Many sad hearts may you lighten,
And turn sorrow oft to bliss;
Many dark lives may you brighten,
If you'll make your motto this:
" Ever lend a helping hand. "

He by whose charter thousands held their breath,
Lies here, the captive of triumphant death:
If drugs, or matchless skill, could death reclaim,
His life had been immortal as his fame .

Besides , 'twas God's progressive plan
Before we straightened up to Man,
The instincts ruled in place of mind:
And even now, although consigned
The late born reasoning soul to serve,
They obey the Sympathetic Nerve, —
Inherited anatomies still
Ordering our acts against our will.

One day three girls were casting lots in play,
Which first to Acheron should take her way;
Thrice with their sportive hands they threw, and thrice
To the same hand returned the fateful dice;
The maiden laughed when thus her doom was told:
Alas! that moment from the roof she rolled! —
So sure is Fate whene'er it bringeth bale,
While prayers and vows for bliss must ever fail

She on this clayen pillow layed her head,
As brides do use the first to go to bed.
He missed her soon and yet ten monthShe trys
To live apart and lykes it not and dyes.

Venus , I heare thou roam' st about
To finde thy wandring Cupid out,
Who (having play'd the wag last day)
For feare of britching flue away;
And promisest to give a kisse
To him can telle thee where he is;
Come then, and thrive in thy request;
Kisse me, and take him in my brest.

Go softly past the graveyard where
Hipponax is asleep: take care!
Don't wake that spiteful wasp, who stung
Even his parents with his tongue.
In Hell itself, where now he lies,
His red-hot words can cauterize.

F ORM'D half beneath, and half above the earth,
We sisters owe to art our second birth:
The smith's and carpenter's adopted daughters,
Made on the land, to travel on the waters.
Swifter they move, as they are straiter bound,
Yet neither tread the air, or wave, or ground:
They serve the poor for use, the rich for whim,
Sink when it rains, and when it freezes swim.

ON THE SAME SUBJECT .

I N a dark corner of the house
Poor Helen sits, and sobs and cries;
She will not see her loving spouse,
Nor her more dear picquet-allies:
Unless she find her eye-brows,
She'll e'en weep out her eyes.

SINCE MARCHIONESS OF CARMARTHEN, ON A COLUMN OF HER DRAWING .

When future ages shall with wonder view
These glorious lines, which Harley's daughter drew,
They shall confess, that Britain could not raise
A fairer column to the father's praise.