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The changing year's successive plan
Proclaims mortality to man ;
Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sov'reign ray;
Then summer finks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again ;
Her loffes foon the moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies,
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will toss us in a morning more?
What with

your

friend At least you rescue from

your

heir.
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly Nain,
Diana calls to life in vain ;
Nor can the might of Theseus rend
The chains of Hell that hold his friend.

you nobly share

Nov. 1784.

The

Tbe following TransLATION, PARODIES, and BURLESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from Anecdotes of Dr. JOHNSON, published by Mrs. Piozzi.

ANACREON, ODE IX.
LOVELY courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scatt'ring, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way :
Is it business? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair ;
Grac'd with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove beftow'd :
Vefted with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge, consign’d to me :
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless talk without reward ;
Siniling at

my
master's

gates,
Freedom my return awaits;
But the lib'ral grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's guest without a home ;

Under

Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed :
Now

my

better lot bestows
Sweet repast, and soft repose;
Now the gen'rous bowl I fip
As it leaves Anacreon's lip:
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread;
Then, with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play;
Or from wine, as courage springs,
O'er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolic tire,
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go,
More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply,
I have chatter'd like a pye.

LINES written in ridicule of certain Poems

published in 1777
WHERESOE'ER I turn my view,
All is strange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong;
Phrase that time hath flung away,
Uncouth words in disarray,
Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet,
Ode, and elegy, and sonnet.

PARODY

PARODY of a TRANSLATION from the

MEDEA of EURIPIDES.

ERR shall they not, who resolute explore

Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes ; And, scanning right the practices of yore,

Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. They to the dome where Smoke with curling play

Announc'd the dinner to the regions round, Summon'd the finger blythe, and harper gay,

And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,

By quiv'ring string or modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre ---to their harsh bosoms chill

Admission ne'er had fought, or could not find. Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,

Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the

wound. When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,

And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish,

Can yield no room to musick's soothing pow'r.

VOL. I.

M

TRANS

TRANSLATION of the Two First Stanzas

of the Song “ Rio verde, Rio verde," printed in Bishop Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. An IMPROMPTU.

GLASSY water, glasly water,

Down whose current, clear and strong, Chiefs confus'd in mutual Naughter,

Moor and Christian roll along,

IMITATION of the Style of ****.

HERMIT hoar, in folemn cell

Wearing out life's evening grey, Strike thy bofom, fage, and tell

What is bliss, and which the way.

Thus I spoke, and speaking figh’d,

Scarce repress'd the starting tear, When the hoary sage reply'd,

Come, my lad, and drink some beer.

BUR,

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