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How short is lise's uncertain space!
Alas! how quickly done! How swist the wild precarious chase! r And yet how difficult the race,
How very hard to run!
Youth stops at sirst its wilsul ears
To wisdom's prudent voice;
Repents its earlier choice. ...
What though its prospects now appear
So pleasing and resin'd;
And prey upon the mind." r'
"* . 1 'i
.Since then false joys our sancy cheat . r . .. ' . .
With hopes os real Mils;:
Is all compriz'd in this:
May I through lise's uncertain tide,
Be still srom pain exempt;
And yet above contempt.
But should your, providence divine
A greater bliss intend;
Be center'd in a Friend.
WRITTEN IH THE WALKS AT BRECKNOCK
TO DR. SQUIRE, LD. BISHOP OF ST. DAVID?
it I' D R. DODO.
Rude romantic shades and woods,
Mountains, that in dusky cloud
His harp os ancient Britiih sound lay by;
His singers lightly sly,
From that celestial orb, where, thron'd in light,
Thou dwell'st, os powers angelic sirst and best; Oh lovely gratitude! divinely bright, Descend, in all thy glowing beauties drtst.
Goddess come, and oh! impart
All thy ardours to my heart;
Tune my harp, and touch my tongue,
Give me melody and song:
Sostest notes and numbers bring,
'Tis Palemon that I sing:
Gratitude exalts my lays,
'Tis my benesactor's praise.
• A river which runs by Brecknock.
But where can or numbers,, or notes,
Sufficiently pleasing be sound,- r To express the due sense os his worth,
Who my lise with such comsorts hath crowa'J. He mark'd the small flock which I sed,
And my diligence gave him delight; Young shepherd I'll help you, he did,
And he plac'd me still nearer his sight. Then he gave me some sheep os my own,
Oh could I the charge but improve! 'Twould shew how I honour'd his gist,
And would I could merit his love! But sooner this brook at my seet
Shall cease in sost murmurs to flow; These mountains shell sooner sink down,
To a plain with tha vallies below; Than mute to his praises, my tongue
Shall cease his lbv'd name to resound,
Be ever insensible sound.
His lise with rich blessings increase!
With plenty, with health, and with peace. On all that partake os his board
Be happiness largely bestow'd;
Bis wise be still loving and kind;
His children still lovely and good! And pass'd his benevolent days
'Midst elegant labours os love! Oh Tate, ye good angels, his soul
To the /eats os the blessed remove! Thus Amyntas sung pleass'd to his harp,
With Brecon's white walls in his view. Many poets much sweeter you'll sind;
No poet more honest and true. Bisiiop Squire, made him Prebend os Brecon, May 1764.
WRITTEN IN A
The cursew tollsuhe knell os parting day,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way>.
Now sades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,