follies rise,
The stroke of irony you dart
With force to mend, not wound the heart.
While intellectual objects share
Your mind's extensive view, you bear,
Quite free from spleen's incumb'ring load,
The little evils on the road--
So, while the path of life I tread,
A path to me with briers spread;
Let me its tangled mazes spy
Like you, with gay, good-humour'd eye;
Nor at those thorny tracts repine,
The treasure of your friendship, mine.

Grange Hill, Essex.

PART
OF AN
IRREGULAR [Transcriber's note: Original "IRREGULAL"] FRAGMENT,
FOUND IN A
DARK PASSAGE OF THE TOWER.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following Poem is formed on a very singular and sublime idea. A
young gentleman, possessed of an uncommon genius for drawing, on
visiting the Tower of London, passing one door of a singular
construction, asked what apartment it led to, and expressed a desire to
have it opened. The person who shewed the place shook his head, and
answered, "Heaven knows what is within that door--it has been shut for
ages."--This answer made small impression on the other hearers; but a
very deep one on the imagination of this youth. Gracious Heaven! an
apartment shut up for ages--and in the Tower!

"Ye Towers of Julius! London's lasting shame,
By many a foul and midnight murder fed."

Genius builds on a slight foundation, and rears beautiful structures on
"the baseless fabric of a vision." The above transient hint dwelt on the
young man's fancy, and conjured into his memory all the murders which
history records to have been committed in the Tower; Henry the Sixth,
the Duke of Clarence, the two young princes, sons of Edward the Fourth,
Sir Thomas Overbury, &c. He supposes all their ghosts assembled in this
unexplored apartment, and to these his fertile imagination has added
several others. One of the spectres raises an immense pall of black
velvet, and discovers the remains of a murdered royal family, whose
story is lost in the lapse of time.--The gloomy wildness of these
images struck my imagination so forcibly, that endeavouring to catch the
fire of the youth's pencil, this Fragment was produced.

PART
OF AN
IRREGULAR FRAGMENT,
FOUND IN A
DARK PASSAGE OF THE TOWER.

I.

Rise, winds of night! relentless tempests rise!
Rush from the troubled clouds, and o'er me roll;
In this chill pause a deeper horror lies,
A wilder fear appals my shudd'ring soul.--
'Twas on this day[A], this hour accurst,
That N