance before dead England's hearse.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death;
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out;
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.

The babe is more than swaddling-bands
Throughout all these human lands;

Tools were made, and born were hands,

Every farmer understands.

The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply;

He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out;
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please;
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born;
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight;
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine;
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And, when this we rightly know,
Safely through the world we go.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see with not through the eye,

Which was born in a night to perish in a night
When the soul slept in beams of light.