See * *

**** from civic garlands fly, And in these groves indulge his tuneful vein! Or from yon' fummit, with a guardian's eye, Obferve how freedom's hand attires the plain! Here Pope! ah never must that towering mind

To his lov'd haunts, or dearer friend, return? What art! what friendships! oh! what fame resign'd! -In yonder glade I trace his mournful urn. Where is the breast can rage or hate retain,

And these glad streams and fmiling lawns behold? Where is the breaft can hear the woodland strain, And think fair freedom well exchang'd for gold? Through these soft shades delighted let me stray, While o'er my head forgotten funs defcend! Through these dear valleys bend

my cafual way, Till fetting life a total shade extend!

Here far from courts, and void of pompous cares,

I'll mufe how much I owe mine humbler fate:
Or fhrink to find, how much ambition dares,
To shine in anguish, and to grieve in state!

Canft thou, O fun! that spotless throne disclose,

Where her bold arm has left no fanguine stain ? Where, fhew me where, the lineal fceptre glows, Pure, as the fimple crook that rules the plain ? Tremendous pomp! where hate, diftruft, and fear, In kindred bofoms folve the focial tie;

There not the parent fmile is half fincere;
Nor void of art the confort's melting eye.

There with the friendly with, the kindly flame,

No face is brighten'd, and no bosoms beat;"
Youth, manhood, age, avow one fordid aim,
And ev❜n the beardless lip affays deceit.

There coward rumours walk their murderous round;
The glance, that more than rural blame instills;
Whispers, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound,
Pity that injures, and concern that kills.
Their anger whets, but love can ne'er engage;
Careffing brothers part but to revile;

There all men smile, and prudence warns the wise,
To dread the fatal ftroke of all that smile.
There all her rivals! fifter, fon, and fire,
With horrid purpose hug deftructive arms;
There foft-ey'd maids in murderous plots confpire,
And scorn the gentler mischief of their charmis.
Let fervile minds one endlefs watch endure;

Day, night, nor hour, their anxious guard resign;
But lay me, fate! on flowery banks, secure,
Though my whole foul be, like my limbs, fupine.
Yes, may my tongue disdain a vaffal's care;
My lyre refound no prostituted lay;

More warm to merit, more elate to wear

The cap of freedom, than the crown of bay.
Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood,'
I wish it not o'er golden fands to flow;
Chear'd by the verdure of my spiral wood,
I fcorn the quarry, where no shrub can grow.

No

No midnight pangs, the fhepherd's peace purfue;
His tongue, his hand, attempts no fecret wound;
He fings his Delia, and if the be true,

His love at once, and his ambition's crown'd.

He takes occafion, from the fate of ELEANOR of BRETAGNE, to fuggeft the imperfect pleasures of a folitary life.

WHEN beauty mourns, by fate's injurious doom,

Hid from the chearful glance of human eye;

When nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rifing figh. Fair Eleonora! would no gallant mind,

The caufe of love, the caufe of justice own? Matchlefs thy charms, and was no life refign'd

To fee them sparkle from their native throne?
Or had fair freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms,
Well might fuch brows the regal gem refign;
Thy radiant mien might scorn the guilt of arms,
Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine.

O fhame of Britons! in one fullen tower
She wet with royal tears her daily cell;

She found keen anguish every rofe devour;

They sprung, they fhone, they faded, and they fell.

Through one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round,
Succeffive funs a languid radiance threw;
To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd,
To mark how faft her waning beauty flew.

This, age might bear; then fated fancy palls,
Nor warmly hopes what fplendor can supply ;
Fond youth inceffant mourns, if rigid walls
Reftrain its listening ear, its curious eye.

Believe me,

****, the pretence is vain!
This boafted calm that fmooths our early days,
For never yet could youthful mind restrain

Th' alternate pant for pleasure and for praise.
Ev'n me, by fhady oak or limpid spring,
Ev'n me, the fcenes of polish'd life allure;
"Life is on the wing,

Some genius whispers,

And hard his lot that languishes obfcure.
What though thy riper mind admire no more
The shining cincture, and the broider'd fold,
Can pierce like lightning through the figur'd ore,
And melt to drofs the radiant forms of gold.
Furs, ermins, rods, may well attract thy fcorn;
The futile prefents of capricious power!
But wit, but worth, the public sphere adorn,
And who but envies then the focial hour?

Can virtue, carelefs of her pupil's meed,
Forget how ***.fuftains the shepherd's caufe?
Content in fhades to tune a lonely reed,

Nor join the founding pean of applause?

For

For public haunts, impell'd by Britain's weal,
See Grenville quit the Mufe's favourite ease;
And fhall not fwains admire his noble zeal ?
Admiring praise, admiring ftrive to please?
Life, fays the fage, affords no blifs fincere;

And courts and cells in vain our hopes renew : But ah! where Grenvile charms the listening ear, 'Tis hard to think the chearless maxim true.

The groves may smile; the rivers gently glide;
Soft through the vale refound the lonesome lay.
Ev'n thickets yield-delight, if taste preside;

But can they pleafe, when Lyttelton's away? Pure as the fwain's the breast of *** glows, Ah! were the shepherd's phrase, like his, refin'd! But, how improv'd the generous dictate flows

Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind! Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love,. Her inmost wish in ***'s periods hear! Happy that in the radiant circle move,

Attendant orbs, where Lonsdale gilds the sphere! While rural faith, and every polish'd art,

Each friendly charm, in *** confpire,
From public fcenes all penfive must you part;
All joyless to the greeneft fields retire!

Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream,
Like fome lone halcyon, focial pleasure shun;
Go dare the light, enjoy its chearful beam,
And hail the bright proceffion of the fun.