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EPISTLE II.

In due proportion, as each being stays

In perfect life, it rises and decays. TO WILLIAM LANGHORNE, M. A. WRITTEN IN Is man long helpless? Through each tender 1765.

hour, Ligat heard his voice, and, eager to obey, See love parental watch the blooming flower! From all her orient fountains burst away. By op'ning charms, by beauties fresh display'd,

At Nature's birth, O! had the power divine And sweets unfolding, see that lore repaid!
Commanded thus the moral sun to shine,

Has age its pains ? For luxury it may-
Beam'd on the mind all reason's influence bright, The temp'rate wear insensibly away.
And the full day of intellectual light,

While sage experience, and reflection clear
Then the free soul, on truth's strong pinion born, Beam a gay sunshine on life's fading year.
Had never languish'd in this shade forlorn.

But see from age, from infant weakness see, Yet thus imperfect form’d, thus blind and That man was destin'd for society; vain,

There from those ills a safe retreat behold, Doom'd by long toil a glimpse of truth to gain; Which young might vanquish, or afflict him old. Beyond its sphere shall human wisdom go, “ That, in proportion as each being stays And boldly censure what it cannot know? In perfect life, it rises and decays For what Heaven gave let us the donor bless, Is Nature's law-to forms alone confin'd, Nor than their merits rank our mercies less. The laws of matter act not on the mind. 'Tis ours to cherish what Heav'n deign'd to give, Too feebly, sure, its faculties must grow, And thankful for the gift of being to live.

And Reason brings her burrow'd light too slow." Progressive powers, and faculties that rise,

O! still censorious ? Art thou then possess'd From Earth's low vale, to grasp the golden skies, Of Reason's power, and does she rule thy breast ? Though distant far from perfect, good, or fair, Say what the use had Providence assign'd Claim the due thought, and ask the grateful care. To infant years maturity of mind ?

Come then, thou partner of my life and name, That thy pert offspring, as their father wise, From one dear source, whom Nature form’d the Might scorn thy precepts, and thy pow'r dessame,

pise? Ally'd more nearly in each nobler part,

Or mourn, with ill-match'd faculties at strife, And more the friend, than brother, of my heart! O'er limbs unequal to the task of life? Let us, unlike the lucid twins that rise

To feel more sensibly the woes that wait At different times, and shine in distant skies, On every period, as on every state ; With mutual eye this mental world survey, And slight, sad convicts of each painful truth, Mark the slow rise of intellectual day,

The happier trifles of unthinking youth? View reason's source, if man the source may find, Conclude we then the progress of the mind And trace each science that exalts the mind, Ordain'd by wisdom infinitely kind :

“ Thou self-appointed lord of all below! No innate knowledge on the soul imprest, Ambitious man, how little dost thou know? No birth-right instinct acting in the breast, For once let Fancy's towering thoughts subside; No natal light, no beams from Heav'n display'd, Look on thy birth, and mortify thy pride! Dart through the darkness of the mental shade. A plaintive wretch, so blind, so helpless born, Perceptive powers we hold from Heaven's deThe brute sagacious might behold with scorn, Alike to knowledge as to virtue free, [cree, How soon, when Nature gives him to the day, In both a lib'ral agency we bear, In strength exulting, does he bound away! The moral here, the intellectul there; By instinct led, the fostering tent he finds, And hence in both an equal joy is known,' Sports in the ray, and shuns the searching winds: The conscious pleasure of an act our own. No grief he knows, he feels no groundless fear, When first the trembling eye receives the day, Feeds without cries, and sleeps without a tear. External forms on young perception play ; Did he but know to reason and compare,

External forms affect the mind alone, See bere the vassal, and the master there : Their diff'rent pow'rs and properties unknown. What strange reflections must the scene afford, See the pleas'd infant court the faming brand, That show'd the weakness of his puling lord !” Eager to grasp the glory in its hand !

Thus Sophistry unfolds her specious plan, The crystal wave as eager to pervade, Form'd not to humble, but depreciate man. Stretch its fond arms to meet the smiling shade! Unjust the censure, if unjust to rate

When Memory's call the mimic words obey, His pow’rs and merits from his infant-state. And wing the thought that faulters on its way; For, grant the children of the flow'ry vale When wise Experience her slow verdict draws, By instinct wiser, and of limbs more hale, The sure effect exploring in the cause, With equal eye their perfect state explore, In Nature's rude, but not unfruitful wild, And all the vain comparison's no more.

Reflection springs, and Reason is her child : “ But why should life, so short by Heav'n or- On her fair stock the blooming scyon grows, dain'd,

And brighter through revolving seasons blows. Be long to thoughtless infancy restrain's All beauteous flow'r! immortal shalt thou To thoughtless infancy, or vaiply sage,

shine, - Mourn through the languors of declining age?” When dim with age yon golden orbs decline;

O blind to truth! to Nature's wisdom blind ! Thy orient bloom, unconscious of decay, And all that she directs, or Hear'n design'd! Shall spread and fourish in eternal day. Behold her works in cities, plains, and groves, 0! with what art, my friend, what early care, All life that vegetates, and life that moves! Should Wisdom cultivate a plant so fair !

How should her eye the rip'ning mind revise,
And blast the buds of folly as they rise !

AN ODE TO THE RIVER EDEN.
How should her hand with industry restrain,
The thriving growth of passion's fruitful train,
Aspiring weeds, whose lofty arms would tower

WRITTEN IN 1759.
With fatal shade o'er Reason's tender flow'r.
From low pursuits the ductile mind to save,

DELIGHTFUL Eden ! parent stream,
Creeds that contract, and vices that enslave ;

Yet shall the maids of Memory say, O'er life's rough seas its doubtful course to steer, (When led by Fancy's fairy dream, Unbroke by av'rice, bigotry, or fear !

My young steps trac'd thy winding way) For this fair Science spreads her light afar,

How oft along thy mazy shore, And fills the bright urn of her eastern star. That many a gloomy alder bore, The liberal power in no sequester'd cells,

In pensive thought their poet stray'd; No moonshine courts of dreaming schoolmen Or, careless thrown thy bank beside, dwells,

Beheld thy dimply waters glide,
Distinguish'd far her lofty temple stands,

Bright thro' the trembling shade.
Where the tall mountain looks o'er distant lands;
All round her throne the graceful Arts appear,

Yet shall they paint those scenes again,
That boast the empire of the eye or ear.

Where once with infant-joy he play'd, See favour'd first and nearest to the throne,

And bending o'er thy liquid plain, By the rapt mjen of musing Silence known.

The azure worlds below survey'd : fied from herself, the Pow'r of Numbers plac'd

Led by the rosy-handed Hours, Herwild thoughts watch'd by Harmony and Taste. When Time trip'd o'er that bank of flowers, There (but at distance never meant to vie)

Which in thy crystal bosom smild : The full-form'd image glancing on her eye,

Thoʻold the god, yet light and gay, See lively Pamting ! On her various face

He Aung his glass, bis scythe away,
Quick-gliding forms a moment find a place;

And seem'd hitnself a child.
She looks, she acts the characters she gives,
And a new feature in each feature lives.

The poplar tall, that waving near
See attic ease in Sculpture's graceful air,

Would whisper to thy murmurs free; Half loose her robe, and half unbound her hair;

Yet rustling seems to soothe mine ear,

And trembles when I sigb for thee.
To life, to life, she smiling seems to call,
And down her fair hands negligentiy fall.

Yet seated on thy shelving brim,
Last, but not meanest, of the glorious choir,

Can Fancy see the Najads trim See Music, list'ning to an angel's lyre.

Burnish their green locks in the Sun ;

Or at the last lone hour of day,
Simplicity, their beauteous bandmaid, drest

To chase the lighuy glancing fay,
By Nature, bears a field-flower on her breast.
O arts divine ! O magic powers that move

In airy circles run.
The springs of truth, enlarging truth and But, Fancy, can thy mimic power
love !

[ends, Lost in their charms each mean attachment Can'st thou restore that golden hour,

Again those happy moments bring ? And taste and knowledge thus are virtue's friends.

When young Joy war'd his laughing wing? Thus Nature deigns to sympathize with art,

When first in Eden's rosy vale, And leads the moral beauty to the heart;

My full heart pourd the lover's tale, There, only there, that strong attraction lies,

The vow sincere, devoid of guile ! Which wakes the soul, and bids her graces rise ;

While Delia in her panting breast, Lives in those powers of harmony that bind

With sighs, the tender thought supprest,
Congenial hearts, and stretch from mind to mind :

And look'd as angels smile.
Glowd in that warmth, that social kindness gave,
Which once-the rest is silence and the grave. O goddess of the crystal bow,
O tears, that warm from wounded friendship That dwell'st the golden meads among ;
tlow!

Whose streams still fair in memory flow,
O thoughts that wake to monuments of woe!

Whose murmurs melodise my song! Reflection keen, that points the painful dart; Oh ! yet those gleams of joy display, Mem'ry, that speeds its passage to the heart; Which bright'ning glow'd in fancy's ray, Sad monitors, your cruel power suspend,

When, near thy lucid urn reclin'd, And hide, for ever hide, the barried friend :

The dryad, Nature, bar'd her breast,
- In vain-confest I see my Craufurd stand, And left, in naked charms imprest,
And the pen falls--falls from my trembling hand. Her image on my mind.
E'en Death's dim shadow seeks to hide, in
vain,

In vain—the maids of Memory fair
That lib'ral aspect, and that smile humane; No more in golden visions play ;
E'en Death's dim shadow wears a languid light, No friendship smoothes the brow of Care,
And his epe beams through everlasting night. No Delia's smile approves my lay.

'Till the last sigh of genius shall expire, Yet, love and friendship lost to me, Hlis keen eye faded, and extinct his fire,

'Tis yet some joy to think of thee, "Till Time, in league with Envy and with Death, And in thy breast this moral find; Blast the skill'd hand, and stop the tuneful breath, That life, thongh stain'd with sorrow's showers, My Crauturd still shall claim the mournful song, Shall flow serene,

while Virtue pours So long remembered and bewail'd so long.

Her sunshine on the inind.

O most belov'd! the fairest and the best
AUTUMNAL ELEGY.

Of all her works ! may still thy lover find

Fair Nature's frankness in thy gentle breast; TO MISS CRACROFT, 1763.

Like her be various, but like her be kind. While yet my poplar yields a doubtful shade,

Then, when the Spring of smiling youth is o'er; T Its last leaves trembling to the Zephyr's sigh ;

When Summer's glories yield to Autumn's sway; On this fair plain ere every verdure fade,

When golden Autumn sinks in Winter hoar, Or the last smiles of golden Autumn die ;

And life declining yields its last weak ray: Wilt thou, my Nancy, at this pensive hour,

In thy lov'd arms my fainting age shall close, O'er Nature's ruin hear thy friend complain :

On thee my fond eye bend its trembling light: While his heart labours with th. inspiring power, Rememb’rance sweet sbal! soothe my last repose, And froin his pen spontaneous flows the strain

And my soul bless thee in eternal night.
Thy gentle breast shall melt with kindred sighs,
Yet haply grieving o'er a parent's bier;

TO MISS CRACROFT.
Poets are Nature's children ; when she dies,
Affectiou mourns, and Duty drops a tear.

1763. Why are ye silent, brethren of the grove, When pale beneath the frowning shade of death, Fond Philomel, thy many-chorded lyre

No soothing voice of love, or friendship nigh, So sweetly tun'd to tenderness and love,

While strong convulsions seiz'd the lab'ring Shall love no more, or tenderness inspire ?

breath,

And life suspended left each vacant eye;
O mix once more thy gentle lays with mine ;
For well our passions, well our notes agree:

Where, in that moment, fled th' immortal mind? An absent love, sweet bird, may soften thine :

To what new region did the spirit stray? . An absent love dernands a tear from me.

Found it some bosom hospitably kind,

Some breast that took the wanderer in its way? Yet, ere ye slumber, songsters of the sky,

Thro’the long night of winter wild and drear: To thee, my Nancy, in that deathful hour, O let us tune, ere Love and Fancy die,

To thy dear bosom it once more return'd; One tender farewell to the fading year.

And wrapt in Hackthorn's solitary bower,

The ruins of its former mansion moorn'd.
Farewell ye wild hills, scatter'd o'er with spring!
Sweet solitudes, where Flora smil'd unseen!

But, didst thon, kind and gentle as thou art,
Farewell each breeze of balmy-burthen'd wing !

O'er thy pale lover shed the generous tear? The violet's blue bank, and the tall wood green!

From those sweet eyes did Pity's softness start,

When Fancy laid him on the lowly bier? Ye tuneful groves of Belvidere, adieu ! Kind shades that whisper o'er my Craufurd's Didst thou to Heaven address the forceful prayer, rest!

Fold thy fair hands, and raise the mournful eye, . From courts, from senates, and from camps to you, Implore each power benevolent to spare, When Fancy leads himn, no inglorious gues. !

And call down Pity from the golden sky? Dear shades adieu ! where late the moral Muse O born at once to bless me and to save, Led by the dryad, Silence, oft reclin'd,

Exalt my life, and dignify my lay ! Taught Meanness to extend her little views,

Thou too shalt triumph o'er the mouldering grave, And look on Nature to enlarge her mind.

Andon thy brow shall bloom the deathless bay. Farewell the walk along the woodland-vale ;

Dear shades of genius! heirs of endless fame! Flower-feeding rills in murmurs drawn away!

That in your laureate crowns the myrtle wove, Farewell the sweet breath of the early gale!

Snatch'd from oblivion Beauty's sacred name, And the dear glories of the closing day!

And grew immortal in the arms of Love! The nameless charms of high poetic thought,

O may we meet you in some happier clime, That Spring's green hours to Fancy's children

Some safer vale beneath a genial sky; The words divine, Imagination wrote [bore;

Whence all the woes that load the wing of Time, On Slumber's light leaf by the murmuring

Disease, and death, and fear, and frailty fly! shoreAll, all adieu ! from Autumn's sober power

TO MISS CRACROFT. Fly the dear dreams of Spriug's delightful reign;

TUE COMPLAINT OF HER RING-DOVE, 1759. Gay Summer strips her rosy-inantled bower,

And rude winds waste the glories of her train. Far from the smiles of blue hesperian skies, Yet Autumn yields her joys of humbler kind;

Far from those vales, where fowery pleasures Sad o'er her golden ruins as we stray,

dwell, Sweet Melancholy soothes the musing mind, (Dear scenes of freedom lost to these sad eyes !) And Nature charms, delightful in decay.

How hard to languish in this lonely cell! All-bounteous power, whom happy worlds adore! When genial gales relume the fires of love, With every scene some grateful change she When laughing Spring leads round the jocund brings

year; In Winter's wild snows, Autumn's golden store, Ah! view with pity, gentle maid, your dove,

In glowing summers and in blooming springs ! From every heart-felt joy secluded here !

last ;

more.

land wore,

To me no more the laughing Spring looks gay; Yet, trust the Muse, fair friendship's flower shall

Nor annual loves relume my languid breast; Time slowly drags the long, delightless day,

When life's short sunshine, like its storms is past; Thro' one dull scene of solitary rest.

Bloom in the fields of some ambrosial sbore,

Where Time, and Death, and Sickness are no Ah! what avails that dreaming Fancy roves

Thro' the wild beauties of her native reign! Breathes in green fields, and feeds in freshening

groves, To wake to anguish in this hopeless chain ?

WRITTEN IN A COLLECTION OF

MAPS.
Tho' fondly sooth'd with Pity's tenderest care,
Tho' still by Nancy's gentle hand carest,

1765. For the free forest, and the boundless air, Realms of this globe, that ever-circling run,

The rebel, Nature, murmurs in my breast. And rise alternate to embrace the Sun; Ah let not Nature, Nancy, plead in vain!

Shall I with envy at my lot repine, For kindness sure should grace a form so fair :

Because I boast so small a portion mine? Restore me to my native wilds again,

If e'er in thought of Andalusia's vines,
To the free forest, and the boundless air.

Golconda's jewels, or Potosi's mines;
In these, or those, if vanity forgot

The humbler blessings of iny little lot;
SONNET

Then may thestream that murmurs near my door,

The waving grove that loves its mazy shore,
IN THE MANNER OF PETRARCH. Withhold each soothing pleasure that they gave,

No longer murmur, and no longer wave!
TO MISS CRACROFT. 1765.
ON
N thy fair morn, O hope-inspiring May !

THEODOSIUS TO CONSTANTIA.
The sweetest twins that ever Nature bore,
Where Hackthorn's vale her field-flower-gar-

1760.

Let others seek the lying aids of art, Young Love and Fancy met the genial day. And bribe the passions to betray the heart; And, all as on the thyme-green bank I lay, Truth, sacred truth, and faith unskill'd to feign, A nymph of gentlest mien their train before,

Pill my foud breast, and prompt my artless strain, Came with a smile ; and “ Swain," she cried,

Say, did thy lover, in some happier hour,

Each ardent thought, in wild profusion pour ; To pensive sorrow tune thy hopeless lay.

With eager fondness on thy beauty gaze, Friends of thy heart, see Love and Fancy bring And talk with all the ecstacy of praise? Each joy that youth's enchanted bosom warms ; The heart sincere its pleasing tumult prov'd;

Delight that rifles all the fragrant spring! All, all declar'd that Theodosius lov'd. Fair-banded Hope, that paints unfading charms ! Let raptur'd fancy on that moment dwell, And dove-like Faith, that waves her silver When thy dear vows in trembling accents fell; wing.

When love acknowledg'd wak'd the tender sigh, These, swain, are thine ; for Nancy meets thy' Swell’d thy fall breast, and fill'd thy melting ege. arms."

0! blest for ever be th' auspicious day,

Dance all its hours in pleasure's golden ray! TO MISS CRACROFT.

Pale sorrow's gloom from every eye depart !

And laughing joy glide lightly thro' the heart ! WRAPPED ROUND A NOSEGAY OF VIOLETS.

Let village-maids their festive brows adorn, 1761.

And with fresh garlands meet the smiling morn; Dear object of my late and early prayer ! Each happy swain, by faithful love repaid, Source of my joy! and solace of my care! Pour his warm vows, and court his village maid. Whose gentle friendship such a charm can give, Yet shall the scene to ravish'd memory rise ; As makes me wish, and tells me how to live. Constantia present yet shall meet these eyes; To thee the Muse with grateful hand would bring On her fair arm her beauteous head reclin'd, These first fair children of the doubtful Spring. Her locks flung careless to the sportful wind. O may they, fearless of a varying sky,

While love, and fear, contending in her face, Bloom on thy breast, and smile beneath thine eye! Flush every rose, and heighten every grace. lo fairer lights their vivid blue display,

0, never, while of life and hope possest, And sweeter breathe their little lives away! May this dear image quit my faithful breast !

The painful hours of absence to beguile,

May thus Constantia look, Constantia smile! TO MISS CRACROFT.

ON THE MORAL REFLECTIONS CONTAINED IN HER ANSWER TO THE ABOVE VERSES.

ELEGY. 1761.

1760. Sweet moralist ! whose moving truths impart The eye ofNature never rests from care ; At once delight and anguish to my heart !

She guards her children with a parent's love : Tho' human joys their short-liv'd sweets exhale, And not a mischief reigns in earth or air, Like the wan beauties of the wasted vale ;

But time destroys, or remedies remove.

no more

>

In vain no ill Shall haunt the walks of life,

TO LORD GRANBY.
No wice in vaio the human heart deprave.
The pois'nous flower, the tempest's raging strife In spite of all the rusty fools

From greater pain, from greater ruin save. That glean old nonsense in the schools;
Lavinia, form’d with every powerful grace,

Nature, a mistress never coy, With all that lights the flame of young desire ;

Has wrote on all her works-Enjoy.

Shall we then starve, like Gideon's wife, Pare ease of wit, and elegance of face,

And die to save a makeweight's life? soul all fancy, and an eye all fire:

No, friend of Nature, yon disdain Lavinia ! - Peace, my busy futtering breast ! So fair a hand shou'd work in vain. Nor fear to languish in thy former pain :

But, my good lord, make her your guide, At length she yields—she yields the needful rest; And err not on the other side :

And frees her lover from his galling chain. Like her, in all you deiga to do, The golden star, that leads the radiant morn,

Be liberal, but be sparing too. Looks not so fair, fresh-rising from the main ; / When sly sir Toby, night by night, But her bent eye-brow bears forbidding scorn,

With his dear bags regales his sight; But Pride's fell furies every heart-string strain. And conscience, reason, pity sleep,

Tho'virtue pine, tho' merit weep ;
Lavinia, thanks to thy ingentle mind;

I see the keen reproaches fly
I now behold thee with indifferent eyes ;
And Reason dares, tho' Love as Death be blind, Each bounteous wish glows unconfind,

Indignant from your honest eye;
Thy gay, thy worthless being to despise.

And your breast labours to be kind. Beauty may charm without one inward grace, At this warm hour, my lord, beware

And fair proportivas win the captive heart; The servileflatterer's specious snare, But let rank pride the pleasing form debase, The fawning sycophant, whose art

And Love disgusted breaks his erring dart. Marks the kind motions of the heart ; The youth that once the sculptur'd nymph That acts the graceful, wise, or brave.

Each idle, each insidious knave, admir'd, Hadlook'd with scornful laughter on her charvas, You've seen old Hospitality ;

With festive board, and social eye, If the vain form, with recent life inspird,

Mounted astride the moss-grown wall,
Had turo'd disdainful from his offer'd arms.

The genius of the ancient hall.
Go, thoughtless maid ! of transient beauty vain, So reverend, with such courtly glee,
Feed the high thought, the towering hope ex- He serv'd your noble ancestry;
tend;

And turn'd the hinge of many a gate,
Still may'st thou dream of splendour in thy train, Por Russel, Rous, Plantagenet.
And smile superb, while love and flattery bend.

No lying porter levied there
For me, sweet peace shall soothe my troubled His dues on all imported ware ;
mind,

There, rang'd in rows, no liveried train
And easy slumbers close my weary eyes ;

E'er begg'd their master's beef again ;
Since Reason dares, tho' Love as Death be blind, No flatterer's planetary face
Thy gay, thy worthless being to despise,

Plied for a bottle, or a place;
Toad-eating France, and fiddling Rome,

Kept their lean rascals starv'd at home,
INSCRIPTION

“ Thrice happy days!"

In this, 'tis true,
Old times were better than the new ;

Yet some egregious faults you'll see
O thou that shalt presume to tread

In ancient Hospitality. This mansion of the mighty dead,

See motley crowds, his roof beneath, Come with the free, untainted mind;

Put poor Society to death! The nurse, the pedant leave bebind;

Priests, knights, and 'squires, debating wild, And all that superstition, fraught

On themes unworthy of a child;
With folly's lore, thy youth bas taught "Till the strange compliment commences,
Each thought that reason can't retain,-

To praise their host, and lose their senses.
Leave it, and learn to think again.

Go then, my lord ! keep open hall; Yet, while thy studious eyes explore,

Proclaim your table free for all; And range these various volumes o'er,

Go, sacrifice your time, your wealth, Trust blindly to no fav’rite pen,

Your patience, liberty, and health, Rememb’ring authors are but men.

To such a thought-renouncing crew, Has fair Philosophy thy love?

Such foes to care-e'en care for you. Away! she lives in yonder grove.

“ Heav'ns ! and are these the plagues that wait If the sweet Muse thy pleasure gives ;

Around the hospitable gate ? With her in yonder grove she lives :

Let tepfold iron bolt my door, And if Religion claims thy care ;

And the gaunt mastiff growl before ; Religion, Aed from books, is there.

There, not one human creature nigh, For first from Nature's works we drew

Save, dear sir Toby, you and I,
Our knowledge, and our virtue too.

In cynic silence let us dwell ;
Ye plagues of social life, farewell !"

ON THE DOOR OF A STUDY.

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