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She bore of steel a polish'd shield,
Where highly-sculpturd I beheld
The’ Athenian martyr' smiling stand,
The baleful goblet in his hand :
Sparkled her eyes with lively flame,
And Patience was the Seraph's name;
Sternly she look'd, and stern began-

Thy sorrows cease, complaining man,
Rouse thy weak soul, appease thy moan,
Soon are the clouds of sadness gone;
Though now in Grief's dark groves you walk,
Where grisly fiends about you stalk,
Beyond a blissful city lies,
Far from whose gates each anguish flies :
Take thon this shield, which once of yore
Ulysses and Alcides wore,
And which in later days I gave
To Regulus and Raleigh brave;
In exile or in dungeon drear,
Their mighty minds could banish fear;
Thy heart no tenfold woes shall feel,
'Twas virtue temper'd the rough steel;
And, by her heavenly fingers wrought,
To me the precious present brought.'

1 Sucrales,

TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O thou, that to the moonlight vale Warblest oft thy plaintive tale, What time the village murmurs cease, And the still eve is hush'd to peace, When now no busy sound is heard, Contemplation's favourite bird !

Chantress of night, whose amorous song
First heard the tufted groves among,
Warns wanton Mabba to begin
Her revels on the circled green,
Whene'er by Meditation led,
I nightly seek some distant mead;

A short repose of cares to find,
And soothe my love-distracted mind;
O fail not then, sweet Philomel,
Thy sadly-warbled woes to tell;
For sympathetic numbers join
Thy pangs of lackless love with mine!
So may no swain's rude hand infest
Thy tender young, and rob thy nest;
Nor ruthless fowler's guileful snare
Lure thee to leave the fields of air,
No more to visit vale or shade,
Some barbarous virgin's captive made.

ON THE SPRING.

TO A LADY.
Lo! Spring array'd in primrose-colour'd robe,

Fresh beauties sheds on each enliven'd scene, With showers and sunshine cheers the smiling globe,

And mantles hill and vale in glowing green.

All nature feels her vital heat around,

The pregnant glebe now bursts with foodful grain; With kindly warmth she opes the frozen ground,

And with new life informs the teeming plain.

She calls the fishes from their oozy beds,

And animates the deep with genial love; She bids the herds bound sportive o'er the mead,

And with glad songs awakes the joyous grove.

No more the glaring tiger roams for prey,

All-powerful Love subdues his savage soul, To find his spotted mate he darts away, While gentler thoughts the thirst of blood con

trol.

But ah! while all is warmth and soft desire,

While all around Spring's cheerful infuence own, You feel not, Amoret, her quickening fire,

To Spring's kind influence a foe alone.

TO A LADY

WHO HATES THE COUNTRY.

Now Summer, daughter of the Sun, O'er the gay fields comes dancing on,

And earth o'erflows with joys; Too long in routs and drawing-rooms, The tasteless hours my fair consumes,

Midst folly, flattery, noise.

Come bear mild zephyr bid the rose
Her balmy-breathing buds disclose,

Come hear the falling rill;
Observe the honey-loaded bee,
The beech-embower'd cottage see,

Beside yon sloping hill.

By health awoke at early morn,
We'll brush the dew from every thorn,

And help unpen the fold;
Hence to yon hollow oak we'll stray,
Where dwelt, as village-fables say,

An holy Druid old.

Come wildly rove through desert dales, To listen how lone nightingales

In liquid lays complain ; Adieu the tender thrilling note, That pants in Monticelli's throat,

And Handel's stronger strain.

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' Insipid pleasures these! (you cry)
Must I from dear assemblies fly

To see rude peasants toil?
For operas listen to a bird ?
Shall Sidney's' fables be preferrd

To my sagacious Hoyle 2 ?"

LE

TICAR

O falsely fond of what seems great,
Of purple pomp and robes of state,

And all life's tinsel glare!
Rather with humble violets bind,
Or give to wander in the wind

Your length of sable hair.

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Şoon as you reach the rural shade,
Will Mirth, the sprightly mountain-maid,

Your days and nights attend;
She'll bring fantastic Sport and Song,
Nor Cupid will be absent long,

Your true ally and friend.

Fon For Isis,

She 1 Chose

The VI

Arcadia; a romance by Sir Philip Sidney.
2 Alluding to those ladies who have left their Novels and
Romances for the profound study of Mr. Hoyle's book u!!
Whist.

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