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DAVID GARRICK, Esq.
any one fhould entertain a more humble opinion of the following little Production, than she who pre- . sents it to you. It is a trifle which, she confelfes, has but a very slender claim to your protection, but the considers that will be an ornament to her Book, as your Friendship has been an honour to its Author.
Where merit is incontestible, and characters are decided by the concurring fuffrage of mankind, praise becomes almost impertinent. It is absurd to be industrious in proving truths so felf-evident, that no one ever thought of controverting them.
I may be accused of advancing a startling propofition, when I declare that you are an enemy to the Muses; but if it be allowed that description and invention are the very soul of Poetry I shall be justified by the world
in general, who constantly behold you difplay. ing talents which cannot be described, and cxhibiting excellences which leave nothing to be imagined.
Whatever reason I may find to regret my having ventured these little Poems into the world, I shall at least have no common pleafure in recollecting one circumstance attend. ing them, since they furnish me with an occa. fion of assuring you with what esteem and admiration
I am, SIR,
HANNAH MORE. BRISTOL, Dec. 14. 1775.
P A R T I.
SiR ELDRED was his name,
The rank of knighthood claim.
To feed the neighbouring wood,
SIR ELDRED's castle stood.
The youth was rich as youth might be
In patrimonial dower; And
many a noble feat had he Atchieved, in hall, and bower.
He did not think, as fome have thought,
Whom honour never crown'd, The fame a father dearly bought,
Cou'd make the son renown'd.
He better thought, a noble fire,
Who gallant deeds had done, To deeds of hardihood Mou'd fire
A brave and gallant fon.
The faireft ancestry on earth
Without desert is poor ; And every deed of lofty worth
Is but a claim for more.
Sir Eldred's heart was good and kind
Alive to Pity's call;
He lov'd, and felt for all.
When mierit raised the fufferer's name,
He shower'd his bounty then ;
He fuccour'd still as men.
But sacred truth the Mufe compels
His errors to impart;
The fault of ELDRED's heart :
Tho' kind and gentle as the dove,
As free from guile and art, And mild, and soft as infant love
The feelings of his heart.
Yet if the paffions torm'd his soul,
By jealousy led on ;
And bore his virtues down.
Not Thule’s waves so wildly break .
To drown the northern shore ; Nor Etna's entrails fiercer shake;
Or Scythia's tempefts roar.
As when on summer's sweetest day,
To fan the fragrant morn. The fighing breezes softly stray
O'er fields of ripen'd corn;
Sudden the lightning's blast descends,
Deforms the ravag'd tields ; At once the various ruin blends,
And all refiftless yields.
But when, to clear his stormy breast,
The sun of reason fhone,
O then what anguilh he betray'd !
His shame how deep, how true ! He view'd the waste his
had made, And shudder'd at the view.
The meek-ey'd dawn, in faffron robe,
Proclaim'd the opening day:
The birds their vernal notes répeat,
And glad the thick’ning grove,
With many a song of love;
His morning vows to pay,