ON A

GROTTO near the THAMES,

at TWICKENHAM,

Compofed of Marbles, Spars, and Minerals.

By Mr. POPE.

HOU who fhalt ftop, where Thames' translɩ cent wave

THO

Shines a broad mirrour through the fhadowy cave,

Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distill,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill,
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow:

And

Approach. Great NATURE ftudiously behold!
eye the mine without a wish for gold,
VOL. III.

А

Approach:

Approach: But aweful! Lo th' Egerian grött,
Where, nobly-penfive, ST. JOHN fate and thought:
-Where British fighs from dying WYNDHAM stole,

And the bright flame was fhot thro' MARCHMONT's foul,
Let fuch, fuch only, tread this facred floor,

Who dare to love their country,

and be poor.

****

HYMN on SOLITUDE.

By the late JAMES THOMSON, Efq; Author of the Seasons.

H

AIL, ever-pleafing Solitude!

Companion of the wife and good!
But, from whofe holy, piercing eye,
The herd of fools, and villains fly.

Oh! how I love with thee to walk!
And liften to thy whisper'd talk;
Which innocence, and truth imparts,
And melts the moft obdurate hearts.

A thoufand fhapes you wear with ease,
And ftill in every fhape you please ;
Now rapt in fome myfterious dream,
A lone philofopher you feem;
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you fweep the vaulted sky,
And nature triumphs in your eye :
Then ftrait again you court the fhade,
And pining hang the penfive head.

A fhepherd

A fhepherd next you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain.
A lover now with all the
grace
Of that sweet paffion in your face!
Then, foft-divided, you affume
The gentle-looking H-d's bloom,
As, with her PHILOMELA, fhe,
(Her PHILOMELA fond of thee)
Amid the long withdrawing vale,
Awakes the rival'd nightingale.
A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every shape you please.
Thine is th' unbounded breath of morn,

Just as the dew-bent rofe is born;
And while meridian fervors beat
Thine is the woodland's dumb retreat;
But chief, when evening scenes decay,
And the faint landscape swims away,
Thine is the doubtful dear decline,
And that beft hour of mufing thine.

Defcending angels bless thy train,
The virtues of the fage, and swain;
Plain Innocence in white array'd,
And Contemplation rears the head :
Religion with her aweful brow,
And rapt URANIA waits on you.

Oh, let me pierce thy fecret cell!
And in thy deep receffes dwell:

Æ

Who hymn your God amid the secret grove;

Ye unfeen beings to my harp repair,

And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.

II.

Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
With what foft woe they thrill the lover's heart!

Sure from the hand of fome unhappy maid

Who dy'd of love, these sweet complainings part,

olus's Harp is a mufical inftrument, which plays with the wind, invented by Mr, Ofwald; its properties are fully described in the Castle of

Indolence.

III. But