Delightful Octave, this and others,

"Tis social concord-men and brothers.

And ye-the Muse your Merit saves,

Misers who bless us from your graves;

Whose lives were one divine endeavour,

To heal the world, and heal for ever;

The happy bird nor reaps nor sows,
One only care his bosom knows,
In Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
The business of his life-to sing.

LINES,

Written at the Tuckies in Coalbrook Dale, the occasional residence of the late William Reynolds, of Ketley, Esq. on seeing in the Breakfast Parlour, a Parcel, containing warm Bala Stockings, and Silk Handkerchiefs, a Birth-day Boon from the family, in 1801 to **** Palmer, a blind Fidler, and an excellent singer.

Around the smoaking Urn we meet,

Thy Natal Morn, with pleasure, greet;
And ask, with hope's uplifted eyes,

That fifty more for thee may rise ;

Nor only hope to aid this prayer,

Thy faithful friends employ their care;

To guard thee from invading colds,
They wrap thy feet in fleecy folds;

That Health may tune thy every note,

In wreaths of silk-secure thy throat;

So Mirth, who loves thee, loves the dance,

Shall long behold thy Bow advance

To lead the maze, or song-the choice,

*

That Havren, charm'd, may hear thy voice.

The river Severn, of which Havren is the root with ys prefixt, runs below the Tuckies.

Havren, that vales Powisian laves,

And wafts a moral* on her waves.

O! Palmer, could the Muse attend,
To hear thy grateful suit ascend;
To hear thee beg at Bounty's throne,
The blessings thou wilt wish their own;
Inspir'd, she knows them, joins thee, prays
For health, peace, plenty, length of days!