the ground,

And dews, foft dropping, gem the vale, Slow o'er the greenfward winds a found, And fweetnefs fills the night-figh'd gale.

Soft! 'tis lorn Sorrow's faddeft song!

Sure fome foft fylph awake her firains; On Zephyr's plume they float along, From tylvan dell in fairy plains. Or elfe 'tis tear-dew'd Pity fings

Her dirges o'er the turf-clos'd grave; Or foothes, with mufic's dulcet ftrings, Some tir'd reclufe in defert cave. No! 'tis the maid of pining care,

With her fad harp has fought the grove;

Erft chaunt the notes of wan defpair, And now the hallow'd tones of love. Genii, attend the trembling maid,

Send her white peace in ev'ry breeze; Attend her vigils in the fhade,

And lend the harp mild power to cafe. But, hark the mufic waftes to fighs!

Slow fink the folemn notes away! Each tone with plaintive fweetnefs dies, And Echo, penlive, drops the lay. LAVINIA.

EPITAPH

On a favourite little Dog.

ALAS, poor Prin! whofe frolics gay Beguil'd full many a heavy hour, Thy body fretch'd, as cold as clay,

Death made thee feel is tyrant pow'r.

EPITAPH

ON MARGARET SCOTT,

In the Church-yard of Dalkeith, near Edinburgh.

Now, tired of this mortal life, I reft. I, from my cradle to my grave, have feen Eight mighty kings (of Scotland), and a queen; [wealth I faw; Four times five years the commonTen times the fubjects rofe against the law; [down, Twice did I fee the old prelace pull'd And twice the cloak was humbled by the gown;

An end of Stuart's race I faw; nay more, I faw my country fold for English ore; Such defolations in my time have been,. I have an end of all perfection feen.

maid,

Fain would I feel thy magic pow'r; Sweet fairy, cheer my midnight hade, And aid me in this folemn hour: Oh! find me out a fovereign pillFor, fee, the fair Belinda's ill. When long a cruel cough had feiz'd her,

The fair one deign'd to afk a cure; With pill, broth, gruels, long I teas'd her; But, can a lady thefe endure? No fill the fair Belinda's ill, And vain are gruel, broth, and pill. "Daffy, (faid I) Oh! gentle madam, Daffy, dear Daffy, fure will do: Or Dr. Gifford's †,-if you had 'emOh! patient fair, one pill or two." But all in vain the doctor's skill; For ftill the fair Belinda's ill.

Perch'd, on the chair, my fairy fat,

A

A REB U S. Poetefs with honour crown'd, He who for mufic was renown'd, A man who was by Pyrrhus kill'd, And one that even rocks could wield; The brother of the laft then find, Alfo the mother of the wind,The dame whofe form once Juno took, The Mufe that lovers fhould invoke, A judge of hell, for juftice fam'd, A dog that tuneful Orpheus tam'd, A part of Jalon's famous fhip, One banish'd heaven for a flip, The place where Philomela dwelt, He who the world's great city built, The ifle which faw Apollo's birth, Th' initials will make (If tog ether you A king expell'd both heav'n and earth. jom)

Her name, in whom grace, wit, and beauty combine.

vain;

Here I have hit upon it pat,

Take up your pen, and try a ftrain; A rhyme, beyond the doctor's fkill, Will cure Belinda when she's ill.

"A rhyme well turn'd is fure to please, Cheers, warms, and aids the perspiration. [leize, When coughs and colds the fair ones The best physician in the nation Is a kind bard, for e'en though ill His rhyme, it proves a fovereign pill.” A rhyme ill turn'd will wound the ear: Ill-turn'd would raise Belinda's ire; Ev'n now I hear the cruel fair

Cry, "Betty, throw it in the fire." But, no, I will not call her cruel : Bad rhymes are found to make good fuel,

To warm Belinda's broth and gruel.

Daffy's Elixir. † Dr Gifford's Pille.

The lawn, the grove, the bufy mill, Free from the noife of care and ftrife? Then turn your eye to Champion Hill. Thrice happy,-thrice enchanting fpot; What tranfports thro' the bofom thrill, What joy to find fome humble cot,

And view the charms of Champion

Oh, Norwood! how I love to trace,
At fober eve, when all is ftill,
The ruftic, the poetic grace,

Thy profpect gives to Champion Hil. Here, poet, come! thou man of rhyme, With rapture here thy bofom fillHark how the diftant theep-belis chime, To lull thine eye on Champion Hill The blackbird pours his mellow note,

The fong-thrush warbles near the rill, The sky-lark ftrains his fwelling throat,

The turtle coos on Champion Hill. And there the shepherd tends his flock, And there the fwains the uplands till ; Rous'd by the crowing of the cock,

I brush the dews o'er Champion Hill; And pity you, who time.consume

In fcenes of riot and quadrille, While meditation finds fuch room For folid blifs on Champion Hill.

PASTORAL BALLAD.

By ANNA SEWARD,

OH, fhare my cottage, dearest maid!

M.

Beneath a mountain, wild and high, It neftles, in a filent glade;

And Wye's clear currents wander by. Each tender care, each honeft art

Shall chafe all future want from thee, When thy fweet lips confent impart

To climb thefe fleepy hills with me.

Far from the city's vain parade,

No fcornful brow fhall there be feen; No dull impertinence invade,

Nor envy bale, nor fallen fpleen. The fhadowy rocks, which circle round, From forms fhall guard our sylvan cell; And there fhall every joy he found,

That loves in peaceful vales to dwell. When late the tardy fun fhall peer,

And faintly gild yon little spire; When nights are long, and frofts fevere, And our clean hearth is bright with fire, Sweet tales to read-fweet fongs to fing!

O, they fhail drown the wind and rain, L'en till the foften'd feafon bring

Merry fpring-time back again! Then hawthorns, flow'ring in the glen, Shall guard the warbling plumy throng;

Nor boast the bufy haunts of men

So fair a fcene, lo fweet a fong.

THE SAILOR's PETITION. The Captain of one of the British frigates, a man of undaunted bravery, had a natural antipathy to a Cat. d Sailor, who for fome misconduct had been ordered a flogging, faved his bide by prefenting to his Captain the following Petition:

BY your honour's command,
A culprit I ftand,
An example to all the fhip's crew.
I am pinion'd, and stript,
And condemn'd to be whipt.
And if I am flogg'd-'tis my due.
A Cat, I am told,

In abhorrence you hold-
Your honour's averfion is mine:
If a Cat with one tail
Makes your flout heart to fail,
O fave me from one that has nine!
FOREIGN