THE WINTER'S WALK.

BEHOLD, my Fair! where'er we rove,
What dreary prospects round us rise!
The naked hill! the leafless grove!
The hoary ground! the frowning skies!

Not only through the wasted plain,
Stern Winter! is thy force confessed!
Still wider spreads thy horrid reign!
I feel thy power usurp my breast!

Enliven Hope and fond Desire,

Resign the heart to Spleen and Care! Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire, And Rapture saddens to Despair!

In groundless Hope and causeless Fear, Unhappy man! behold thy doom! Still changing with the changeful year, The slave of sunshine and of gloom!

Tired with vain joys, and false alarms;
With mental and corporeal strife;
Snatch me, my STELLA! to thy arms,
And shield me from the Ills of Life!

A NEW PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK,

THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 1750,

AT THE REPRESENTATION OF 'COMUS,'

FOR THE BENEFIT OF MRS. ELIZABETH FOSTER,

MILTON's

GRAND-DAUGHTER, AND ONLY SURVIVING DESCENDant.

YE patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame! Ye Nymphs, whose bosoms beat at MILTON's name; Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes, Shames the mean Pensions of Augustan Times! Immortal Patrons of succeeding days,

Attend this Prelude of perpetual praise!
Let Wit, condemned the feeble war to wage
With close Malevolence or public Rage,
Let Study, worn with Virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this Theatre, and grieve no more!
This night, distinguished by your smile, shall tell,
That never Briton can, in vain, excel!

The slighted Arts, futurity shall trust;
And rising Ages hasten to be just!

At length, our mighty Bard's victorious Lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;

And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to Renown the centuries to come!

With ardent haste, each candidate of fame
Ambitious catches at his tow'ring name!

He sees, and pitying sees, vain Wealth bestow
Those pageant honours, which he scorned below.
While crowds aloft the Laureate Bust behold,
Or trace his form in circulating gold;
Unknown, unheeded, long his Offspring lay,
And Want hung threat'ning o'er her slow decay.
What though she shine with no Miltonian fire,
No fav'ring Muse her morning dreams inspire;
Yet softer claims, the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age!
Hers the mild merits of domestic life;
The patient suff'rer, and the faithful Wife!

Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms, Her Grandsire leaves her in BRITANNIA's arms! Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell; While tutelary nations guard her cell!

Yours is the charge, ye Fair! ye Wise! ye Brave! 'Tis yours to crown desert-beyond the grave!

TO STELLA.

NOT the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Nor all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight!

Not all the gems on India's shore, Not all Peru's unbounded store; Not all the power, nor all the fame, That Heroes, Kings, or Poets claim; Nor knowledge which the Learn'd approve; To form one wish my soul can move!

Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes;
And Knowledge, Wealth, and Fame I prize!
Fame, Wealth, and Knowledge I obtain;
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain!

In lovely STELLA all combine;
And, lovely STELLA! thou art mine!

THE GOBLET OF WINE.

My temples, with clusters of grapes I'll entwine;
And barter all joys for a Goblet of Wine!
In search of a VENUS no longer I'll run;
But stop, and forget her, at BACCHUS'S Tun!

Yet why this resolve to relinquish the Fair?
'Tis a folly with spirits like mine to despair!
And what mighty charms can be found in a Glass,
If not filled to the Health of a favourite Lass?

'Tis Woman, whose charms every rapture impart;
And lend a new spring to the pulse of the heart!
The Miser himself, so supreme is her sway!
Grows a convert to Love, and resigns her his key.

At the sound of her voice, Sorrow lifts up her head; And Poverty listens, well pleased, from her shed: While Age, in an ecstasy, goes hobbling along, Beats time, with his crutch, to the tune of her Song.

Then bring me a Goblet from BACCHUS's hoard;
The largest and deepest that stands on his board!
I'll fill up a Brimmer, and drink to the Fair!
'Tis the thirst of a Lover; and pledge me who dare!