Where art thou, HAMMOND? thou the darling pride, The friend and lover of the tuneful throng!

Ah why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime
Of vernal genius, where difclofing faft

Each active worth, each manly virtue lay,

Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope fo foon?
What now avails that noble thirst of fame,
Which ftung thy fervent breaft? that treafur'd ftore
Of knowledge, early gain'd? that eager zeal
To ferve thy country, glowing in the band
Of YOUTHFUL PATRIOTS, who sustain her name?
What now, alas! that life-diffusing charm
Of sprightly wit? that rapture for the Muse,
That heart of friendship, and that foul of joy,
Which bade with fofteft light thy virtue fmile?
Ah! only fhew'd, to check our fond pursuits,
And teach our humble hopes that life is vain!

Thus in fome deep retirement would I pafs
The winter glooms, with friends of pliant soul,
Or blithe, or folemn, as the theme inspir'd:
With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame
Was call'd, late-rifing from the void of night,
Or fprung eternal from th' ETERNAL MIND;
Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end.
Hence larger profpects of the beauteous whole

Would, gradual, open on our opening minds;
And each diffufive harmony unite

In full perfection to th' aftonish'd eye.

Then would we try to fcan the moral World.
Which, tho' to us it seems embroil'd, moves on
In higher order; fitted, and impell'd,
By WISDOM's fineft hand, and issuing all
In general Good. The fage hiftoric Muse
Should next conduct us thro' the deeps of time:
Shew us how empire grew, declin'd, and fell,
In fcatter'd ftates; what makes the nations fmile,
Improves their foil, and gives them double funs;
And why they pine beneath the brightest skies,
In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd,
Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale
That portion of divinity, that ray

Of pureft heaven, which lights the public foul
Of patriots, and of heroes. But if doom'd,
In powerlefs humble fortune, to reprefs
These ardent rifings of the kindling foul;
Then, even fuperior to ambition, we

Would learn the private virtues; how to glide

Thro' fhades and plains, along the smootheft stream

Of rural life: or fnatch'd away by hope,

Thro' the dim spaces of futurity,

With earneft eye anticipate those scenes
Of happiness, and wonder; where the mind,
In endless growth and infinite afcent,

Rifes from state to ftate, and world to world.
But when with these the serious thought is foil'd,
We, fhifting for relief, would play the shapes
Of frolic fancy: and inceffant form
Those rapid pictures, that assembled train
Of fleet ideas, never join'd before.
Whence lively Wit excites to gay furprize;
Or folly-painting Humour, grave himself,
Calls Laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve.
Meantime the village roufes up the fire;
While well attefted, and as well believ'd,
Heard folemn, goes the goblin-story round;
Till fuperftitious horror creeps o'er all.
Or, frequent in the founding-hall, they wake
The rural gambol. Ruftic mirth goes round;
The fimple joke that takes the fhepherd's heart,
Eafily pleas'd; the long loud laugh, fincere;
The kiss, fnatch'd hafty from the fide-long maid,
On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep:
The leap, the flap, the haul; and, fhook to notes
Of native mufic, the refpondent dance.

Thus jocund fleets with them the winter-night.

The city fwarms intenfe. The public haunt, Full of each theme, and warm with mixt discourse, Hums indiftinct. The fons of riot flow

Down the loose stream of false inchanted joy,
To fwift deftruction. On the rankled foul
The gaming fury falls; and in one gulph
Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace,
Friends, families, and fortune, headlong fink.
Up fprings the dance along the lighted dome,
Mix'd, and evolv'd, a thousand sprightly ways.
The glittering court effuses every pomp;
The circle deepens: beam'd from gaudy robes,
Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes,
A foft effulgence o'er the palace waves:
While, a gay infect in his fummer-fhine,
The fop, light-fluttering, spreads his mealy wings.
Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of HAMLET stalks;
OTHELLO rages; poor MONIMIA mourns;
And BELVIDERA pours her foul in love.
Terror alarms the breaft; the comely tear

Steals o'er the cheek: or elfe the COMIC MUSE

Holds to the world a picture of itself,
And raises fly the fair impartial laugh.

Sometimes fhe lifts her strain, and paints the scenes

Of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind, Or charm the heart, in generous BEVIL* fhew'd.

O THOU, whose wisdom, folid yet refin'd,
Whofe patriot-virtues, and confummate skill
To touch the finer fprings that move the world,
Join'd to whate'er the Graces can bestow,
And all Apollo's animating fire,

Give thee, with pleafing dignity, to shine
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy,
Of polish'd life; permit the Rural Muse,
O CHESTERFIELD, to grace with thee her fong!!
Ere to the fhades again fhe humbly flies,
Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train,
(For every Muse has in thy train a place,)
To mark thy various full accomplish'd mind:
To mark that spirit, which, with British scorn,
Rejects th' allurements of corrupted power;
That elegant politeness, which excels,

Even in the judgment of prefumptuous France,
The boafted manners of her fhining court;
That wit, the vivid energy of sense,

The truth of Nature, which, with Attic point,

* A character in the CONSCIOUS LOVERS, written by Sir RICHARD STEELE.