Part 110 (2/2)

Let us, Amanda, timely wise, Like them, improve the hour that flies; And in soft raptures waste the day, Among the birks of Invermay.

For soon the winter of the year, And age, life's winter, will appear; At this thy living bloom will fade, As that will strip the verdant shade.

Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, The feathered songsters are no more; And when they drop and we decay, Adieu the birks of Invermay!

JAMES MERRICK.

Merrick was a clergyman, as well as a writer of verse. He was born in 1720, and became a Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, where Lord North was one of his pupils. He took orders, but owing to incessant pains in the head, could not perform duty. He died in 1769. His works are a translation of Tryphiodorus, done at twenty, a version of the Psalms, a collection of Hymns, and a few miscellaneous pieces, one good specimen of which we subjoin.

THE CHAMELEON.

Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, With eyes that hardly served at most To guard their master 'gainst a post; Yet round the world the blade has been, To see whatever could be seen.

Returning from his finished tour, Grown ten times perter than before; Whatever word you chance to drop, The travelled fool your mouth will stop: 'Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-- I've seen--and sure I ought to know.'-- So begs you'd pay a due submission, And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast, As o'er Arabia's wilds they pa.s.sed, And on their way, in friendly chat, Now talked of this, and then of that; Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, Of the chameleon's form and nature.

'A stranger animal,' cries one, 'Sure never lived beneath the sun: A lizard's body lean and long, A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, Its foot with triple claw disjoined; And what a length of tail behind!

How slow its pace! and then its hue-- Who ever saw so fine a blue?'

'Hold there,' the other quick replies, ''Tis green, I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, And warmed it in the sunny ray; Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, And saw it eat the air for food.'

'I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue; At leisure I the beast surveyed Extended in the cooling shade.'

''Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I a.s.sure ye.'

'Green!' cries the other in a fury: 'Why, sir, d' ye think I've lost my eyes?'

''Twere no great loss,' the friend replies; 'For if they always serve you thus, You'll find them but of little use.'

So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows: When luckily came by a third; To him the question they referred: And begged he'd tell them, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue.

'Sirs,' cries the umpire, 'cease your pother; The creature's neither one nor t' other.

I caught the animal last night, And viewed it o'er by candle-light: I marked it well, 'twas black as jet-- You stare--but sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it.'--'Pray, sir, do; I'll lay my life the thing is blue.'

'And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll p.r.o.nounce him green.'

'Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,'

Replies the man, 'I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.'

He said; and full before their sight Produced the beast, and lo!--'twas white.

Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise-- 'My children,' the chameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue,) 'You all are right, and all are wrong: When next you talk of what you view, Think others see as well as you: Nor wonder if you find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own.'

DR JAMES GRAINGER.

This writer possessed some true imagination, although his claim to immortality lies in the narrow compa.s.s of one poem--his 'Ode to Solitude.' Little is known of his personal history. He was born in 1721 --belonging to a gentleman's family in c.u.mberland. He studied medicine, and was for some time a surgeon connected with the army. When the peace came, he established himself in London as a medical pract.i.tioner. In 1755, he published his 'Solitude,' which found many admirers, including Dr Johnson, who p.r.o.nounced its opening lines 'very n.o.ble.' He afterwards indited several other pieces, wrote a translation of Tibullus, and became one of the critical staff of the _Monthly Review_. He was unable, however, through all these labours to secure a competence, and, in 1759, he sought the West Indies. In St Christopher's he commenced practising as a physician, and married the Governor's daughter, who brought him a fortune. He wrote a poem ent.i.tled 'The Sugar-cane.' This was sent over to London in MS., and was read at Sir Joshua Reynold's table to a literary coterie, who, according to Boswell, all burst out into a laugh when, after much blank-verse pomp, the poet began a new paragraph thus--

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