Nor yet disdeigne the russet stoale,

Which o'er each carelesse lymbe he flyngs: Nor yet deryde the beechen bowle,

In whyche he quaffs the lympid springs.
Forgive him, if at eve or dawne,

Devoide of worldlye cark he stray :
Or all beside some flowerye lawne,
He waste his inoffensive daye.
So may he pardonne fraud and strife,
If such in courtlye haunt he see :
For faults there beene in busye life,

From whyche these peaceful glennes are free.

VI. ON A SEAT, UNDER A SPREADING
BEECH.

Hoc erat in votis: modus agri non ita magnus,
Hortus ubi, et tecto vicinus jugis aquæ fons,
Et paulum sylvæ super his foret. Auctius atque
Dii melius fecere.-

VII. ON A SEAT.

IOSEPHO SPENCE,

EXIMIO NOSTRO CRITONI;

CVI DICARI VELLET

MVSARVM OMNIVM ET GRATIARVM CHORVs,
DICAT AMICITIA.
MDCCLVIII.

AT THE BOTTOM OF A LARGE ROOT, ON THE SIDE
OF A SLOPE.

O LET me haunt this peaceful shade;

Nor let Ambition e'er invade

The tenants of this leafy bower,

That shun her paths, and slight her power!

Hither the peaceful Halcyon flies
From social meads and open skies;
Pleas'd by this rill her course to steer,
And hide her sapphire plumage here.
The trout, bedropt with crimson stains,
Forsakes the river's proud domains;
Forsakes the Sun's unwelcome gleam,
To lurk within this humble stream.
And sure I hear the Naïad say,
"Flow, flow, my stream, this devious way,
Though lovely soft thy murmurs are,
Thy waters lovely cool and fair.

"Flow, gentle stream, nor let the vain
Thy small unsully'd stores disdain :
Nor let the pensive sage repine,

Whose latent course resembles thine."

XII. ON A SMALL OBELISK IN VIRGIL'S

GROVE.

P. VIRGILIO MARONI

LAPIS ISTE CVM I.VCO SACER ESTO.

Fresh rising from the foamy tide,

She every bosom warms:

While half withdrawn she seems to hide,

And half reveals, her charms.

Learn hence, ye boastful sons of taste,
Who plan the rural shade;

Learn hence to shun the vicious waste
Of pomp, at large display'd.
Let sweet concealment's magic art
Your mazy bounds invest;
And while the sight unveils a part,
Let fancy paint the rest.
Let coy reserve with cost unite
To grace your wood or field;
No ray obtrusive pall the sight,

In aught you paint, or build.

And far be driven the sumptuous glare Of gold, from British groves;

And far the meretricious air

Of China's vain alcoves.

'Tis bashful beauty ever twines

The most coercive chain;

'Tis she, that sovereign rule declines, Who best deserves to reign."

WRITTEN ON A FERME ORNEE, NEAR

BIRMINGHAM.

SEE! the tall youth, by partial Fate's de ree,
To affluence born, and from restraint set free,
Eager he seeks the scenes of gay resort,
The mall, the rout, the play-house, and the court:
Soon for some varnish'd nymph of dubious fame,
Or powder'd peeress, counterfeits a flame.
Behold him now, enraptur'd, swear and sigh,
Dress, dance, drink, revel, all he knows not why;
Till, by kind Fate restor'd to country air,
He marks the roses of some rural fair:
Smit with her unaffected native charms,
A real passion soon his bosom warms :
And, wak'd from idle dreams, he takes a wife,
And tastes the genuine happiness of life.

Thus, in the vacant season of the year,
Some Templar gay begins his wild career.
From seat to seat o'er pompous scenes he flies,
Views all with equal wonder and surprise;
Till, sick of domes, arcades, and temples grown,
He hies fatigued, not satisfied, to town.
Yet if some kinder Genius point his way
To where the Muses o'er thy Leasowes stray,
Charm'd with the sylvan beauties of the place,
Where Art assumes the sweets of Nature's face,
Each hill, each dale, each consecrated grove,
Each lake, and falling stream, his rapture move.

Like the sage captive in Calypso's grot,
The cares, the pleasures, of the world forgot,
Of calm content he hails the genuine sphere,
And longs to dwell a blissful hermit here.

VERSES

RECEIVED BY THE POST, FROM A LADY UNKNOWN, 1761.

HEALTH to the bard in Leasowes' happy groves;
Health, and sweet converse with the Muse he loves!
The humblest votary of the tuneful Nine,
With trembling hand, attempts her artless line,
In numbers such as untaught Nature brings;
As flow, spontaneous, like thy native springs.

But ah! what airy forms around me rise?
The russet mountain glows with richer dyes;
In circling dance a pigmy crowd appear,
And hark! an infant voice salutes my ear:
"Mortal, thy aim we know, thy task approve;
His merit honour, and his genius love :
For us what verdant carpets has he spread,
Where nightly we our mystic mazes tread!
For us, each shady grove and rural seat,
His falling streams and flowing numbers sweet!
Didst thou not mark, amid the winding dell,
What tuneful verse adorns the mossy cell?
There every Fairy of our sprightly train
Resort, to bless the woodland and the plain.
There, as we move, unbidden beauties glow,

The green turf brightens, and the violets blow;
And there with thoughts sublime we bless the swain,
Nor we inspire, nor he attends, in vain.

"Go, simple rhymer! bear this message true; The truths that Fairies dictate none shall rue. Say to the Bard in Leasowes' happy grove, Whom Dryads honour, and whom Fairies love➡➡ 'Content thyself no longer that thy lays, By others foster'd, lend to others praise; No longer to the favouring world refuse The welcome treasures of thy polish'd Muse; The scatter'd blooms, that boast thy valued name, Collect, unite, and give the wreath to fame : Ne'er can thy virtues, or thy verse, engage More solid praise than in this happiest age, When sense and merit's cherish'd by the Throne, And each illustrious privilege their own. Though modest be thy gentle Muse, I ween, Oh, lead her blushing from the daisied green, A fit attendant on Britannia's Queen."

HA! what art thou, whose voice unknown
Pours on these plains its tender moan?
Art thou the nymph in Shenstone's dale,
Who dost with plaintive note bewail
That he forsakes th' Aonian maids,
To-court inconstant rills and shades?
Mourn not, sweet nymphs-alas, in vain
Do they invite, and thou complain-

Yet, while he woo'd the gentle throng,
With liquid lay and melting song,
The listening herd around him stray'd,
In wanton frisk the lambkins play'd,
And every Naïad ceas'd to lave
Her azure limbs amid the wave.
The Graces danc'd; the rosy band

Of Smiles and Loves went hand in hand;
And purple Pleasures strew'd the way
With sweetest flowers: and every ray
Of each fond Muse, with rapture fir'd,
To glowing thought his breast inspir'd.
The hills rejoic'd, the valleys rung,
All Nature smil'd, while Shenstone sung.
So charm'd his lay; but now no more-
Ah! why dost thou repeat-" no more?"
E'en now he hies to deck the grove,
To deck the scene the Muses love;
And soon again will own their sway,
And thou resound the peerless lay,
And with immortal numbers fill
Each rocky cave and vocal hill.

VERSES BY MR. DODS LEY, ON HIS FIRST ARRIVAL AT THE LEASOWES, 1754. "How shall I fix my wandering eye? Where find The source of this enchantment? Dwells it in The woods? or waves there not a magic wand O'er the translucent waters? Sure, unseen, Some favouring power directs the happy lines That sketch these beauties; swells the rising hills, And scoops the dales, to Nature's finest forms, Vague, undetermin'd, infinite; untaught By line or compass, yet supremely fair." So spake Philenor, as with raptur'd gaze He travers'd Damon's farm. From distant plains Hesought his friend's abode: nor had the fame Of that new-form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear.

And thus the swain, as o'er each hill and dale, Through lawn or thicket he pursued his way: "What is it gilds the verdure of these meads With hues more bright than fancy paints the flowers

3

Of Paradise? What Naïad's guiding hand
Leads, through the broider'd vale, the lucid rills,
That, murmuring as they flow, bear melody
Along their banks; and through the vocal shades
Improve the music of the woodland choir ?
What pensive Dryad rais'd yon solemn grove,
Where minds contemplative, at close of day
Retiring, muse o'er Nature's various works,
Her wonders venerate, or her sweets enjoy-
What room for doubt? Some rural deity,
Presiding, scatters o'er th' unequal lawns,
In beauteous wildness, yon fair-spreading trees;
And mingling woods and waters, hills and dales,
And herds and bleating flocks, domestic fowl,
And those that swim the lake, sees rising round
More pleasing landscapes than in Tempe's vale
Penéus water'd. Yes, some sylvan god
Spreads wide the varied prospect; waves the woods,
Lifts the proud hills, and clears the shining lakes;
While, from the congregated waters pour'd,
The bursting torrent tumbles down the steep
In foaming fury; fierce, irregular,
Wild, interrupted, cross'd with rocks and roots
And interwoven trees; till, soon absorb'd,
An opening cavern all its rage entombs.
So vanish human glories! Such the pomp
Of swelling warriors, of ambitious kings,
Who fret and strut their hour upon the stage
Of busy life, and then are heard no more!
"Yes, 't is enchantment all-And see, the spells,
The powerful incantations, magic verse,
Inscrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn-
Spells!-Incantations !-ah, my tuneful friend!
Thine are the numbers! thine the wondrous work!
Yes, great magician! now I read thee right,
And lightly weigh all sorcery but thine.
No Naïad's leading step conducts the rill;
Nor sylvan god presiding skirts the lawn
In beauteous wildness, with fair-spreading trees;
Nor magic wand has circumscrib'd the scene.
'Tis thine own taste, thy genius that presides,
Nor needs there other deity, nor needs
More potent spells than they."-No more the swain,
For lo, his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn
Advancing, leads him to the social dome.

TO MR. R. D. ON THE DEATH OF MR. SHENSTONE.

Thee, shepherd, thee, the woods and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn. MILT.

'Tis past, my friend; the transient scene is clos'd! The fairy pile, th' enchanted vision rais'd By Damon's magic skill, is lost in air!

What though the lawns and pendant woods remain,

Each tinkling stream, each rushing cataract,
With lapse incessant echoes through the dale?
Yet what avails the lifeless landscape now?
The charm's dissolv'd; the genius of the wood,
Alas! is flown-for Damon is no more.

As when from fair Lyceum crown'd with pines, Or Manalus with leaves autumnal strew'd,