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With wary spaniels furrow'd fields beset,
And close the partridge in the silken net :
Or search the woods, and with unerring aim
With leaden wounds trausfix the flying game:
Or with stanch hounds the wily fox pursue,
And trace his footsteps o'er the tainted dew.
With what delight would friendly N-y change
Don's fertile valleys for this ampler range?
And with the music of th' enlivening horn
Cheer the fleet pack, and wake the lingering

morn.

But lo! faint Phoebus darts a languid ray,
And gold-edg'd clouds foretel the close of day;
The nymph observant took her airy flight,
And, like a vision, vanish'd from my sight.

1 Don. The river that runs by Doncaster.

A DESCRIPTION OF

CALYPSO AND HER GROTTO.
FROM TELEMACHUS, BOOK I.

THE queen he follow'd as she mov'd along,
Surrounded by her nymphs, a beauteous throng;
But far the fairest, and supremely tall,
She walk'd majestic, and outshone them all :
Thus 'midst a grove the princely oak appears,
And high in air his branching honours rears.
Her radiant beauty charm'd his youthful mind,
Her purple robe that floated in the wind,
And locks bound graceful with a clasp behind:
But her bright eyes, instilling fond desire,
Beam'd sweetness temper'd with celestial fire.
Sage Mentor follow'd, as in thought profound,
And silent fix'd his eyes upon the ground,
And now, conducted by the royal dame,
Soon to the entrance of her grott' they came,

'Perhaps the reader will not be displeased to see Homer's description of this famous grotto, as it is translated by Mr. Pope from the fifth book of the Odyssey.

Large was the grott, in which the nymph he found,

(The fair-hair'd nymph with every beauty crown'd) She sat and sung; the rocks resound her lays: The cave was brighten'd with a rising blaze: Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile, Flam'd on the hearth, and wide perfum'd the isle; While she with work and song the time divides, And through the loom the golden shuttle guides. Without the grott, a various sylvan scene Appear'd around, and groves of living green; Poplars and alders ever quivering play'd, And nodding cypress form'd a fragrant shade; On whose high branches, waving with the storm, The birds of broadest wing their mansion form ; The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow, And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. Depending vines the shelving cavern screen, With purple clusters blushing through the green. Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil, And every fountain pours a several rill, In mazy windings wandering down the hill: Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crown'd,

And glowing violets threw odours round.

Amaz'd to find within this lonely cell
Nature with all her rural graces dwell.
There no high-polish'd marble they behold,
No storied columns, and no sculptur'd gold;
No speaking busts, no silver richly wrought,
No breathing pictures seem'd inform'd with
thought.

The grott, divided into various cells,
Was deck'd with spar, and variegated shells;
The place of tap'stry a young vine supply'd,
And spread her pliant arms on ev'ry side:
Cool zephyrs, though the Sun intensely glow'd,
Breath'd through the place sweet freshness as
they flow'd.

O'er amaranthine beds fair fountains stray'd,
And, softly murmuring, in the meadows play'd,
Or in broad basons pour'd the crystal wave,
Where oft the goddess wont her limbs to lave.
Fast by the grott sweet flowers of every hue,
Purpling the lawn, in gay confusion grew.
Here war'd a wood, all glorious to behold;
Of trees that bloom with vegetable gold;
Whose branches, in eternal blossom, vield
Fragrance delicious as the flowery field,
This wood, impervious to the solar ray,
Crown'd the fair spot, and guarded it from day.
Here birds melodious pour'd the sprightly song;
There torrents thunder'd the rough rocks among,
Down dash'd precipitately from the hills,
Then o'er the level lawn diffus'd their curling
rills.

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With vines that hung in many a fair festoon;
Whose swelling grapes in richest purple dy'd,
The leaves attempted, but in vain, to hide :
So lov'd the generous vine to flourish here,
It bent beneath the plenty of the year.
Here purple figs with luscious juice overflow'd,
With deepen'd red the full pomegranate glow'd;
The peaceful olive spread her branches round,
And every tree, with verdant honours crown'd,
Whose fruit the taste, whose flower the eye
might cheer,
And seem'd to make a new Elysium here.
Cambridge, 1758.

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Now the trumpets loud and shrill,
From yon river-circled hill,

With manly notes our hearts inspire,
And emulate the golden lyre;

While the majestic, deep-mouth'd organs blow In lengthen'd strains magnificently slow, Divinely sweet, and delicately strong;

Till gently dying by degrees,

Like the last murmurs of the breeze,
Expires the soft-attenuated song:
And at the close of each mellifluous lay,
This verse is sung in honour of the day.

CHORUS.

Happy they as gods above

Whom Hymen binds in wreaths of love!
Love's pure flame itself endears,

And brightens with the length of years:
Love contents the humble state,
And show'rs down blessings on the great,
Sooths desires that wildly roll,
And calms the tempests of the soul.

RECITATIVE.

But, lo! sweet Emily, the fair, And Eugenio, happy pair! With placid look and graceful mien, Appear advancing o'er the green : Mark well the youth's love-darting eye, Soft-beaming with expressive joy, To view the object of his wishes near, Mild as the gentlest season of the year, Blooming as health, and fresh as early day, Fair, sweet, and bright as all the flowers of May.

1

And as, intent upon her charms,
Eugenio woos the damsel to his arms,
Her cheeks vermilion'd with a lovely blush,
Glow like twin roses on the verdant bush
While thus, methinks, I hear him say,
"Come, my fair one, come away;
Let us fleeting time improve
In the chaste joys of wedded love:
I see propitious Hymen stand,
His torch bright-blazing in his hand,
To light us to the genial bed

By the decent Graces spread,
Where the rosy-finger'd Hours
Scatter never-fading flowers.
Love admits not of delay,
Haste, my fair one, haste away."
And you, Heav'n-favour'd pair,
Who now the purest pleasures share,
In happy union may you long enjoy
Those heart-felt blandishments that never cloy;
And may kind Heav'n the full abundance pour
Of nuptial blessings in a fruitful shower;
Crown all our wishes with a beauteous race,

That may your bright accomplishments inherit,

The mother's mildness, loveliness, and grace, The father's honest hcart, and sense, and generous spirit.

Like two pure springs whose gentle rills unite, Long may your stream of life serenely glide, Through verdant vales, and meadows of delight, Where flow'rs unnumber'd, deck'd in beauty's [side.

V

pride,

Blow on the blissful banks, and bloom on either
May no rude tempest discompose
Your course of quiet as it flows,

No clouded care, no chilling fear, Nor anxious murmur hover there; But mildest zephyrs on the surface play, And waft each light disquietude away; Till after all the winding journey past, You mingle with eternity at last. That tranquil sea, where sorrows are no more, No storm-vext billows lash the peaceful shore : There in Heav'n's bliss embosom'd, may you

prove

The height of endless happiness and love.

THE DEATH OF THE LARK.
1738.

THE golden Sun, emerging from the main,
Beams a blue lustre on the dewy plain;
Elate with joy all creatures hail his rise,
That haunt the forest, or that skim the skies,
Gay-blooming flow'rs their various charms

renew,

A breathing fragrance, or a lovely hue:
Sweet pipes the shepherd, the fair morn to greet,
To his stout team the ploughman whistles sweet.
All nature smiles around. On airy wing
The lark, harmonious herald of the spring,
Rises aloft to breath his mattins loud
On the bright bosom of some fleecy cloud.
Ah! little conscious that he dies to day,
He sports his hour in innocence away,
And from the treble of his tuneful throat
Pours the sof strain, or trills the sprightly note;

Or calls his mate, and as he sweetly sings,
Soars in the sun-beam, wavering on his wings.
The ruthless fowler, with unerring aim,
Points the dire tube-forth streams the sudden
flame:

Swift in hoarse thunder flies the leaden wound, The rigid rocks return the murdering sound; The strains unfinish'd with the warbler die, Float into air, and vanish in the sky.

Thus oft, fond man, rejoicing in his might, Sports in the sunshine of serene delight; Fate comes unseen, and snaps the thin spun thread,

He dies, and sleeps forgotten with the dead.

THE SPARROW.

1738.

FROM CATULLUS.

ALL ye gentle powers above, Venus, and thou god of love; All ye gentle souls below, That can melt at others woe; Lesbia's loss with tears deplore, Lesbia's sparrow is no more; Late she wont her bird to prize Dearer than her own bright eyes. Sweet it was and lovely too, And its mistress well it knew. Nectar from her lips it sipt, Here it hopt, and there it skipt: Oft it wanton'd in the air, Chirping only to the fair: Oft it lull'd its head to rest On the pillow of her breast. Now, alas! it chirps no more: All its blandishments are o'er : Death has summon'd it to go Pensive to the shades below; Dismal regions! from whose bourn No pale travellers return. Death! relentless to destroy All that's form'd for love or joy! Joy is vanish'd, love is fled, For my Lesbia's sparrow's dead. Lo, the beauteous nymph appears Languishingly drown'd in tears!

ON THE

DEATH OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. September, 1739.

Man cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down. JOB, XIV. 2.

SHORT and precarious is the life of man ;
The line seems fathomless, but proves a span;
A youth of follies, an old-age of sorrow;
Like flowers to day we bloom, we die to morrow.
Say then, what specious reasons can we give,
And why this longing, fond desire to live?
Blind as we are to what the Lord ordains,
We stretch our troubles, and prolong our pains.
But you, blest genius, dear departed shade,
Now wear a chaplet that shall never fade;

Now sit exalted in those realms of rest
Where virtue reigns, and innocence is blest,
Relentless death's inevitable doom

Untimely wrapt you in the silent tomb,
Ere the first tender down o'erspread your chin,
A stranger yet to sorrow, and to sin.

As some sweet rose-bud, that has just begun
To ope its damask beauties in the sun,
Cropt by a virgin's hand, remains confest
A sweeter rose-bud in her balmy breast:
Thus the fair youth, when Heav'n requir'd his
breath,

Sunk, sweetly smiling, in the arms of death; For endless joys exchanging endless strife, And bloom'd renew'd in everlasting life.

AN

EPISTLE

TO A FRIEND IN YORKSHIRE HAPPY the Briton, whom indulgent fate Has fix'd securely in the middle state, The golden mean, where joys for ever flow, Nor riches raise too high, nor wants depress too

low;

Stranger to faction, in his calm retreat, Far from the noise of cities, and the great, His days, like streams that feed the vivid grass, And give fair flowers to flourish as they pass, Waving their way, in sacred silence flow, And scarcely breath a murinur as they go. No hopes, nor fears his steady mind can vex, No schemes of state, or politics perplex: Whate'er propitious Providence has sent He holds sufficient, and hunself content. Though no proud columns grace his marble hall, Nor Claude nor Guido animate the wall; Blest who with sweet security can find, In health of body, and in peace of mind, His easy moments pass without offence In the still joys of rural innocence. Such was the life our ancestors admir'd, And thus illustrious from the world retir'd: 'Thus to the woodland shades my friend repairs With the lev'd partner of his joys and cares, Whose social temper can his griefs allay, And smile each light anxiety away: In cheerful converse sweetly form'd to please, With wit goodnatur'd, and polite with ease: | Blest with plain prudence, ignorant of art, Her native goodness wins upon your heart. Not fond of state, nor eager of control, Her face reflects the beauties of her soul, Such charms still bloom when youth shall fade

away, And the brief roses of the face decay.

O! would propitious Heav'n fulfil my prayer,
(The bliss of man is Providence's care)
Such be the tranquil tenour of my life,
And such the virtues of my future wife;
With her in calm, domestic leisure free,
Let me possess serene obscurity;

In acts of meek benevolence delight,
And to the widow recompense her mite. [end,
Thus far from the crowds,not thoughtless of my
With reading, musing, writing, and a friend,

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Obiit 30° Aug. A. D. 1743. Ætat. 83.

Quem tu, Dea, tempore in omni Omnibus ornatum voluisti excellere rebus.

LUCR.

As 'midst the stars the cheering lamp of light,
In Heav'n's high concave eminently bright,
First tips the mountains with a golden ray,
Then gradual streams effulgency of day,
Till more serenely, with a mild decline,
Regretted sinks, in other worlds to shine:

Thus from the world, an age of honour past,
Pride of the present, glory of the last,
Retir'd great Uxbridge to the blest abode,
To live for ever with the saints of God;
There in celestial lustre to appear,
And share the wages of his labours here.
When the last trump shall rouse the dead that

sleep

Entomb'd in earth, or buried in the deep;
When worlds dissolving on that awful day,
And all the elements shall melt away;
When every word shall be in judgment brought,
Weigh'd every action, canvass'd every thought,
Then shall thy alms in sweet memorial rise,
More grateful than the incens'd sacrifice :
The gladden'd widow's blessing shall be heard,
And prayers in fervency of soul preferr'd. [vey
The Lord shall bless thee, and well pleas'd sur-
The tears of orphans' wip'd by thee away.
What! but a virtue resolutely just,
Firm to its purpose, steady to its trust,

'His lordship gave 2000 1. to the Foundling Hospital; 1000 1. to St. George's, Hyde-Park Corner; and near another 1000 1. to the neighbouring parishes where he lived.

VOL. XVI.

The full persuasion, and the true delight
Of having acted by the rules of right,
Could to thy soul a conscious calm impart,
When Death severe approach'd, and shook his
dreadful dart,

'Twas this thy faith confirm'd, thy joy refin'd, Aud spoke sweet solace to thy troubled mind; This turn'd to silent peace each rising dread, And sooth'd the terrours of the dying bed.

May we like thee in piety excel, Believe as stedfastly, and act as well; Cleave to the good and from the bad depart, And wear the scriptures written in our heart; Then shall we live, like thee, serenely gay, And every moment calmly pass away: And when this transitory life is o'er, And all these earthly vanities no more, Shall go where perfect peace is only found, And streams of pleasure flow, an everlasting round.

September 3, 1743.

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CEASE, cease illustrious partner of his bed,
O! cease the tributary tear to shed:
Mourn not for him whom God has given to die
From earthly vanities to heavenly joy;
These are the greatest honours we can give,
To mark his ways, and as he liv'd to live.
Still bloom in goodness as you bloom'd before;
Heaven asks but this, and saints can do no more:
Exert each virtue of the Christian mind,
And still continue friend of human kind.
Be this your chief delight, for 'tis the best,
With ready alms to succour the distress'd;
To clothe the naked and the hungry feed,
Nor pass a day without some gracious deed,
These acts are grateful to Jehovah's eye,
For these the poor shall bless you ere they die :
These hide our sins, these purchase solid gain,
And these shall bring you to your Lord again.
September 6, 1743.

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May he in every manly grace excel,
To glad the virgin who deserves so well:,
Bless'd with plain sense, with native humourgay,
To rule with prudence, and with pride obey;
To kindness fashion'd, with mild temper fraught,
And form'd, if possible, without a fault.
Long may ye live, of mutual love possess'd,
Like streams uniting, in each other bless'd;
Till Death shall gently call you hence away
From life's vain business to the realms of day;
May Death unfelt the common summons give,
And both, like righteous Enoch, cease to live;
Cease from a life beset with cares and pain,
And in eternal glories meet again.

SONG TO LAURA, ABSENT. January, 1745.

COME, Laura, joy of rural swains,

O! come, and bless our cheerless plains;
The skies still drooping mourn in showers,
No meadows bloom with bright-ey'd flowers,
No daisies spring, no beeches bud,
No linnets warble in the wood;
Cold winter checks with blasts severe
The early-dawning of the year.

Come, lovely Laura, haste away,
Your smiles will make the village gay;
When you return, the vernal breeze
Will wake the buds, and fan the trees;
Where-e'er you walk the daisies spring,
The meadows laugh, the linnets sing;
Your eyes our joyless hearts can cheer;
O! haste, and make us happy here.

A NOSEGAY FOR LAURA.
July 1745.

COME, ye fair, ambrosial flowers,
Leave your beds, and leave your bowers,
Blooming, beautiful, and rare,
Form a posy for my fair;
Fair, and bright, and blooming be,
Meet for such a nymph as she.
Let the young vermilion rose
A becoming blush disclose;
Such as Laura's cheeks display,
When she steals my heart away.
Add carnation's varied hue,
Moisten'd with the morning dew:
To the woodbine's fragrance join
Sprigs of snow-white jessamine.

Add no more; already I
Shall, alas! with envy die,
Thus to see my rival blest,
Sweetly dying on her breast.

TO LAURA, ABSENT. November 1745.

If you ever heard my prayer,
Hear it now, indulgent fair;
Let your swain no longer mourn,
But return, my fair, return.

Lo! tempestuous winter near
Stains the evening of the year;
Gloomy clouds obscure the day,
Nature ceases to be gay;

The sweet tenants of the grove
Warble no soft tales of love:
Rise, my fair, and bring with thee
Joy for all, but love for me.
Where are all those blooming flowers
That adorn'd my rural bowers?
Dappled pinks, and violets blue,
And the tulip's gaudy hue,
Lillies white, and roses red?
All are wither'd, all are dead:
Yes they hasten'd to decay,
When my Laura went away;
When she comes, again they'll rise,
Blooming where she points her eyes.

Hark! I hear a sound from far,
Clanking arms, the din of war,
Dreadful music to my ear!

All was peace when you was here.
Now rebellion shakes the land,
Murder waves her bloody hand;
High in air their banners fly,
Dreadful tumults rend the sky:
Rise, my fair, and bring with thee
Softer, sweeter, harmony;
All my doubts and fears remove,
Give me freedom, give me love;
Discord when you come will cease,
And in my bosom all be peace.

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Why droops Aurelius by sharp pains opprest,
Whose danger saddens every virtuous breast?
Enough, enough has Heav'n's afflicting hand
With arms and earthquakes terrified the land :
On foreign plains has stream'd the British
blood,
And British heroes perish'd in the flood:
Frederick, alas! the kingdom's justest pride,
Fair in the bloom of all his virtues, died.
Ah! generous master of the candid mind,
Light of the world, and friend of human kind,
Leave us not cause our sorrows to renew,
Nor fear the falling of the state in you.

I see, I see couspicious how you stood,
And dauntless crush'd rebellion in the bud;
With Ciceronian energy divine,
Dashing the plots of fraudful Catiline.

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