ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN THE EAST INDIES Methinks the lark with sweeter lay Salutes the smiling morn, All nature seems to hail the day When such a son was born. He sprung like yonder poplar fair In all the charms of youth, A something shone in all his air Of dignity and truth. His face and figure must engage, And such a soul has he; The like is given once in an age, To shew what man should be. Then why from Britain's happy isle To other regions go; Shall strangers share that angel smile While friends are sunk in woe? No, charming Phoenix, shew your sense; Relieve a load of pain, And let the winds that bore you hence Convey you back again.