94

Light as a feather in the morn of May, Borne by the perfum❜d breath of blueeyed day.

part;

Je,

Nor have I yet thrown by my ftudied [heart Georgina ftill I am, in garb, and Georgina humbly ftands again before [ye. Of gratitude fo full !-fhe half adores It puzzles me to guefs, when Conway's wife, [life: On what sweet plan to form my married My heart beats high to think how I fhall Blash,

Pre-eminent and bold, like Lady Dash. Reflection ne'er to me fhall be a dam¡fcamperper, My curricle I'll drive-on horieback Keep pharo banks-take the long odds

at races,

And know the knowing ones in all

rooms,

their paces; Lounge at Newmarket in the betting[grooms. And prate to lady Harriet-and my But whilft I thus blaze on in Folly's road, forfake And, profligate, Where is my hufband's peace'?-his honour-where? Who fall his lonely hours confole, and

fhare?

[abodemy bleft

my own,

8

ODE

To MELANCHOLY.

From Mrs. Radcliffe's Myfteries of Udolpho.

SPIRIT of love and forrow-hail!

Thy folemn voice from far I hear,

Mingling with ev'ning's dying gale;
Hail with this fadly pleafing tear!

O at this fill, this lonely hour, Thine own fweet hour of clofing day, Awake thy lute, whose charmful pow'r Shall call up Fancy to obey;

To paint the wild romantic dream, That meets the poet's mufing eye, As, on the bank of fhadowy ftream, He breathes to her the fervid figh;

Olonely fpirit! let thy fong

Lead me through all thy facred haunt ; The minfler's moonlight aisles along, Where spectres raite the midnight

chaunt.

To LIBERTY.

"Evil be to him that evil thinks."

HAIL, Liberty! thou bleffed flame,
May all revere thy facred name,
And bow before thy throne;
Every British heart infpire,
Firmly to keep with fond defire

What nature made their own.

Let those who dare invade thy right,
Or wish to fhade thy heav'nly light,
Fall headlong to the earth!
Should Pity grace the tyrant's grave,
That made his fellow foul a flave,

Whom God ftamp'd free by birth?

Survey the rich man's honour'd dust,
The coftly tomb, the noble buff,

And folemn dirges fing:

Then view the poor man's laft drawn breath;

Say, which looks nobleft after death,
The beggar or the king?

Thus Liberty, by Nature's laws,
Demands its place in every caule ;
A precious earthly ftore;
Which daring fill tyrannic pow'r,
Shall lighten every gloomy hour,
'Till earth and time's no more.

95

[care; How full of joy-yet e'er replete with With pleafing transports all our bofoms

warm,

[defpair. Thou double fource of pleasure and Infpir'd by thee, what flatt'ring visions rife, [fcope Romantic oft' whit pleafing fancy's Is unconfin'd; and ev'ry fear defies, Till difappointment crushes cy'ry hope.

'Twas thus my mind, o'ercome with grief, in vain [fought. For pleasure, in the paths of folly Awhile they lul'd-but ah! increas'd my pain, [thought. And felf conviction harrow'd ev'ry

VERSES

To DELIA.

WHEN Mars, tyrannic ged of war,"
Erects th'enfanguin'd creft,

And fierce Bellona drives the car,
In Gorgon terrors dreft ;
Where thall the gentle mufes hide?
In what fequefler'd grot abide ?

How fhall a minor poet dare

To touch the trembling firing; The kinder influence of the Fair,

And Love's foft pow'r to fing? But he who feels the tender pain, Can ill fuch feelings e'er retain.

Soon must ftern winter, hoary fire,

Give up his iron regn; To Greenland's frozen clime retire, And quit the Britif, plain ; While clofe attending in his rear, The vernal wonths and bloom appear.

And

And fee, the rofy-footed hours

Of ever-blithfome May,

With gay alcoves, and fcented bow'rs,
To glad the peaceful day,
Sacred to Venus,-fweet domain !
Aufpicious hours, return again.

When first bright Sol peeps o'er the dawn,

With thee I love to rove, Inhale the healthy breeze of morn,

And tread the laughing grave;
To view the lark afcending high,
And hear his matins in the fky.

But chief, by Cynthia's penfive light,
What blifs with thee to ftray!
To contemplate the filent night,
And mark the fading day!
O happy lot with thee to walk,
Enjoy thy miles, and hear thy talk!

When Spring in all his glory fhines,

Or Summer pours his fervid ray; When Autumn lifts his mantling vines, Or Winter fheds his gloomy day; If Delia but a smile beltow, I know no care, I feel no woe.

A CHARADE.

MY Firft to many a British heart

Of late has frrow giv'n; My Second, prudence will not use, It fearce can be forgiv'n.

My whole is never call'd to view,

Where all is reft and peace; But when brought out it feldom fails To make difturbance ceafe.

PHILETUS.

FOREIGN