On the Birth-day of the Late Stephen Poyntz, Esq

Friend to my life, and parent of my youth, Accept with kindness, what I give with truth, Accept! and know it undisguis'd by art, Th' o'erflowing fullness of a grateful heart.

While joy returns with this returning morn, And thousands bless the day that Poyntz was born, Shall I alone no pious wishes send, Forget the patron, and neglect the friend? No;—tho' my mind no costly present prove, Exalt my joy, and dignify my love, Yet cheerful truth shall aid the muse to pay The silent tribute of an humble lay; Yet gratitude, that heaven-directed fire, That muse shall raise, that humble lay inspire, Glow in each thought, inspirit every line, And, while it warms my breast, enliven thine.

Say, Poyntz, when, smiling on thy natal hour, Friend, neighbour, child, their various blessings pour; When love, unvex'd by troubles, or by cares, Hails thy fair series of revolving years, Does not more real bliss thy thoughts employ? Does not thy swelling heart dilate with joy? Superior joy, to know those years were spent, With ease and virtue, affluence and content? Yes, conscious honour, with true greatness join'd, Smiles in thy face, and glows within thy mind: In vain, unmov'd by false deluding pride, The modest breast would its own merits hide; Still, gloriously conceal'd, true worth we see Take double lustre from obscurity.

O! could I live like thee, with equal fate, Politely good, and innocently great. Each noble act, each generous thought, is thine; Those acts, those thoughts, to imitate be mine. Come thou, my guide, philosopher, and friend, Conduct, improve, protect me, and defend; Teach me, like thee, low fortune to despise, Like thee, by virtue dignified, to rise; Thro' life's calm voyage happily to steer, Gay, not presuming, grave, yet not severe. Together let us view the classic page, The sophist's moral, and the poet's rage, Pursue the calm advice, th' inspiring flame, Compare, and know their generous end the same.

O! did my humble artless breast but know The piercing judgment, or the active flow; Sublime the muse should mount with stronger wing, Thy peaceful worth, thy glorious toils to sing: To thee, in loftier strains, the song should raise, And with the friend's unite the patriot's praise. Even now, whilst grateful truths my breast inflame, I dare to celebrate the glorious theme, And bold, the wilds of poetry explore Thro' devious tracts, and paths unknown before.