With pleas'd attention 'midst his scenes we find What wondrous draughts might rise from Each glowing thought that warms the female mind; Each melting sigh, and every tender tear, And classic judgment gain'd to sweet Racine And laureli'd Conquest waits her hero's arms. In life's last hours, with horror of the deed: spear. Where'er we turn, by fancy charm'd, we find Some sweet illusion of the cheated mind. Oft wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove With humbler nature, in the rural grove ; Where swains contented own the quiet scene. And twilight fairies tread the circled green: Dress'd by her hand, the woods and vallies smile. And spring diffusive decks th' enchanted isle. every page! What other Raphaels charm a distant age! Methinks e'en now I view some free design, O, more than all in powerful genius blest, Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast! Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall§ feci, Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal! There every thought the poet's warmth may raise, There native music dwells in all the lays. Still as ney press, he calls on all around, Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound. But who is he whose brows exalted bar A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air? Awake to all that injur'd worth can feel, On his own Rome he turns th' avenging stee Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall (So heaven ordains it) on the estim'd wall. See the fond mother, 'midst the plaintive tram, Hang on his knees, and prostrate on the pl Touch'd on the soul, in vain he strives to The son's affection in the Roman's prie. O'er all the man conflicting passione, Rage grasps the sword, while pity melts t 160. Dirge in Cymbeline, sung by Guides and Arviragus over Fidele, supposed to dead. COLLIS • The characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden. About the time of Shakspeare, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, cording to Fontenelle, six hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in generi to the correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally disregarded by, those of our own country, Jonson excepted. I The favourite author of the Elder Corneille. See the tragedy of Julius Cesar. No Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogue on the Odyssey, No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here," And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female favs shall haunt the green, Aad dress thy grave with pearly dew. The red-breast oft at evening hour Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flow'rs, To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds, and beating rain, In tempests shake thy sylvan cell; Dr 'midst the chace on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell; Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed; lelov'd, till life can charm no more; And mourn'd, ull Pity's self be dead. $161. Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson. COLLINS. he Scene of the following Stannas is supposed to lie on the Thames, near Richmond. Nyonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly. winds the stealing wave: he year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its Poet's sylvan grave. 1 von deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp shall now be laid, hat he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, May love through life the soothing shade. ben maids and youths shall linger here, And, while its sounds at distance swell, tall sadly seem in Pity's ear To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. emembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, nd oft suspend the dashing oar To bid his gentle spirit rest! nd oft as Ease and Health retire To breezy lawn, or forest deep, he friend shall view yon whitening + spire, And 'mid the varied landscape weep; at thou, who own'st that earthy bed, Ah! what will every dirge avail? r tears, which Love and Pity shed, That mourn beneath the gliding sail ! et lives there one whose heedless eye Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die, And Joy desert the blooming year! But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, near? Now waft me from the green hill's side Whose cold turf hides the buried friend! And see, the fairy valleys fade, Dun night has veil'd the solemn view; Yet once again, dear parted shade, Meek nature's child, again adieu! The genial meads assign'd to bless Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom! Their hinds and shepherd girls shall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb. Long, loug, thy stone and pointed clay Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes : O vales and wild woods, shall he say, In yonder grave your Druid lies!" cake, With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize, Nor dare a theft, for love and pity's sake! This precious relic, form'd by magic pow'r, Beneath the shepherd's haunted pillow laid, Was meant by love to charm the silent hour, The secret present of a matchless maid. The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request, Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art; Fears, sighs, and wishes of th'enamour'd breast, And pains that please, are mix'd in every part. With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought, From Paphian hills, and fair Cytherea's isle; And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought, The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding smile. Ambiguous looks, that scorn 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 sworn, while these remain, [tear; With flattering dreams to dry his nightly And cheerful Hope, so oft invok'd in vain, With fairy songs shall soothe his pensive ear If, bound by vows to friendship's gentle side, And fond of soul, thou hop'st an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide, O much entreated leave this fatal place. Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plain tive day, Consents at length to bring me short delight; Thy careless steps may scare her doves away, And Grief with raven note usurp the night. • The Harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence. + Mf. Thomson was buried in Richmond church. Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death. § 163. BURNS. $163. To e Mouse, on turning her up in her Alas! its no thy neebor sweet WEE, sleek it, cowrin, tim'rous beastic, O, what a pannic's in thy breastic! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, I'm truly sorry man's dominion Which makes thee startle I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 'S a sma' request; I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, An' never miss 't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's wind, ensuing, Thou saw the field laid bare and waste, Thou thought to dwell, That wee bit heap o'leaves an' stibble Fo thole the winter's sleety dribble, But, Mousie, 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 see, Cauld blew the bitter biting-north Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, Adorns the histie stibble-field, There in thy scanty mantle clad, But now the share up tears thy bed, Such is the fate of artless maid, And guiltless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Such is the fate of simple bard, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Such fate to suffering Worth is giv’n, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven, Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, § 165. An Essay upon unnatural Flights Poetry. LANDSDOWNE The written picture we applaud or blame own. By true reflection I would see my face, " to "Leaves Truth behind in her audacious, pense. The reader what in reason's due believes, daining bouncis, are yet by rules controul'd; bove the clouds, but yet within our sight, they mount with Truth, and make a tow'ring resenting things impossible to view, [flight: hey wander through incredible to true. alsehoods thus mix'd like metals are refin'd; I would condemn, but that, in spite of sense, Our characters we lessen when we'd raise; To clear our darkness, and to guide our flight; Abandon'd Truth seeks shelter in the grove; 166. Who thus describes his hero when he's dead-§ The noisy culverin, o'ercharg'd, lets fly, done-restor'd by thy immortal pen, The critic's noble name revives again; Once more that great, that injur'd name we see Shine forth alike in Addison and thee. Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's feast, And feed on scraps refus'd by ev'ry guest; From the old Thracian * dog they learn'd the way To snarl in want, and grumble o'er their preys Vex'd to be charm'd, and pleas'd against their • Zoilus, so called by the ancients. Like bold Longinus of immortal fame, You read your poet with a poet's flame ; With his, your gen'rous raptures still aspire; The critic kindles when the bard's on fire. John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen. But when some lame, some limping line de-To-morrow is our wedding-day, mands The friendly succour of your healing hands; A strict integrity, devoid of art; The sweetest manners, and sincerest heart; A soul, where depth of sense and faucy meet; A judgment brighten'd by the beams of wit Were ever yours: be what you were before, Be still yourself; the world can ask no more. $167. The Enquiry. Written in the last Century. AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd, Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd: • Tell me, said Í, in deep distress, Where may I find my shepherdess?' "Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? In every thing that's good, she is; "In yonder tulip go and seek, "There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek; In yon enamell'd pansy by, "There thou shalt have her curious eye; With that I stopp'd. Said Love, "These be, E'en in the twinkling of an eye; "And all thy hopes of her shall wither, "Like these short sweets that knit together." $168. The Diverting History of John Gilpin; train-band captain eke was he And we will then repair On horseback after we. He soon replied, I do admire Of woman kind but one; I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the callender Will lend his horse to go. Quoth Mistress Gilpin, that's well said; And, for that wine is dear, We will be furnish'd with our own, Which is both bright and clear. John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; That, though on pleasure she was bent, O'erjoy'd was he to find She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Six precious souls, and all agog Where they did all get in, To dash through thick and thin. Smack went the whip, round went the whe Were never folks so glad; The stones did rattle underneath As if Cheapside were mad. Seiz'd fast the flowing mane; Three customers come in. So down he came; for loss of time, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind; When Betty screaming came down stairs, "The wine is left behind !" Good lack! quoth he-yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword Nou |