Difpel the gloomy thoughts that roll Within my pensive breast.

In thee the flave forgets his chains,

Nor for loft freedom pines; The love-fick fwain from anxious pains. -A hort releasement finds,

Sleep

Come, gentle and close mine eyes,
That 'midst thy pleasing fway,

I may a-while fufpend my fighs,
My tears be wip'd away.

-Reftore fair Celia to my arms;

With rapture let me gaze

On looks that vie with fummer's charms,

And Sol's refulgent rays. ⠀ #

O'er flow'ry lawn, and verdant mead,
Where balmy zephyrs play,

And bleating lambs around us feed,
May we together stray.

-Or underneath fome myrtle fhade,
>Where turk no envious fpies;
Soft on the verdant turf be laid,

While Love our theme fupplies. Thofe tender strains still may I hear *From her soft lips that fell, When trembling with a lover's fear, bad the nymph farewell. Since waking I am ne'er at reft, But endless griet sustain; If thus in thee I can be bleft,' 941 Ne'er let me wake again. - Bangsbom 80w 4

To SOLITUDE; in imitation of MILTON,

OM Enferious SOLITUDE along,

And liften to thy wot'ry's fong,
For with thee bet means to live; - 2
And tafte the pleasures thou can't give.
With thee the philofophic fage
Nightly unfolds the learned page,
By the dim taper's folemn light:
Unravells the deep Stagyrite,
Or heav'nly Plato's labours please,
Or precepts of great Socrates,
And oft with telescopic eye
Traverses the befpangled ky,
From fphere to fphere unweary'd foars,
And latent unknown worlds explores.
By thee the tuneful bard infpir'd,
Oft with facred raptures fir'd,
In airg visionary dreams,

Thro' flow'ry meads, 'long filver freams,
Led on by fancy fweetly ftrays,
And wanders in untrodden ways:
Converfes with immortal pow'rs.
In fhady groves and fragrant bow'rs,
Quaffs nectar at Caffalia's rill,
And on Apollo's forked hill,

Roves unreftrain'd, and dares to climb
Fearless, the lofty fleep fublime,
While the fifters nine prepare,
A laurel wreath to bind his hair,

Come penfive power, and as we go With folemn pace, demure, and flow, Thro' the arch'd bow'rs and glimmering glades

ནོ

Dusky, and unfrequented, shades
Which never eye profane pervades ;
Bring thy fage majestic train
Of virtues, partners of thy reign:
Calm and cbearful Temperance,
With gentle dove-ey'd Innocence,
Peace that dwells with thee alone,
To the giddy world unknown.

And from his airy heights call down,
"The cherub Contemplation,"
That foars with rapid wing on high,
And lifts the foul above the iky;
But fift and chiefeft o'er the rest

In all her genuine graces dieft,

Such as when firft from heav'n fhe came

To warm us with her holy flame;

Ere dull enthusiasts had veil'd

Her form, and all her charms, conceal'd,

Religion bring-the queen of night,
Perchance may from her throne alight,
In a radiant kirtle dight;

(She erft did from her orb defcend
The Latmian (hepherd to befriend)
Or fend a delegated ray,

And blefs us with a fotter day While the fairy elves are feen,) Dancing on th' enamel'd green, -Marking a myfterious.ring: With Oberon their pigmy king, it And his blithe queen-the thepherd (pies. Them as from field he homeward hies, And while aghaft, he ftands with feary Arial mufick charms his ear. Come, let us trace the pathlefs glade, And penetrate the darkeft fhade; And in fome intertwisted bows, Spend the aweful midnight hour; Yon diftant waterfall does roll Down the hoar cliffs, and wakes the foul To thoughts fublime, and heav'nly musing; Trivial terrene things refufing,

On indefatigable wings

2

Upborne, aloft from earth the fprings,
Expatiates o'er her native skies,

And to the empyreal heav'ns does tife!
Where inflam'd with purer fire,
With bolder hand the Arikes the lyre,
Amid the bright angelio throng,
And joins the univerfal fongs

While thus in pleasingvitions.wrapt shestrays,
The earthly part infenfibly decays,
And quite diffolving, now no more
She finds a dream, what feem'd before,
If thefe pleasures thou canst give,
O SOLITUDE, with thee I'll live.
Shipfon upon Stour,

B. FOWLER.

A beau, and a child, may in this be compard
For his mind wou'd be quite a charte blanche,
If you ftrive (tho' I own the labour is hard)
What's trifling and vain to retrencha: 01 59th
Firft, a fet of threwd hints, inuendos, & flanders,
And lies that he tells with pert face più s
A heap of ftale phrafes, and double entendres,^
Without fenfe to apply them in place.
Some new fashion'd complements ready at hand,
Which he learns, like a parrot, by rote;
Tobully and blufter, with oaths at command,

Blood, madam, I'll cut the rogue's throat :"
Four jokes and a half from Joe Miller purloin'd;
Six lines out of Hudibras more;
Compofe, if you nicely examine his mind,
Of humour and wit his full flore.

His learning juft ferves him to read a new fong, Or chatter a sentence of French; [wrong, And what tho' 'em both he pronounces quite 'Tis enough for his barber and wench. Of Venus, and Cupid, and arrows, and darts, His tongue never ceafing runs on; "Thofe eyes, my fweet angel, like (words pierce our hearts, m

[ces,

Oh, close them, or else I'm undone !" Add to thefe a few fcraps of our modern romanFrom Grandifon, Ramble or Briggs; Three dozen at least of new country dances, With minuets, louvres, and jiggs. O yes! I give notice, if any one know

More virtues than these we have reckon'd ;' Let him fend us the name and abode of his beau, To add in edition, the second. Thus accomplished a captain, a knight,or a fquire, How great are his merit and charms; See ladies in troops his perfections admire, And wish extasy spring to his arms !

A

HUMANITY.

Humani nibil alienum.

1

ATERY

H me! how little knows the human heart, The pleafing task of foft'ning others woe, Stranger to joys that pity can imparta

And tears sweet fympathy can teach to flow. If e'er I've mourn'd my humble, lowly ftate, If e'er I've bow'd my knee at Fortune's thrine, If e'er a with efcap'd me to be great,

The fervent pray's, Humanity, was thine. Perith that man who hears the piteous tale Unmov'd, to whom the heart-felt glow's unknown; [rail, On whom the widow's plaints could ne'er preNor made the injur'd wretch's caufe his own. How little knows he the extatic joy,

The thrilling blifs of chearing wan despair? How little knows the pleasing warm employ, That calls the grateful tribute of a tear. The fplendid dome, the vaulted roof to rear, The glare of pride and pomp, be grandeur thine,

To wipe from mis'ry's eye the wailing tear, And foothe the oppreffed orphan's woes, be mine,

Be't mine the blush of modeft worth to fpare To change to files affiction's rifing figh, The kindred warmth of charity to share.

Till joy Ball sparkle from the tear fil'd eye,

Can the loud laugh, the mirth inspiring bowl, The dance, or choral fons, for joc and glee, Affect the glowing, fympathizing foul?'s

Or warm the breaft. Humanity, like thee. The pallid toward's heart thou fcom' to bear, Thy feat's the gen'rous bofom of the braves The fame bold warmth that bids the valiast dare, Bids him the trembling, proftrate villiga fayė. Not all the laurels on great Cæsar's brown „DnA Not all the honour Rome to pay him Brove, Could fuch a glorious, deathlefs meed bestow As the fair wreath that meek ey'd merey wore Shall murd'rous conqueft paint the path to fame? Shall feenes of ravage fill employ the mufe? And fhall not tender mercy have her claim? The palm to her fall fill the fong refuse? Ah no! The prowess of the hero's sword, (When but to rapine and to waste confia'd): The fhouts of triumph caning name afford, w No title Jike, THE FATHER OF MANKIND. Young Ammon's, or the Swedia Charlés's fame,

May win the wonder of the unthinkinglerówd, But reafon's fober voice shall fill próɑbimy H "The paths to glory are sit wet with blood,” To purge an impious, bold, offending sacer? The flagnate poifon-breeding air to cleanfe, Th' indignant father bids his wrath take place, A conq'ror now, and now a whirlwind fends. Relenting then, he bids the forms afwage, And loa Titus, or a Brusfuic reigns

Juftice and mercy bless the happy age.

And peace and plenty chear the imiling plains.

Verfes written by an Officer to a Lady, who de fired to fee fome of bis Poetry

Eyday! as challenge! and to write In A

HI thought my burfinefs was to fight.:

However, to oblige the lady as b'isamuan i
My pen, as well as fwerd, is readyvitium of
What if the God of Verse refuses, los adT
il cane the dg,and kifs the Mufca
Thus out of fear, or inclination, dovet
I cannot miss their inspiration for "od
But if the fair vouchsafe to fusile, alius 154-
And finally reward my toil, sta ods.n()
I reach the top of my defire ;naires lit
And what fond youth would covet higher
But let the beg (if you regardigans
The future welfare of your hard)
No living wight befide may know it,
That I'm converted to a poet.o
For fhould my taylor understand,
I till Parnaffus' barren land-
No atter credit would be given
-He'd fooner lay up wealth in heaven-
Bare-foot and bare-legg'd, I muft travel.
In froft and fnow, o'er fand and gravel,
If Crifpin or the Hofter find
The Mufes have poffefs'd my mind,
Sm-b (wears he'll let me have no tea,
Unless I quit Calliope.

Nor e'en the chandler's fhop will truft
With pint of beer, or farthing-cruft.
Nay, from the garret they'd expell me,
If fuch mifchance they knew) befell me.

Then make it not for pity common;
Be fecret, and be more than woman.

Verses written in April 1766.9 Ound ker vaft circle the big Earth has roll'd,

R Now, twenty times and thrice, fance fict

thefe lungs

The vital breeze inhal'd; fince of the fiream,
Bright flowing from yon glorious golden orbi
Thefe eyes fir Adrank. This earth hath varied oft,
Spring hath now clad her with a lovely robe;
And, now, hath fummer scotch'd it. Autumn
rich

Hath liberal pour'd out on her all his stores;
And, fierce, hath winter defolation fpread,
O'er her fair fields, dire howling, as in triumph.
Her hapless fons, the lot of man is woe,
Have various mistry known. Oppreffion proud,
Her bitter cup hath tender'd to the weak
In private life, her fell fcourge lifted high
To urge the draught: And frequent hath it fall'n,
How frequent, numbers have no power to speak.
Wide over nations, too, her rod, all ftain'd
With blood of man, her dreadful hand has
fretch'd,

While to the universal groan her ear

Has liften'd with delight. The earth herself
Hath tower'd cutite hook from their firm base,
Crushing pale mortals with an inftant ruin.
Invisible, the peftilence hath fhot
Her poifon'd darts, oh, Adam !at thy race;
Nor have they mils'd their aim, And war, ftern
[men!
The plains hath feep'd in parple. Wretched
This have ye well delerved. Say, is it not
The righteous wages of your daring crimes ?

war

But thee, dear native ine! Nor peftilence, Nor proud oppreffion (fave her private wrongs) Nor hortid earthquake, not yet war, grim fury!

Has harm'd. For providence has fimil'd on thee.
And fafe beneath that fmile have pals'd my days.

Yet other evils still have hover'd round me,
Unnumber'd as theotean's drops, and pangs
To multitudes have minister'd or rent
The foul unwilling from the trembling fiefh.
But thefe Mhave touch'd not me or flightly

touch'digital

Tho' juftice bad them) fiege, the guilty wretch; For everlating mercy acquiefced not,

Oh, thou eternal love! From whom I drew My frail exiftence; by whofe kind support I fiti have been upheid; who oft haft fed me With comfort and with joy; to whom I owe All that from fatred friendship I receive, And every tender tie: Oh, add to these The pardon of my base ingratitude! Oh, hear a faviour's blood intreat for me! And, henceforth never let me more offend thee; But Lamp thy faered image on my foul!

Stanzas written in Kensington Gardens.

"S Cap'd Cap'd from their fhops, here tinfei'd cits repair,

And breathe, when Sunday dawns, the purer air.
Here the fpruce'prentice, with his shining face,
His veft of fatin, and his hat of lace,

Seeks, with the blufhing maid, the filent grove,
And lifps, in city-ftrains, the fritterd tale of love.
Here the grey poer, in whose hollow eyes,
Pale famine lurks, & heaves her broken sighs,
Whole cheeks proclaim the triumph of distress,
And want rejects the elegance of dreís :

Penfive and fad, pursues the muses train,
Fahions the glowing thought, & ftamps the po
Cylish'd fain.

Bred to the camp, with scarce a single groat,
Here ftruts the hero in a thread bare coat.
The din of war no more his peace alarms,
No longer beats the martial drum to arms--
The fabbath here with freedom fhall he gild,
And mock the fcream of Care, Misfortune's pal-
fy'd child,

Here the starch prieft (his ev'ning lecture o'er)
Full of wife faws, and Virtue's myftick lore,
Of capen paunch, replete with Sunday bits,
Cut from the joints which prefs the groaning foits,
Stalks, like a fpectre, thro' the aufky glade,
And bares his roly pride the emblem of his trade
Where, meteor like, he ftreams a fhining spark,
Loos'd from his cell, behold the lawyer's clerk,
Fond of his plumage, with his person fir d,
of tiny foplings envied and admir'd,
He d-ns the syves, laborious fudy wears,
While here his fav'rite courfe each fon of free-
dom fleers,

Unpolish'd clowns, in couples wafted here,
(Joy in their yan, and wonder in their rear)
Stumping in twice-fol'd fhoes, and, gaping, own
No country wakes like thofe of London town.
They grin-they flare at length in rapture cry.
• Here, Ralph, we'd wish to live—tis here we'd
with to die.

Verfes found banging up on a Tablet in the Temple of Venus, in Lord Jerfey's Word, at Middleton Stoney; by Mr Whitehead, an phases

Ο

Uifque es, 0 Juvenis, noftro vagus advena luco, Cui cor eft tenerum exique prelia comes. Quifquis es, ab fugias; bie fuadent omnia amorem, Inque caufa bae latitans omnia fuader amor s Afpice flore capri quam circum aftringitur ilex Hærenti amplexu et luxuriante comâ : Sylva tegit tacitum fternit tibi lana subilaz

Aut tumet in vimos maliter herba caros

Si quis adeft, fabitum dant tintinnabula fignum,
Et Arpit in primo limine parta loquax.
Net rigidum oftendit nofira de parjeté vultum
A&aufve fenex, dimidiufve Cuta;
At Nuda afpirat dulces Cyberca furores,
Atque fuas ritus confecrat ipfa Venus.

TRANSLATION.

A. youthful franger to this fatal grove.
Oh! if thy breast can feel too foft a flame,
And with thee wanders fome unguarded dame,
Fly, fly the place—each object thro' the fhade
Perfuades to love, and in this cottage laid,
What cannot, may not, will not love perfuade?
See to yon oak how close the woodbine cleaves,
And twines around it luxury of leaves.
Beneath, a downey coach foft fleeces fpread,
Above, the boughs a pleafing darkness fhed,,
Or fofter herbage forms a living bed.
Do spies approach thrill bells the found repeat,
And from the entrance fcreams the confcious gate
Nor from thefe walls do rigid bufto's frown,
Or philofophic cenfors threat in ftone :
But as felf does her own rites approve
Io naked flate, and thro' the rapter'd
Breathe the sweet madness of exc

า

Lift of Books published ; with Remarks, **

DES, dedicated to the Hon. Cha.

Yorke, by Robert Andrews, 24thor of the English Virgil; dedicated to the Hon. Booth Grey, Efq;

Baskerville

11. 6d.

Thefe odes are fuch as no man could write but the tranflator of Virgil, the tranflation is fuch as no man could write but the author of thefe odes. If there are any critics as different from all other critics, as this writer of verfe is from all other wri. ters of verfe, to them we consign him and his works; for they are no more the objects of the common criticism of this world, than if they had been produced in Jupiter or Saturn. The following ode may ferve as a fpecimen; thofe that like it may commend the poetry ; those that understand it, the fenfe.

MERCURY

On lofing my pocket Milton at Lufs, near
Ben-Lowman, and other mountains.

Lufs be for ever funk beneath

Ben's horrors piled around!

Sun's livening ray ne'er pierce thy gloom!
Thy hideous deep be drain'd!
Fishes be turn'd t' infernal fnakes!

Boatswain to Cerberus !

Mouth of th' Avernian gulf be thou!
Its mortal damp thy air!
All o'er thy plains vulcanos thick
Their burning fands difgorge!
Birds never trill their fwelling chaunt!
Nor roam the humming bee!
Herds never graze, nor fheep, nor goat!
Nor play the shepherd's lute!
Crags other echo ne'er repeat
Than difmal Furies' yell!
Swift on a morning-ray then lo!
The airy fandal'd God,

came, and fmiling. I Thy pillow's treasure stole. M. no more be Fancy's fount w'd erftacies.

Phochu ordain'd: prefenting fee
The ore! never fear.

2

The poor man's prayer, addreffed to the E of Chatbem; an elegy. T. Payne,

This elegy is faid, in the title page, to be written by Simon Hedge, a Kenti labourer ; but, though it is written in the character of a labourer, the character is manifeftly affumed. It is not without merit; the flanzas in general are both pisturesque and pathetic. The following extract will ferve as a fpecimen of the verfification :

In every port the vessel rides secure,

That wafts our harvest to a foreign fhore; While we the pangs of preffing want endure, The fons of strangers riot on our fore. Ŏ generous Chatham, step thofe fatal fails, Once more, with outftretch'd arm, thy Britant lave i

Th' unheeding crew but waite for fav'ring galesp

O flop them, e'er they frem Jalia's wave. From thee, alone, I hope for inffant aid, 'Tis thou alone canft fave my children's breath;

O deem not little of our cruel need,

O hafte to help us, for delay is death.

3. An Effay on Patriotism, in' the Aile' and manner of Mr Pope's Efay on Man; infcribed to the E, of Chatbam. is Withics

This is rather a parody of the Essay on Man, than an imitation of its Are and manner, as the reader will fee by the following extract, by which the will alfo be able to determine the merit of the piece.

Pleasures are ever in our hands and eyes,
And 'tis the patriot's pleasure fill to vife:
T'ho' not all taftes, all views can charm alike,
Some figh for ritbes, others titles frike;
Yet ftill fome fav'rite with each bofot fires,
Source of et qualms, and Aute'fing, "fond
defires,

"As man, perhaps, whch first he draws his
breath,

"Receives the lurking principle of death,
"So the disease that must fubdue at length,
Still in the patriot's breaft acquires fresh
ftrength;

Ambition, av rice, love of pelf or crown
Be what it will, it pulls his virtue down :
Whilft we, tho' fubjects to no lawful fway,
Yet ftill are doom'd fome fav'rite to obey.
Now B- difplac'd, a-- -fills his room,
And hirelings ply the m--1 loom.

4. Pynfent's ghoft, a parody on the ce lebrated ballad of William and Margaret. Of this piece the following fkanzas are the best :——Pynfext's ghost speaks, the disaste "How could you fay the cause was good,

"And yet that cause forfake 679 20 "How could you say you fought not gold, "Yet gold on all ɓdes take 25 at duw al

"Why did you promise patriot scares, i en tum "And not that promife keep?

"Why did you grieve for Albion's tears, "Yet leave her fons to weep ?

1

"How could you wear, your country's love "Did o'er your breaft prevail? "And why did I, old, deating fool! "Believe the lying tale?

"But look!-some dæmon placks me hence, "A damn'd ill-tion'd adieu !---"Come fee, falle wretch, how low he lies, "Who left his wealth to you."

5. The coach-drivers, a politic comic opera. 11. Flexney.

In this performance, though apparently negligent and hafty, there is a strain of true humour; it is embellished allo with two cuts, which, though rude coarte sketches, are yet mafterly; the caricaturas are striking, and the expreffions just. The perfons are,

Hayes and Sawnry, drivers of the coach.