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" " With thee she 'll hear the bleat of flocks, Where grapes depress the vines; The throstle's mellow lay;
Where, on the bank with roses gay, The rills that murmur o'er the rocks,
Love, Innocence, and Pleasure play, The whispers of the spray.'-
And Beauty's form reclines.
Now diff'rent tones and measures flow, “ So sung false Hope-deceiv'd I heard, And set my heart at ease ;
And, gravely deep, and sadly slow,
Involve the mind in gloom;
I seem to join the mournful train,
Attendant round the couch of Pain, “ So sung false Hope-the approaching years,
Or leaning o'er the tomb: That distant look'd so gay,
To where the orphan'd infant sleeps, · With clouds of cares and storms of fears
To where the love-lorn damsel weeps, All fraught, have pass'd away.
I pitying seem to stray ;
Methinks I watch his cradle near; “ As glides yon Sun adown the sky,
Methinks her drooping thoughts I cheer, As rolls yon rapid stream;
And wipe her tears away.
Now loud the tuneful thunders roll,
And rouse and elevate the soul “ Be then the events that Time has brought,
O'er Earth and all its care; To me not brought in vain;
I seem to hear from heavenly plains By painful disappointment taught,
Angelic choirs responsive strains, Let wisdom be my gain!"
And in their raptures share.
Thus Theron spoke, and earnest ey'd
The Sun's departing ray; Again he look’d, again he sigh’d, And homeward bent his way.
CHILDHOOD! happiest stage of life,
Then to toss the circling ball,
On the eastern hill's steep side
Northward swelling slopes are seen,
Westward o'er the yellow meads
Hark! amidst the distant shades
How the view detains the sight!
Yon organ! hark!--how soft, how sweet,
The sound my fancy leads
And lily-mantled meads;
Where myrtle bowers their bloom unfold,
From London's streets to solitude,
Perchance thou 'lt not disdain to hear
Yet there the lamp's perpetual blaze
On summer seas to work their way, (prey. And wage the wat'ry war, and make the seals their
Too delicate! reproach no more
And scatter'd from her lib'ral hand, [land. Pair blossoms deck the trees, fair flowers adorn the
The market lore of artful swains
TO A FRIEND.
Courage, my friend ! whate'er our fate!
T was on the festive, social day, Where Beauty cast her smiles around, And Mirth the mind from care reliev'd; What time our hands in harmless play Thy brow with wreaths of myrtle bound, My thoughts this grateful lay conceiv'd.
WHERE Grove-hill 4 shows thy villa fair,
And all the pleasing prospect round,
There, as th’impending cloud of smoke
1 The author alludes to some trifling pieces of humour, written on his friend, for the amusement of a few intimate acquaintance.
» Layer Breton, a village in Essex, 3 A Greenland fishing boat. 4 At Camberwell, in Surry.
Beside Thamesis' bending stream,
But these suffic'd an humble cell, From ancient Lambeth's west extreme,
If they with Strength and Ease might dwell. To Limehouse glitt'ring in the ev'ning beam. Then Fashion call'd; his potent voice
Proud Wealth with ready step obey'd, And now and then the glancing eye
And Pleasure all her arts essay'd,
To fix with thee the Gckle choice.
Precarious gift!--Thy mansions gay,
Where peers and beauties lead the ball, All Peckham's pleasant level o'er,
Neglected, soon may feel decay; To busy Deptford's vessel-crowded shore:
Forsaken, moulder to their fall.
Palmyra, once like thee renown'd,
Thy waters' salutary aid,
That gave my earliest youth delight,
TO J, PAYNE, ESQ.
ACCOUNTANT-GENERAL OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND.
O FRIEND! to thee, whose lib'ral mind From blame or pity I should scarce refrain. Was form’d with taste for joys refin’d,
For all the extended country yields, But O! to alleviate human woes,
Of azure skies and verdant fields; To hanish sickness, banish pain,
For all that Genius' hand displays,To give the sleepless eye repose,
The painter's forms, the poet's lays:The nerveless arm its strength again;
To thee, restraint to that dull room, From parent eyes to dry the tear,
Where sunshire never breaks the gloom; The wife's distressful thought to cheer,
To thee, restraint to that dull lore And end the husband's and the lover's fear.
Of books, with numbers cypherd o'er
How hard the lot! I see with pain, Where Want sits pining, faint, and ill,
And wish it oft exchang'd in vain. To lend thy kind, unpurchas'd aid,
Yet not for thee I ask the stores And hear the exertions of thy skill
Which Rapine rends from foreign shores, With many a grateful blessing paid
Nor those Oppression's pow'r procures 'T is luxury to the feeling heart,
From ills that Poverty endures.
For thee, Content, with thought serene,
And Piety her view sublime
Extends beyond the realm of time.
Deem not that Time's oblivious hand 5 The Dulwich hills.
From Memory's page has ras'd the days, 6 The author was born in the environs of London, By Lee's green verge we wont to stand, on the Surry side.
And on his crystal current gaze.
Take hence this tuneful trifler's lays !
"T was when Misfortune's stroke severe,
Bring me the Muse whose tongue has told
THE MUSE; OR, POETICAL ENTHUSIASM.
Then oft did Nature's works engage,
The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
O moments these, not ill employ'd !
1 Alluding to Camoens, the epic poet of Portu. gal; of whose Lusiad we have a well-known masterly translation by Mr. Mickle. * Alluding to Milton, Pope, &c.
The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
Here once a self-sequester'd train My soul the tuneful strain admires :
Renounc'd life's tempting pomp and glare ; Nor bigot zeal, nor party rage
Rejected pow'r, relinquish'd gain, Prevail, to make me blame the page;
And shund the great, and shun'd the fair : I scorn not all that Dryden sings
The voluntary slaves of toil, Because he fatters courts and kings;
By day they till’d their little soil, And from the master lyre of Gray
By night they woke, and rose to prayer. When pomp of music breaks away, Not less the sound my notice draws,
Though Superstition mach we blame, For that 't is heard in Freedom's cause,
That bade them thus consume their years;
Their motive still our praise must claim, The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
Their constancy our thought reveres : My soul the tuneful strain adıires:
And sure their solitary scheme Where Wealth's bright sun propitious shines, Must check each passion's wild extreme, No added lustre inarks the lives;
And save them cares, and save them fears. Where Want extends her chilling shades, No pleasing flower of Fancy fades;
Their convent's round contain:d their all; A scribbling peer's applauded lays
Their ininds no sad presage oppressid, Might claim, but claim in vain, my praise What fate might absent wealth befall, From that poor youth, whose tales relate
How absent friends might be distress'd: Sad Juga's fears and Bawdin's fate 3.
Domestic ills ne'er hurt their ease;
They nought of pain could feel from these, The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
Who no domestic joys possess'd.
Would this kind calm atone to thee
For Fane's or Fortune's sprightly chase, And Beattie's song delights my ear;
Whose prize in prospect still we see ; And his, whom Athens' tragic maid
Or Hymen's happy moments bless'd, Now leads through Scarning's lonely glade ; With Beauty leaning on thy breast, While he for British nymphs bid flow
Or childhood prattling at thy knee? Her notes of terrour and of woe 4.
TO A FRIEND.
The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
How custom steels the human breast
To deeds that Nature's thoughts detest! Enough-the Muse, the Muse inspires !
How custom consecrates to fame
What reason else would give to shame!
And ploughing wide the wat'ry way,
Explores with anxious eyes his prey.
The man he never saw before,
He meets, and Avarice prompts the fight; How steep yon mountains rise around,
And Rage enjoys the dreadful sight How bold yon gloomy woods ascend !
Of decks with streaming crimson dy'd, How loud the rushing torrents sound
And wretches struggling in the tide, That midst these heaps of ruin bend,
Or, midst th' explosion's horrid glare,
Dispers'd with quivering limbs in air.
The merchant now on foreign shores
Quits his fair home, O mournful change! 3 See Rowley's poeins, supposed to have been For the dark prison's scanty range; written by Chatterton, an unhappy youth born at
By Plenty's hand so lately fed, Bristol.
Depends on casual alms for bread;
And, with a father's anguish torn, 4 See Mr. Potter's excellent translation of Es
Sees his poor offspring left forlorn. chylus and Euripides.
5 See Mr. Glover's Leonidas, alluded to as an And yet, such man's misjudging mind, example of classical dignity and simplicity. For all this injury to his kind,
6 See Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, alluded to as The prosperous robber's native plain an example of Gothic fancy and magnificence. Shall bid him welcome home again;