Each melting figh, and every tender tear, The lover's withes, and the virgin's fear. His every ftrain the Smiles and Graces own; But ftronger Shakspeare felt for man alone: Drawn by his pen, our ruder paffions stand Th' unrivall'd picture of his early hand. With gradual steps, and flow, exacter France Saw Art's fair empire o'er her fhores advance; By length of toil a bright perfection knew, Correctly bold, and just in all the drew. Till late Corneille, with ‡ Lucan's spirit fir'd, Breath'd the free ftrain, as Rome and he infpir'd: And claffic judgment gain'd to fweet Racine The temperate ftrength of Maro's chafter line. But wilder far the British laurel spread, And wreaths lefs artful crown our poet's head. Yet he alone to every fcene could give Th' hiftorian's truth, and bid the manners live. Wak'd at his call, I view with glad furprize Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rife. There Henry's trumpets fpread their loud alarms, And laurell'd Conqueft waits her hero's arins. Here gentler Edward claims a pitying figh, Scarce born to honours, and fo foon to die! Yet fhall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring No beam of comfort to the guilty king: The time fhall come when Glo'fter's heart fhall bleed, In life's laft hours, with horror of the deed: -And fee, where § Anthony, in tears approv'd, Thus, generous Critic, as thy bard infpires, So fpread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole Ev'n Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone; Where'er we turn, by fancy charm'd, we find O, more than all in powerful genius bleft, page! What other Raphaels charm a diftant age! Methinks ev'n now I view fome free defign, Where breathing Nature lives in every line: Chafte and fubdued the modeft lights decay, Steal into shades, and mildly inelt away. 212. Dirge in Cymbeline, fung by Guiderus and Arviragus over Fidele, fupfofed to be dead. COLLINS. fair Fidele's graffy tomb Soft maids and village hinds fhall bring To vex with fhrieks this quiet grove; And melting virgins own their love. The female fays thall haunt the green, And dreis thy grave with pearly dew. The characters are thus diftinguished by Mr. Dryden. To deck the ground where thou art laid. + About the time of Shakspeare, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, fix hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themfelves in general to the correct improvement of the ftage, which was almost totally difregarded by thofe of our own country, Jonfon excepted. The favourite author of the elder Corncille. See the tragedy of Julius Cæfar. Where lowly winds the ftealing wave! The year's beft fweets fhall duteous rife, To deck its Poet's fylvan grave! In yon deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp fhall now be laid, That he, whofe heart in forrow bleeds, May love through life the foothing fhade. Then maids and youths fhall Finger here, And, while its founds at diftance fwell, Shall fadly feem in Pity's ear To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. Remembrance oft fhall haunt the fhore When Thames in fummer wreaths is dreft, And oft fufpend the dafhing oar To bid his gentle spirit reft! To breezy lawn, or foreft deep, That mourn beneath the gliding fail! And Joy defert the blooming year. But thou, lorn ftream, whofe fullen tide No fudge-crown'd fifters now attend, Dun Night has veil'd the folemn view! O vales, and wild woods, fhall he say, in yonder grave your Druid lies! $214. Verfes written on a Paper which c COLLINS. tained a piece of Bride-Cake. E curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes, ! By fearch profane fhall find this hallow d Y cake, With virtue's awe forbear the facred prize, Nor dare a theft for love and pity's fake! This precious relic, form'd by magic pow'r, Beneath the fhepherd's haunted pillow laid, Was meant by love to charm the filent hour, The fecret prefent of a matchiefs maid. The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond requeft, Each nice ingredient chofe with happiest art; Fears, fighs, and wishes of th' enamour'd bruk, And pains that please, are mix'd in every part With rofy hand the fpicy fruit fhe brought, From Paphian hills, and fair Cytheria's ife; And temper'd fweet with these the melting thought, The kifs ambrofial, and the yielding smile. Ambiguous looks, that fcorn and yet relent; Denials mild, and firm unalter'd truth. Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent, And meeting ardours, and exulting youth. Sleep, wayward God! hath fworn, while thes remain, With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear; And cheerful hope, fo oft invok'd in vain, With fairy fongs fhall footh his penfive ear. If, bound by vows to friendship's gentle fide, And fond of foul, thou hop ft an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide, O much entreated leave this fatal place. Sweet Peace, who long hath fhunn'd my plaistive day, Confents at length to bring me fhort delight; Thy carclefs fteps may feare her doves away, And Grief with raven note ufurp the night. BURNS $215. To a Morfe, on turning ber up in her nå I wad be laith to rin an' chrafe thee, I'm truly forry man's dominion Which makes thee startle The harp of Æolus, of which fee a defeription in the Castle of Indolence. + Mr. Thomason reßded in the neighbourhood of Richmond fome time before his death. I doubt I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beaftie, thou maun live! A diamen-icker in a thrave 'S a fina' request; I'll get a bleflin wi' the lave, An' never mifs't! Thy wee bit bonfie, too, in ruin ! An' bleak December's wind, enfuin, Thou saw the field laid bare and wafte, That wee bit heap o' leaves an' ftibble, To thole the winter's fleety dribble, But, Moufie, thou art no thy lane, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! An' forward, tho' I canna fee, Adorns the hiftie ftibble-field, There, in thy fcanty mantle clad, But now the bare up tears thy bed, Such is the fate of artless maid, And guilelefs trust, Till fhe, like thee, all foil'd, is laid Such is the fate of fimple bard, Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Such fate to fuffering Worth is giv'n, Till wrench'd of every ftay but Heaven, Ev'n thou who mourn'ft the Daify's fate, Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, § 217. An Epifle to Thomas Lambard, Efq. FENTON. "Omnia me tua delectant; fed maxime, maxima cum fides in amicitia, confilium, gravitas, conftantia; tum leros, humanitas, "literac." CICERO, Ep. xxvii. Lib. xi, SLOW though I am to wake the fleeping lyre, Meantime, intent the faireft plan to find, In flowing eloquence by Tully taught: Whofe When Thames ir And oft fufpend th To bid his ger And oft as Eaf To breczy The friend But thou Yet cre 1 aghts I now compofe, honeft profe. of Cefar's praife, with immortal bays; spoil poetic sport, Alexandrine fhort: ans, to more lafting itch than mine, cadence of a golden line: fverfe prevail, and urge the man ting race the boy began, with fixty winters, you might fee end in fecond infancy. long an aukward humour have, Lethers wither gay, but I'd appear A nobler task our riper age affords * Epit. 1. Lib. 1. O vales, and wild w in yonder grav § 214. tained o YEC Ve amely wife, , bloom enjor; plenty bleft, et in his breaft! no fear appals, ourts enthrals, concerted guile dermining imile; n affectation free, hrough clear fimplicity, abours of the Perfian loom, culptor's art, adorn his room, "ok'd will foftly feal his eyes, ocence the want of down fupplies; 1 tempers all his cups, and at his board gns the cheap luxury the fields afford: Like the great Trojan, mantled in a cloud, Himself unfeen he fees the labouring crowd, Where all induftrious to their ruin run, Swift to purfue what most they ought to fhe Some, by the fordid thirft of gain control'd, Starve in their ftores, and cheat themselves fr gold, Preferve the precious bane with anxious care In vagrant lufts to feed a lavish heir: Others devour Ambition's glittering bait, To fweat in purple, and repine in ftate; Devote their pow'rs to every wild extreme For the fhort pageant of a pompous dream> Nor can the mind to full perfection bring The fruits it early promis'd in the spring; But in a public fphere thofe virtues fade, Which open'd fair and flourish'd in the fhade: So while the Night her ebon fceptre fways, Her fragrant blooms the + Indian plant dilpları But the full day the short-liv'd beauties fhun, Elude our hopes, and ficken at the fun. Fantastic joys in diftant views appear, And tempt the man to make the rash career. Fame, Pow'r, and Wealth, which glitter at the go, Allure his eye, and fire his eager foul; For thefe are eafe and innocence refign'd, For thefe he ftrips; farewel the tranquil mind! Headstrong he urges on till vigour fails, And grey experience (but too late!) prevails. But, in his evening, view the hoary fool, When the nerves flacken, and the fpirits cool; When joy and blushy youth forfake his face, Sicklied with age, and four with felf-difgrace; No flavour then the fparkling cups retain, Mufic is harsh, the Syren fings in vain; To him what healing balm can art apply, Who lives difeas'd with life, and dreads to die! In that last scene, by Fate in fables drefs'd, Thy power, triumphant Virtue! is confefs'd; Thy veftal flames diffufe celeftial light Through Death's dark vale, and vanquish al night; Lenient of anguifh, o'er the breaft prevail, When the gay toys of flattering Fortune fail Such, happy Twilden! (ever be thy name Mourn'd by the Mufe, and fair in deathlefs fame) AND MISCELLANEOUS. nce of her glory fhone, 'as'dt'impart, Each would variety of acts afford, 261 Whither, you cry, tends all this day difcourfe? Their fury triumphs o'er the men of phlegm, well, excel, without redrefs, ney poffefs. clid may fucceed, to reform my creed? ge every blooming grace ght throne in Teraminta's face, her faultlefs fhape and air agree, ting wit, fhe ftrives to repartee; ever prone her matchless form to wrong, Envy thould be dumb, fhe lends her tongue. By long experience D-y may, no doubt, Enfnare a gudgeon, or fometimes a trout: Yet Dryden once exclaim'd (in partial fpite!) He fifh-because the man attempts to write. O, if the Water-nymphs were kind to none But thofe the Mufes bathe in Helicon, In what far diftant age would Belgia raise One happy wit to net the British feas! Thus man, perverfely fond to roam aftray, Nature permits her various gifts to fall Thefe inftances, which true in fact we find, If these from nature's genial bent depart, The beadle must obey the Fates' decree, This heathen logic feems to bear too hard ftarve; |