Oft from the balmy bleffings of repose,

And the cool ftillness of the night's deep shade,
To light and health th' exulting Votarist rose,
Whilft fancy work'd with med'cine's powerful aid.

Oft in his dreams (no longer clogg'd with fears
Of fome broad torrent, or some headlong steep,
With each dire form Imagination wears

When harrafs'd Nature finks in turbid fleep)

Oft in his dreams he faw diffufive day

Through bursting glooms its cheerful beams extend;
On billowy clouds faw sportive Genii play,
And bright Hygeia from her heaven defcend.

What marvel then, that man's o'erflowing mind
Should wreath-bound columns raife, and altars fair,
And grateful offerings pay, to Powers so kind,
Tho' fancy-form'd, and creatures of the Air.

Who that has writh'd beneath the scourge of pain,
Or felt the burthen'd languor of disease,
But would with joy the flighteft refpite gain,
And idolize the hand which lent him ease?

To Thee, my friend, unwillingly to thee
For truths like these the anxious Mufe appeals.
Can Memory answer from affliction free,

Or speaks the sufferer what, I fear, he feels?

No, let me hope ere this in Romely grove

Hygeia revels with the blooming Spring, Ere this the vocal feats the Mufes love

With hymns of praife, like Pæon's temple, ring.

It was not written in the book of Fate

That, wand'ring far from Albion's fea-girt plain,
Thy distant Friend should mourn thy shorter date,
And tell to alien woods and streams his pain.

It was not written. Many a year shall roll,
If aught th' infpiring Mufe aright prefage,
Of blameless intercourse from Soul to Soul,
And friendship well matur'd from Youth to Age.

ELE G Y VI.
EGY

To another FRIEND.

Written at Rome, 1756.

EHOLD, my friend, to this fmall orb confin'd

BE

The genuine features of Aurelius' face;

The father, friend, and lover of his kind,
Shrunk to a narrow coin's contracted space.

The medal of Marcus Aurelius,

Not

Not fo his fame; for erft did heaven ordain

Whilft feas fhould waft us, and whilst funs fhould warm,

On tongues of men, the friend of man should reign,

And in the arts he loy'd the patron charm.

Oft as amidst the mould'ring spoils of Age,
His mofs-grown monuments my steps pursue;
Oft as my eye revolves the hiftoric page,

Where país his generous acts in fair review,

Imagination grafps at many things,

Which men, which angels might with rapture see; Then turns to humbler fcenes its safer wings,

And, blush not whilft I fpeak it, thinks on thee.

With all that firm benevolence of mind,

Which pities, whilst it blames, th' unfeeling vain, With all that active zeal to ferve mankind,

That tender suffering for another's pain,

Why wert not thou to thrones imperial rais'd?
Did heedlefs Fortune flumber at thy birth,

Or on thy virtues with indulgence gaz'd,
And gave her grandeurs to her fons of earth?

Happy for thee, whofe lefs diftinguished sphere
Now cheers in private the delighted eye,
For calm Content, and smiling Ease are there,

And, Heav'n's divineft gift, fweet Liberty.

Happy

Happy for me, on life's ferener flood
Who fail, by talents as by choice reftrain'd,
Elfe had I only fhar'd the general good,

And loft the friend the Universe had gain'd.

The LYRIC MUSE to Mr. MASON.

On the Recovery of the Right Honourable the Earl of HOLDERNESSE from a dangerous Illness.

M

By the Same.

ASON, fnatch the votive Lyre,
D'Arcy lives, and I infpire.
"Tis the Mufe that deigns to ask,
Can thy hand forget its task?
Or can the Lyre its strains refuse
To the Patron of the Mufe?

Hark, what notes of artless love
The feather'd poets of the
grove,
Grateful for the bowers they fill,
Warble wild on Sion hill;
In tuneful tribute duely paid

To the Mafter of the fhade!

And shall the Bard fit fancy-proof

Beneath the hofpitable roof,

Where

Where every menial face affords
Raptur'd thoughts that want but words?
And the Patron's dearer part,
The gentle sharer of his heart,
Wears her wonted charms again.
Time, that felt Affliction's chain,
Learns on lighter wings to move;
And the tender pledge of love,
Sweet Amelia, now is preft

With double transport to her breast.
Sweet Amelia, thoughtless why,
Imitates the general joy;
Innocent of care or guile

See the lovely Mimic fmile,

And, as the heart-felt raptures rife,
Catch them from her Mother's eyes.

Does the noify town deny Soothing airs, and extacy? Sion's fhades afford retreat, Thither bend thy pilgrim feet, There bid th' imaginary train, Coinage of the Poet's brain, Not only in effects appear,

But forms, and limbs, and features wear.
Let feftive Mirth, with flow'rets crown'd,
Lightly tread the meafur'd round

And