TO A YOUNG ASS. ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT. Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race! Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate ?— To see thy wretched MOTHER'S shortened Chain? Chained to a Log within a narrow spot Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen, Poor Ass! thy Master should have learnt to shew For much I fear me that He lives, like thee, How askingly its footsteps hither bend? It seems to say, "And have I then one Friend?" Innocent Foal! thou poor despised Forlorn! Where ToIL shall call the charmer HEALTH his Bride, Yea! and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be, The aching of pale FASHION's vacant breast! DOMESTIC PEACE. TELL me, on what holy ground May DOMESTIC PEACE be found? THE SIGH. WHEN Youth his faery reign began I fain would sooth the sense of Care June, 1794. EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, |