Has plac'd thee in this servile cell, Where discipline and dulness dwell,

Where genius ne'er was seen to roam; Where ev'ry selfish soul's at rest, Nor ever quits the carnal breast,

But lurks and sneaks at home!

Tho' dim'd thine eye, and clipt thy wing
So grov'ling! once so great!
The grief-inspired Muse shall sing

In tend'rest lays thy fate.
What time by thee scholastic pride
Takes his precise, pedantic stride,

Nor on thy mis'ry casts a care,

The stream of love ne'er from his heart
Flows out, to act fair pity's part;
But stinks, and stagnates there.

Yet useful still, hold to the throng-
Hold the reflecting glass,-
That not untutor'd at thy wrong

The passenger may pass :
Thou type of wit and sense confin'd,
Cramp'd by the oppressors of the mind,

Who study downward on the ground; Type of the fall of Greece and Rome; While more than mathematic gloom, Envelopes all around.

ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF A CLERGYMAN.

ODE IV.

Ir, like th' Orphean lyre, my song could charm'
And light to life the ashes in the urn,
Fate of his iron dart I would disarm,

Sudden as thy disease should'st thou return,
Recall'd with mandates of despotic sounds,
And arbitrary grief that will not hear of bounds.
But, ah! such wishes, artless Muse, forbear;
'Tis impotence of frantic love,
Th' enthusiastic flight of wild despair,

To hope the Thracian's magic power to prove.
Alas! thy slender vein,

Nor mighty is to move, nor forgetive to feign,
Impatient of a rein,

Thou canst not in due bounds the struggling mea

sures keep,

-But thou alas! canst weep

Thou canst-and o'er the melancholy bier Canst lend the sad solemnity a tear.

[cold,

Hail to that wretched corse, untenanted and

And hail the peaceful shade loos'd from its irk

some hold.

See-bear the storms tempestuous sweepPrecipitate it falls-it falls-falls lifeless in the deep.

Cease, cease, ye weeping youth,

Sincerity's soft sighs, and all the tears of truth. And you, his kindred throng, forbear Marble memorials to prepare,

And sculptur'd in your breasts his busto wear. 'Twas thus when Israel's legislator dy'd, No fragile mortal honours were supply'd,

But even a grave denied.

Better than what the pencil's daub can give,
Better than all that Phidias ever wrought,
Is this that what he taught shall live,
And what he liv'd for ever shall be taught,

ON GOOD-NATURE.
ODE V.

HALL cherub of the highest Heav'n,
Of look divine, and temper ev'n,

Celestial sweetness, exquisite of mien,
Of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry praise the queen!

Soft gracefulness, and blooming youth,
Where, grafted on the stem of truth,

That friendship reigns, no interest can divide,
And great humility looks down on pride.
Oh! curse on slander's viprous tongue,
That daily dares thy merit wrong;

Ideots usurp thy title, and thy frame,
Without or virtue, talent, taste, or name.

Is apathy, is heart of steel,

Nor ear to hear, nor sense to feel,

Life idly inoffensive such a grace,

That it shou'd steal thy name and take thy place?

Great, generous acts thy ductile passions And smilingly thou weep'st with joy and love.

Mild is thy mind to cover shame,

Averse to envy, slow to blame,

Bursting to praise, yet still sincere and free From flattery's fawning tongue, and bending knee.

Extensive, as from west to east,

Thy love descends from man to beast,

Nought is excluded, little, or infirm,

Thou canst with greatness stoop to save a

worm.

There in yon lonesome heath, Which Flora, or Sylvanus never knew, Where never vegetable drank the dew,' Or beast, or fowl attempts to breathe; Where Nature's pencil has no colours laid; But all is blank, and universal shade;

Contrast to figure, motion, life and light, There may'st thou vent thy spite,

For ever cursing, and for ever curs'd, Of all th' infernal crew the worst ;

The worst in genius, measure and degree; For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee,

Or would'st thou change the scene, and quit the Behold the Heav'n-deserted fen, [den, Where spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred, Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head, Have rais'd their darksome walls, and plac'd their thorny bed;

There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload, There may'st thou croak in concert with the toad, With thee the hollow howling winds shall join, Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny,

The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine,

Th'ear-piercing hern, the plover screaming high, Millions of humming gnats fit oestrum shall supply.

Away-away-behold an hideous band

An herd of all thy minions are at hand, Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,

And ever looks around her as she walks, With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch, And prompt to listen at her neighbours latch. Next Scandal's meagre shade,

Foe to the virgins, and the poet's fame,
A wither'd time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne'er enjoy'd love's ever sacred flame.
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands and plods upon her
book.

'Twas when the omniscient creative pow'r Display'd his wonders by a mortal's hand, And, delegated at th' appointed hour,

Great Moses led away his chosen band; When Israel's host, with all their stores, Past thro' the ruby-tinctur'd crystal shores, The wilderness of waters and of land: Then persecution rag'd in Heav'n's own cause, Strict justice for the breach of Nature's laws, The legislator held the scythe of fate,

Where'er his legions chanc'd to stray, Death and destruction mark'd their bloody way;

Immoderate was their rage, for mortal was their hate.

But when the King of Righteousness arose,
And on the illumin'd east serenely smil❜d,
He shone with meekest mercy on his foes,
Bright as the Sun, but as the Moon-beams
mild;

From anger, fell revenge, and discord free,
He bad war's hellish clangour cease,
In pastoral simplicity and peace,
And show'd to man that face, which Moses could
not see.

Well hast thou, Webster, pictur'd Christian love,
And copied our great master's fair design,
But livid Envy would the light remove,

Or croud thy portrait in a nook malign-
The Muse shall hold it up to popular view

Where the more candid and judicious few

Shall think the bright original they see, The likeness nobly lost in the identity.

Oh hadst thou liv'd in better days than these,
F'er to excel by all was deem'd a shame!
Alas! thou hast no modern arts to please,
And to deserve is all thy empty claim.
Else thou'dst been plac'd, by learning, and by
wit,

There, where thy dignify'd inferiors sit

Oh they are in their generations wise, Each path of interest they have sagely trod,To live-to thrive to rise—and still to rise→→→ Better to bow to men, than kneel to God.

EPITH ALAMIUM,
ODE VIII.

DESCEND, descend, ye sweet Aonian maids,
Leave the Parnassian shades,

The joyful Hymeneal sing,
And to a lovelier fair

Than fiction can devise, or eloquence declare,
Your vocal tributes bring.

And you, ye winged choristers, that fly
In all the pensile gardens of the sky,

Chant thro' th' enamel'd grove,

Stretch from the trembling leaves your little

But let each note be love.

Fragrant Flora, queen of May,

All bedight with garlands gay,

Where in the smooth-shaven green

The spangled cowslips variegate the scene, And the rivulet Fetween, Whispers, murmurs, sings, As it stoops, or falls, or springs; There spread a sofa of thy softest flowers, There let the bridegroom stay,

There let him hate the light, and curse the day,

And blame the tardy hours.

little Man.

Still pouring forth executive desire, As bright, as brisk, and lasting, as the vestal fire.

Does thy young bosom pant for fame:
Woud'st thou be of posterity the toast?

The poets shall ensure thy name,

Who magnitude of mind not body boast. Laurels on bulky bards as rarely grow, As on the sturdy oak the virtuous misletoe.

Look in the glass, survey that cheekWhere Flora has with all her roses blush'd; The shape so tender,-look so meekThe breasts made to be press'd, not to be crush'd

Then turn to me,-turn with obliging eyes, Nor longer Nature's works, in miniature, despise.

Young Ammon did the world subdue, Yet had not more external man than I; Ah! charmer, should I conquer you, With him in fame, as well as size, I'll vie. Then, scornful nymph, come forth to yonder grove,

Where I defy, and challenge, all thy utmost love.

ODE XI.

ODE XI.

ON TAKING A BACHELOR'S
DEGREE.

In allusion to Horace. Book iii, Ode 20 Exegi monumentum ære perennius, &c. 'Tis done: I tow'r to that degree,

And catch such heav'nly fire,
That Horace ne'er could rank like me,
Nor is King'schapel higher'.-
My name in suré recording page

Shall time itself o'erpow'r',
If no rude mice with envious rage
The buttery books devour.
A title too with added grace,

My name shall now attend,
Till to the church with silent pace

A nymph and priest ascend. Ev'n in the schools I now rejoice,

Where late I shook with fear,
Nor heed the moderator's voice

Loud thundering in my ears.
Then with Eolian flute I blow
A soft Italian lay",

Or where Cam's scauty waters flow,
Releas'd from lectures, stray.
Meanwhile, friend Banks, my merits claim
Their just reward from you,

For Horace bids us challenge fame,

When once that fame's our due9, Invest me with a graduate's gown, Midst shouts of all beholders,

Day of a Young Lady.

ALL hail, and welcome joyous morn,
Welcome to the infant year;

Whether smooth calms thy face adorn,
Or lowering clouds appear;
Tho' billows lash the sounding shore,
And tempests thro' the forests roar,

Sweet Nancy's voice shall soothe the sound;
Tho' darkness shou'd invest the skies,
New day shall beam from Nancy's eyes,
And bless all nature round.

Let but those lips their sweets disclose,
And rich perfumes exhale,
We shall not want the fragrant rose,
Nor miss the southern gale.
Then loosely to the winds unfold,
Those radiant locks of burnish'd gold,
Or on thy bosom let them rove;
His treasure-house there Cupid keeps,
And hoards up, in two snowy heaps,
His stores of choicest love,

This day each warmest wish be paid To thee the Muse's pride,

I long to see the blooming maid

Chang'd to the blushing bride. So shall thy pleasure and thy praise Increase with the increasing days,

And present joys exceed the past; To give and to receive delight, Shall be thy task both day and night, While day and night shall last.

And deck with hood my shoulders.

CAMBRIDGE.

A MORNING PIECE,

B.A.