Berkeley And Jefferson Intelligencer

Among the real poets of England, the Hon. Mr. Spencer, holds a distinguished rank, and associates the Courtly accomplishments of the man of fashion, with the learning of the cloister, and the invention of a poet. The following Song, with which we have been recently favoured, is a fine specimen of his sensibility and talents. [Port Folio.]

When the black-letter'd list to the gods
was presented,
The list of what fate for each mortal
intends:
At the long string of ills, a kind Angel
relented,
And slipp'd in three blessings—a wife,
children, and friends.
In vain angry Lucifer swore he was
cheated,
For justice divine could not compass
its ends;
The scheme of man's fall, he maintain'd,
was defeated,
For earth becomes heaven, with wife,
children and friends.

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger
hands vested
The fund ill-secur'd, oft' in bankruptcy ends:
But the heart issues bills which are never
protested,
When drawn on the firm of—wife,
children, and friends.

Though valour still glows in his life's
waning embers,
The death-wounded tar, who his colours
defends;
Drops a tear of regret, as he, dying,
remembers
How blest was his home, with—wife,
children and friends.

The soldier whose deeds, live immortal
in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitudes
sends;
With transport would barter whole ages
of glory,
For one happy day, with—wife; children,
and friends.

Though spice-breathing gales o'er his
caravan hover,
And round him Arabia's whole fragrances
descends,
The merchant still thinks of the wood-
bines that cover
The bower where he sat with—wife.
children, and friends.

The day spring of youth still unclouded
by sorrow,
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends;
But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow
No warmth from the smiles of—wife
children, and friends.

Let the breath of renown ever freshen
and nourish
The laurel which o'er her dead fav'rite
bends;
O'er him wave the willow, which only
can flourish
When dew'd with the tears of—wife,
children, and friends.

Let us drink! for my song growing graver
and graver
To subjects too solemn, insensibly
tends;
Let us drink! pledge me high! love and
beauty will flavour,
The glass which I fill to—wife, children,
and friends.

And if, in the hope this fair island to
plunder,
The tyrant of France to invade us pretends,
How his legions will shrink, when our
arm'd freemen thunder
The war song of—"Britons, never,
never surrender to—children and friends."