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Pow'r of the foft and rofy face!

O Freedom! fov'reign boon of Hearn: The vivid pulse, the vermil grace,

Great Charter with our being gir'n; The spirits, when they gayelt shine,

For which the patriot and the sage Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine !

Have plannid, have bled thro'ev'ry age! O fun of life! whose heav'nly ray

High privilege of human race, Lights up and cheers our various day,

Beyond a mortal monarch's grace: The turbulence of hopes and fears,

Who could not give, who cannot claim,
The ftorm of fate, the cloud of years,

What but from God iinmediate came!
Till nature, with thy parting light,
Reposes late in Death's calm night:
Fied from the trophy'd roofs of state,
Abodes of splendid pain and hate ;

Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep, § 126. Odle to Evening. Dr. Jos. WARTOL.
Hot Riot would his anguith steep,
But tofles thro' the inidnight shade,

HAIL, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in fober erst,

Whose soft approach the weary wood-1:2 Of death, of life, alike afraid ;

loves; For ever fled to shady cell,

As homeward bent, to kiss his prattling babes, Where Teinp’rance, where the Mules dwell;

Jocund, he whiftles thro' the twilight groves. Thou oft art leen, at early dawn, Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn:

When Phabus finks behind the gilded hills, Or on the brow of mountain high,

You lightly o’er the misty meadows walk, In filence feasting ear and eve,

The drooping daisies barne in dulce dews, With fong and profpeét which abound

And nurse the nodding violet's tender faik. From birds, and woods, and waters round, The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce bea,

But when the fun, with noon-tide ray, To inmust bow'rs and cooling carerns ran, Flames forth intolerable day;

Return to trip in wanton ev’ning dance; While Heat fits fervent on the plain,

Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan. With Thirst and Languor in his train

To the deep wood the clam'rous rooks repair, (All nature fick’ning in the blaze)

Light skims the swallow o'er the wat'ry scene; Thou, in the wild and woody maze

And from the theep-cote and fresh furrow'd been That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,

Stout plowmen meet to wrestle on the green. Impendent from the neighb’ring steep, Wilt find betimes a calm retrcat,

The swain that artless fings on yonder rock, Where breathing Coolness has her feat. His fupping theep and length’ning shadow ipies, There, plung'd amid the shadows brown,

Pleas'd with the cool, the calm refreshing bra, Imagination lavs him down;

And with hoarse humming of unnumber'da Attentive, in his airy mood,

Now ev'ry passion feeps : desponding Love, To ev'ry murmur of the wood:

And pining Envy, ever-reftless Pride; The bee in yonder flow'ry nook,

And holy Calm creeps o'er my peacefui foul, The chidings of the headlong brook,

Anger and mad Ambition's storms sublide. The green leaf quiv'ring in the gale,

O modest Evening! oft let me appear The warbling hill, the towing vale,

A wand’ring vot’ry in thy pensive train; The distant woodman's echoing stroke,

List’oing to ev'ry wildly-ivarbling note The thunder of the falling oak.

That fills with farewell (weet thy dark’ning plan. From thought to thought in vifion led, He holds high converse with the dead; Sages or poets. See, they rise !

§ 127. Epiflolary Verses to George Coiras, E. And thadowy skim before his eyes.

written in the Year 1756. Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again, That foften'd savages to men:

ROBERT LLOY) Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heav'n,

You know, dear George, I'm none of those To whoin its moral will was giv'n.

That condescend to write in profe : Fathers and Friends of human kind !

Inspir'd with pathos and fublime, They form'd the nations, or refind,

I always foar—in doggrel rhyme, With all that mends the head and heart, And scarce can ask you how you do, Enlight’ning truth, adorning art.

Without a jingling rhyme or two. Thus muling in the folemn shade,

Besides, I always took delight in At once the founding biceze was laid:

What bears the name of easy writing: And nature, by the unknown law,

Perhaps the reason makes it pleafe Shook deep with reverential awe;

Is, that I find its writ with ease. Dumb silence grew upon the hour;

I vent a notion here in private, A browner night involv'd the bow'r:

Which public talte can ne'er coonive at, When, issuing from the inmost wood,

Which thinks no wit or judgment greater Arrear'd fair Freedom's Genius good. Than Addison and his Spectator ;

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Who says (it is no matter where,

The bard indeed full oft complains,
But that he says it I can swear)

That rhymes are fetters, links, and chains;
With eafy verse most bards are sinitten, And, when he wants to leap the fence,
Because they think 'tis easy written;

Still keeps him pris’ner to the sense.
Whereas the easier it appears,

Howe'er in coinmon-place he rage,
The greater marks of care it wears ;

Rhyme's like your fetters on the stage,
Of which, to give an explanation,

Which when the player once hath wore,
Take this by way of illustration:

It makes him only ftrut the more,
The fam’d Mat. Prior, it is said,

While, raving in pathetic strains,
Oft bit his nails and scratch'd his head,

He shakes his legs to clank his chains.
And chang'd a thought a hundred times, From rhyme, as from a handsome face,
Because he did not like the rhymes :

Nonsenfe acquires a kind of grace;
To make my meaning clear, and please ye, I therefore give it all its scope,
In short, he labour'd to write easy;

That sense may unperceiv'd elope:
And yet, no Critic e'er defines

So M rs of bafest tricks
His poems into labour'd lines.

(I love a fling at politics)
I have a simile will hit him ;

Amuse the nation, court, and king,
His verse, like clothes, was made to fit him, With breaking F-kes, and hanging Byng;
Which (as no taylor e’er denyd)

And make each puny rogue a prey,
The better fit the more they're try'd.

While they, the greater, flink away.
Tho' I have mention'd Prior's name, This fimile perhaps would strike,
Think not I aim at Prior's fame:

If match'd with something more alike;
'Tis the result of admiration,

Then take it, dress'd a second time,
To spend itself in imitation;

In Prior's Eate, and my Sublime.
If imitation may be said,

Say, did you never chance to meet
Which is in me by nature bred,

A mob of people in the street,
And you have better proofs than these, Ready to give the robb’d relief,
That I'm idolater of Ease.

And all in haste to catch a thief,
Who but a madman would engage

While the fly rogue, who filch'd the prey,
A Poet in the present age?

Too close belet to run away,
Write what we will, our works bespeak us, Stop thief! stop thiefl exclaims aloud,
Imitatores, fervum pecus.

And 10 escapes among the crowd?
Tale, Elegy, or lofty Ode,

So Ministers, &c.
We travel in the beaten road,

O England, how I mourn thy fate!
The proverb ftill sticks closely by us,

For sure thy losses now are great;
Nil di&tum, quod non dictum prius.

Two such what Briton can endure,
The only comfort that I know

Minorca and the Connoiffeur !
Is, that 'twas said an age ago,

To-day *, or ere the sun goes down,
Ere Milton Joard in thought sublime,

Will die the Cenfor, Mr. Town!
Ere Pope refind the chink of rhyme,

He dies, whoc'er takes pains to con him,
Ere Coleman wrote in style so pure,

With blushing honours thick upon him;
Or the great Two the Connoilleur;

O may his nainc these verses save,
Ere I burlesqu’d the rural cit,

Be these inscrib'd upon his grave!
Proud to hedge in my scraps of wit,

• Know, Rcader, that on Thursday dy'd And happy in the close connection,

· The Connoiffeur, a Suicide! T'acquire some name from their reflection; " Yet think not that his soul is fled, Sn (the fimilitude is trite)

· Nor rank him ʼmonyít the vulgar dead;
The moon still thines with borrow'd light, • Howe'er defunct you set him down,
And, like the race of modern beaux,

He's only going out of Town.'
Ticks with the fun for her lac'd clothes.

Methinks, ibere is no better time
To show the utc I make of rhyme

§ 128. Ole to Arthur Orffow, Efa.
Than now, when I, who, from beginning,
Was always fond of couplet-finning,

THIS goodly frame what virtue fo approves,
Presuming on good-nature's score,

And testifies the pure ethereal spirit,
Thus lay my bantling at your door.

As mild Benerolence!
The first advantage which I see

She, with her fifter Mercy, fill awaits
Is, that I ramble loose and free:

Beside th eternal throne of Jove,

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* September 30th, 1755, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoiffeur, a periodical Eray (fince published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London) took leave of his readers with an humorous account of himself.

+ This elegant Poem was written by a gentleman well known in the learned world, as a token of gratitude for tavours conferred on his father during the last war, whose character he has therein affumed.


And measures forth, with unwithdrawing hand, How headlong Rhone and Ebro, erst disdain'd The blessings of the various year,

With Moorith carnage, quakes through all her Sunshine or show'r, and chides the madding

branches i tempeft.

Soon shall I greet the morn, [name With her the heav'n-bred nymph meck Charity,

When Europe fav’d, Britain and George's

Shall found o'er Flandria's level field, Shall fashion Onslow forth in faireít portrait;

Fainiliar in domestic merriment;
And with recording care (claiins.
Weave the fresh wreath that fo'ring Virtue Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube.

Or by the jolly mariner
But ohi, what Mule fhall join the band?
He long has sojourn’d in the sacred haunts, The just memorial of fair deeds
And knows each whilp'ring grot and Still flourishes, and, like th’untainted soul,

Blossoms in fresheft age, above
Trod by Apollo and the light-foot Graces. The weary Aeth, and Envy's rankling wound,

Such after years mature How then shall aukward gratitude

In full account ihall be thy meed. And the prefumption of untutor’d duty

O! may your rising hope Attune my numbers, all too rude?

Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom!
Little he recks the moed of such a fong;

Till a fresh-springing stock implore
Yet will I stretch aloof,

With infant hands a grandfire's pow'rful And when I tell of Courtesy,


[sports pursue. Of well-attemper'd Zeal,

Or round your honour'd couch their prattling Of awful Prudence foothing fell Contention,

Where Thall the lineaments agree
But in thee, Onslow? You your wonted leave
Indulge me, nor misdeein a soldier's bold em-

$ 129. Ode to Melancholy. OGILVIE. prize;

HAIL, queen of thought sublime! propitious Who in the dissonance of barb'rous war,

power, Long-train’d, revisits oft the facred treatures Who o'er th'unbounded waste art joy'd to roam, Of antique memory;

Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour Or where fage Pindar reins his fiery car, Her pale rays tremble thro' the dusky gloom.

Thro' the vast vaults of heav'n, secure; Or what the Attic Muse that Homer fillid,

O bear me, goddess, to thy peaceful feat !

Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd, Her other son, thy Milton, taught;

Or lodg'd where mountains screen thy deep reOr range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spenser.

treat, And ever as I go, allurements vain

Or wand'ring wild thro' Chili's boundless shade. Cherish a feeble tire, and feed my idle

Say, rove thy steps o'er Lybia's naked waste? Fancy: O could I once

Or seck some diftant folitary shore? Charm to their melody my thrilling reeds!

Or on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd, To Henries and to Edwards old, Dread names! I'd meditate the faithful song; Fix'd on some hanging rock's projected brow,

Do'st sit, and hear the folemn thunder roar ? Or tell what time Britannia, Whilom the faireft daughter of old Ocean,

Hear'st thou low murmurs from the distant dome? In loathly disarray, dull eyes,

Or stray thy feet where pale dejected Woe And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject fons :

Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb? Till William, great deliverer,

Hark! yon dcep echo strikes the trembling ear! Led on the comely train, gay Liberty, See night's dun curtain wraps the darkfome pole! Religion, matron staid,

O'er heav'n's blue arch yon rolling worlds apWith all her kindred goddesses;

pear, Justice with steady brow;

And rouse to folemn thought th’aspiring soul. Trim Plenty, laureat Peace, and green-hair’d

Olcad my steps, beneath the moon's dim ray,

Where Tadmor ftands all-defart and alone
In Aowing vest of thousand hues.

While from her time-shook tow'rs, the bird of Fain would I shadow out old Bourbon's pile,


{moan. Tottring with doubtful weight, and threat'ning Sounds through the night her long-resounding

cumb'rous fall; Or trace our navy, where in tow'ring pride

Or hear me far to yon dark disinal plain, O'er the wide-swelling waste it rolls avengeful.

Where fell-ey'd tigers, all athirst for blood, As when collectes clouds

How to the defart; while the horrid train Forth from the gloomy fouth in deep array,

Roans o'er the wild where once great Babel

ftood. Athwart the dark’ning landscape throng, Fraught with loud storin's, and thunder's That queen of nations! whose fuperior call dreadful peal,

Rous’d the broad East, and bid her arms destroy! At which the murd'rer stands aghaft, When warm'd to mirth, let judgment mark her And wasting Riot ill dillenbles tciror.

And deep reflcction dash the lip of joy. [fall,


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Short is Ambition's gay deceitful dream; Sleeps it more sweetly than the fimple fivain,
Though wreaths of blooming laarel bind her Beneath some mofly turf that rests his head ?

Where the lone widow tells the night her pain,
Calin thought dispels the visionary, scheme, And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead.
And Time's cold breath dissolves the withering The lily, screen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,

Courts not the cultur'd spot where rofes spring:
Slow as fome miner saps th’aspiring tow'r, But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
When working fecret with destructive aim ; And scents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing.
Unteen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour,

The busts of grandeur and the pomp of pow'r,
Bat works the fall of empire, pomp, and name.

Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears subside
Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man; Can these avail, in that tremendous hour, (ride!
Full in the draught be keen-ey'd Hope pour-When Death's cold hand congeals the purple
tray'd :

Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:
Let Alutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan:
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with shade. Pride's thought sublime, and Beauty's kindling

Beneath the plume that Alames with glancing Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er,

And swell with pompuous verse the scutcheon'd Be Care's deep engines on the soul impress’d;

tomb, Pencath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze Let Griet sit pining in the canker'd breast. For me-my Passion ne'er my soul incade,

Nor be the whims of tow'ring Frenzy giv'n ; Let Love's gay sons, a smiling train, appear,

Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful With Beauty pierc'd—yet heedless of the dart:

shade, While, closely couch'd, pale fick’ning Envy Where Contemplation wings the soul to Heav'n! Whets her fell fting, and points it at the heart. O guard me safe from Joy's enticing snare !

With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide, Perch'd like a raven on some blasted yew,

The poison'd breath of low-consuming Care,
Let Guilt revolve the thought distracting sin;

The noise of Folly, and the dreams of Pride.
Scar'd--whilc her eyes survey th'ethereal blue
Left Heav'n's strong lightning burst the dark But oft, when midnight's sadly folemn knell

Sounds long and distant from the sky-topp'd tow'r,
Then paint, impending o'er the madd’ning deep; Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obscure.

Calm let me fit in Prosper's lonely cell *,
That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vainly

Thus, when the transient dream of life is filed,
Stood firm of soul;---then from the dizzy steep Mav some fad friend recall the former years;
Impetuous sprung, and dath’d the boiling wave. Then stretch'd in filence o'er my dusty bed,
Here, wrapt in studious thought, let Fancy rove,

Pour the warm gulh of sympathetic tears !
Still prompt to inark Suspicion's secret snare;
To see where Anguilh nips the bloom of Love,
Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care. § 130. Ode to the Genius of Shakespeare.
Should c'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes in fiame,


I. 1.
Let judging Reason draw the veil alide;
Or, fir'd with envy at some mighty name, RAPT from the glance of mortal exe;
Read o'er the monument that tells—He dy'd. Say, bursts thy Genius to the world of light?
What are the ensigns of imperial fway?

Seeks it yon star-bespangled sky?
What all that Fortune's' lib'ral hand has Or ikims its fields with rapid fight?

Or mid yon plains where Fancy itrays,
Teach they the voice to pour a fiveeter lay?

Courts it the balmy breathing gale ?
Or rouse the soul to more exalted thought ?

Or where the violee pale
When bleeds the heart as Genius blooms un-

Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream;

Or where young Zephyr stirs the rustliny prays, known?

Lies all-diffolv'd in fairy drcam.
When melts the eve o'er Virtue's mournful bier?


yon black defart's unfrequented round
Not Wealth, but Piry, swells the bursting groan, See'st thou where Nature treads the deepening
Noc Pow'r, but whisp'ring Nature, prompts the gloom,

Sits on yon hoary tow'r with ivy crown'd,
Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault, Or wildly wails o'er thy lainented tomb;
Where the worin fattens on some scepter'd brow, Hear'fit thou the solemn music wind along?
Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught, Or thrills thc warbling note in thy mellifluous
Why sleeps unmov'd the breathless dust below? song

* See Shakespeare's Tempeít.


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11. 3.

Oft, while on earth, 'twas thine to rove The pale-ey'd genius of the shade
Where'er the wild-ey'd goddess lov'd to roam, Led thy bold step to Prosper's magic bow'r,
To trace, fcrene, the glooiny grove,

Whole voice the howling winds obey'd,
Or haunt ineek Quiet's fimpli dome;

Whofe dark spell chain'd the rapid hour;
Still hav'ring round the Nine appear,

Then rose ferere the sea-girt ille,
That pour the soul transporting Itrain;

Gay scenes, by Fancy's touch refin'd,
Join'd to the Loves gay train,

Glow'd to the musing mind :
The loose-robid Graces ērown'd with flow'rs, Such visions bless the hermit's dream,
The light-iving'd gales that lead the vernal year, When hov'ring angels prompt his placid smile,
And wake the rosy-featur'd hours.

Or paint some high ecstatic theme.
O'er all bright Fancy's bcamy radiance shone,

Then flamid Miranda on th’enraptur'd gaze,
How flam'd thy bolom as her charms reveal! Then failid bright Ariel on the bat’s fiect wing ;
Her firc-clad cye Tublime, her itarry zone, Or starts the litt’ning throng in still amaze!
Her trefles loole that wanton'd on the gale, The wild note trembling on th’aërial string!
On thee the goddess fix’d her ardent look,

The form, in Heav'n's resplendent vesture gay,
Then from her glowing lips thcie melting ac-

Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the
cents broke:

melting lay*
I. 3.
• To thee, my fav’rite fon, belong

O lay me near yon limpid stream,
• The lays that steal the lisi’ning hour,

Whole murmur foothes the car of woc!
• To pour the rapture-darting song,

There, in fome sweet poctic dream,
• To paint gay Hope's Elyfium bow'r;

Let Fancy's bright Elyfium glow!
• From Nature's hand to Inatch the dart, 'Tis done ;- 'er all the blushing mcad
• To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart, The dark wood shakes his cloudy head;
• Or lightly fiveep the trembling itring, Below, the lily-fringed dale
• And call the Loves with purple wing

Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale;
• From the blue deep, where they dweil While in pastime, all-unseen,
• With Naiads in the pearly cell,

Titania, rob’d in mantle green,
• Soft on the fea-born goddess gaze il,

Sports on the mofly bank; her train
• Or, in the loose robe's Aoating maze,

Skims light along the gleaming plain,
• Diffolvid in downy fiumbers rcft;

Or to thc flutt'ring breeze unfold
• Or flutter o'er her panting breast :

The blue wing streak’d with beamy gold,
• Or, wild to melt the viclding foul,

Its pinions op’ning to the light!
• Let Sorrow, clad in fáble stole,

Say, burfis the vision on my fight?
• Slow to thy musing thought appear,

Ah no! by Shakespear's pencil drawn,
Or pensive Pity pale,

The beauteous fhapes appear,
i Or Love's desponding rale

[tear.' While ineck-ey'd Cynthia near flawn +
• Call from th’intender'd heart the sympathetic illuines with streamy ray the filver-mantled

III. i.
Say, whence the magic of thy mind?

But hark! the tempest howls afar!
Why thrilisthy mulic on the springs of thought? | Bursts the wire whirlwind o'er the pathless waste!
Why, at thy pencil's touch resin’d,

What cherub blows the trump of war?
Starts into life the glowing draught?

What dcmon rides thc stormy blast:
On yonder fairy carpet laid,

Red from the lightning's livid blaze,
Where beauty pours eternal bloom,

The bleak heath rushes on the light,
And zephyr breatí:es perfume;

Then, wrapt in sudden night,
There, nightly, to the tranced eye

Diffolves.---But al: what kingly form
Profuse the radiant Godelels (tood display'd, Roams the lone delart's defolated maze 1,
With all her imidig offspring nigh.

Cnaw'd! nor heeds the sweeping storin.
Sudden, the maniling cliff, the arching wood, Yo pale-cy'd lightnings fpare the chcek of age !
'The broider'd mead, the land!íkip, and the grove, Vain with! tho' anguith heaves the burtting
Hills, vales, and lky-dipt seas, and torrents rude,

Groes, rills, and thades, and bow’rs that breath'd Deaf as the flint, the marble car of rage
of love,

Hears not the mourner's unavailing moan :
All built to light! while glancing on the view, Heart-pierc'd he bleeds, and, ftung with wild
Titania's sporting train bruih'd lightly o’er the dcfpair,


Bares his time-blasted head, and tears his filver

II. 1.


* Ariel; see the Tempet.
† See the Micfumer Night's Dicam. * Lear.


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