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W I SH.
How short is life's uncertain space !
Alaş! how quickly done!
How very hard to run!
Youth stops at first its wilful ears
To wisdom's prudent voice;
Repents its earlier choice.
What though its prospects now appear
So pleasing and refin'd ;
And prey upon the mind.
Since then falfe joys our fanay chcati
With hopes of real bliss;
Is all compriz'd in this:
May I tlírough life's uncertain tide,
Be still from pain exempt;
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.
WRITTEN IN THE WALKS AT BRECKNOCK
TO DR. SQUIRE, LD. BISHOP OF ST. DAVID'S.
BY DR. DOD D.
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
His harp of ancient British found lay by;
His fingers lightly fly,
Thou dwell'st, of powers angelic first and best;
Goddess come, and oh! impart
A river which runs by Brecknocko
Sufficiently pleasing be found;
Who my life with such comforts hath crown'il.
And my diligence gave him delight ;
And he plac'd me still nearer his fight.
Oh could I the charge but improve !
And would I could merit his love!
Shall cease in soft murmurs to flow;
To a plain with the vallies below;
Shall cease his lov'd name to resound,
Be ever insensible found.
His life with rich blessings increase !
With plenty, with health, and with peace.
Be happiness largely bestow'd;
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
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind Nowly o'er the lea,
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;;