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THE

W I SH.

BY MERRICK.

How short is life's uncertain space !

Alaş! how quickly done!
How swift the wild precarious chase!
And yet how difficult the race,

How very hard to run!

Youth stops at first its wilful ears

To wisdom's prudent voice;
Till now arriv'd to riper years,
Experienced age, worn out with cares,

Repents its earlier choice.

What though its prospects now appear

So pleasing and refin'd ;
Yet groundless bope, and anxious fear,
By turns the bufy moments fare,

And prey upon the mind.

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Since then falfe joys our fanay chcati

With hopes of real bliss;
Ye guardian powr's that rule my fate,
The only with that I create,

Is all compriz'd in this:

May I tlírough life's uncertain tide,

Be still from pain exempt;
May all my wants be still supply'd,
My state too low t'admit of pride,

And yet above contempt.

But should your providence divine

A greater bliss intend; May all those blessings you design, (If e'er thofe blessings shall be mine)

Be center'd in a Friend.

O DE

WRITTEN IN THE WALKS AT BRECKNOCK

TO DR. SQUIRE, LD. BISHOP OF ST. DAVID'S.

BY DR. DOD D.

1. RUDE

UDE romantic Thades and woods, Hanging walks and falling floods ! Now that gush with foaming pride Down the rough rock's steepy side; Now that o'er the pebbles play, Winding round your silver way:

Mountains, that in dusky cloud
High your sacred summits fhroud;
Whose variegated fides adorn
Fields, and flocks, and groves, and corn,
And whited cots, beside the steen,
Where health and labour sweetly Neep;
Hail pleasing scenes! Amyntas cry’d,
As by old Hundy's * gurgling side,
In careless fort his limbs he laid,
The hoar hill hanging o'er his head.

His harp of ancient British found lay by;
He feiz'd it rapturous: o'er the ftrings

His fingers lightly fly,
While thus his voice responfive sings.

II.
From that celestial orb, where, thron'd in light,

Thou dwell'st, of powers angelic first and best;
Oh lovely gratitude! divinely bright,
Descend, in all thy glowing beauties dreft.

Goddess come, and oh! impart
All thy ardours to my heart;
Tune my harp, and touch my tongue,
Give me melody and song:
Softest notes and numbers bring,
'Tis Palemon that I fing:
Gratitude exalts my lays,
'Tis my benefactor's praise.

A river which runs by Brecknocko

III.
But where can or numbers, or notes,

Sufficiently pleasing be found;
To express the due sense of his worth,

Who my life with such comforts hath crown'il.
He mark'd the small flock which I fed,

And my diligence gave him delight ;
Young thepherd I'll help you, he said,

And he plac'd me still nearer his fight.
Then he gave me some Meep of my own,

Oh could I the charge but improve !
'Twould shew how I honour'd his gift,

And would I could merit his love!
But sooner this brook at my feet

Shall cease in soft murmurs to flow;
These mountains shall fooner fink down

To a plain with the vallies below;
Than mute to his praises, my tongue

Shall cease his lov'd name to resound,
Or my heart to his favours fo priz'd,

Be ever insensible found.
Oh may the great Shepherd of all

His life with rich blessings increase !
And sweetly encompass him round

With plenty, with health, and with peace.
On all that partake of his board

Be happiness largely bestow'd;

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His wife be still loving and kind;

His children still lovely and good! And----pass’d his benevolent days

'Midst elegant labours of love! Oh late, ye good angels, his soul

To the seats of the blefled remove ! Thus Amyntas sung pleafs’d to his harp,

With BrecoA's white walls in his view: Many poets.much sweeter you'll find;

No poet more honest and true. Bimop Squire, made him Prebend of Brecon, May 1764

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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind Nowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary wayo

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fighty

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony Aight,

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;;

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