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BY WILLIAM MELMOTU, ESQ.
ERE Saturn's sons were yet disgrac'd,
To Britain's isle direct their car,
Beside the road a mansion stood,
The dame who own'd, adorn'd the place;
Imagine now the table clear,
When Wit thus spake her sister train:
" Faith, friends, our errand is but vain-
AN INVITATION TO
BY THE REV. MR, GRAVES.
Again the balmy Zephyr blows,
Fresh verdare decks the grove, Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love.
Ye gentle warblers ! bither fily,
And shun the noontide heat;
My groves a safe retreat.
Here freely hop from spray to spray,
Or weave the mossy nest;
At night bere sweetly rest.
Amidst this cool translucent rill,
That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,
And revel in the shade.
No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,
E’er shows his ruddy face,
In this sequester'd place.
Hither the vocal Thrush repairs,
Secure the Linnet sings, The Goldfinch dreads no slimy snares
To clog her painted wings.
Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt
Yon distant woods among, And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy sweetly-plaintive song.
Let not the harmless Redbreast fcar,
Domestic bird, to come And seek a sure asylum here,
With one that loves his bome.
My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve; Oh, let me thus your friendship bribe!
Come, feed without reserve.
these cherries I protect, To you these plums belong : Sweet is the fruit that you have peck’d,
But sweeter far your song.
Let then this league betwixt us made
Our mutual interests guard,
Your songs be my reward.
ODE TO TRUTH.
SAY, will no white-rob'd son of light,
Swift darting from his heav'nly height, Here deign to take his ballow'd stand;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinious cloth'd with downy gold; Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?
And you, ye hosts of saints! for ye have known Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze,
Though now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpressive praise, Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with mercy's beam this gathering cloud of fate
'Tis silence all. No son of light
No train of radiant saints descend.