The New York Journal, And Daily Patriotic Register

POET'S CORNER.

AMERICAN POETRY.

A MODEST REQUEST.

In Heav'n, indulge me to request
What will make a mortal blest.
Give me first an honest soul
Subject to no base controul,
To no sordid vice a slave,
But to deeds of virtue brave.
So much learning as to rise
Above a pedant vainly wise;
So much wisdom as to see
What I am and ought to be;
And discern the good from ill,
That my circle I may fill;
So much courage as to choose
What is right the wrong refuse;
So much honor to disdain
Thoughts and actions that are mean;
Health my powers to employ
And my portion well enjoy.
Grant me next a virtuous wife,
Sweet companion of my life,
In my joys to take a share,
Partner too in ev'ry care,
Both from pride and meanness free,
Cheerful to my friend and me,
Pure in manners and discreet,
In her dress and person neat,
One, who innocently gay,
Can my vapours charm away,
Ever studious how to please,
Nor perverse apt to tease,
In her temper calm and meek,
Who can bear as well as speak.
To my humor always kind,
To my foibles seeming blind,
Yet, with artful hints of love,
With my follies to reprove,
In my pains to give relief
And to flatter off my grief.
Babes that prattle round and smile
Shall the heavy hours beguile,
Blooming like the vernal flow'rs,
Rip'ning into manly pow'rs,
Into virtue ripening too,
As to manly age they grow.
Let me ask a handsome plat,
Not too small, nor very great,
Wat'ring with meand'ring streams,
Blest with Phœbus' rising beams,
Let there be a shady grove
Where the muse and I may rove,
Here devotion too shall come,
For the muse will give her room.
I would have a verdant mead,
Where a cow or two may feed,
And a little rising ground,
Where my flocks may sport around;
An inclosure for my trees,
Here variety will please;
And a garden set with flow'rs
To amuse my vacant hours,
Fill'd with various kinds of fruit
That my health or taste may suit;
A well cultivated field
Which a competence shall yield,
Not to fill a miser's hoard,
But to feed my little board,
Entertain a friend or two,
Something on the poor below.
Give me too a pretty seat,
Not superb, but simply neat,
Where to lead a harmless life,
Free from envy and from strife.
Till I close this mortal scene
And a better life begin.--
Grant me but these, no other prize
I ask or wish below the skies.