Tho' few thefe awful rocks revere,

And temples that deferted lie; The Mufe fhall afk the tend'reft tear

That ever drop'd from Pity's eye,

T'embalm the ruins, that her fighs deplore,
Where Wisdom, Virtue-dwelt, but dwell no more.

Upon the largest Jewel's dropping out of his Majesty's Crown on his Coronation.

W

ELL I remember on that crouded day,

Which gave thee, George, of all these Ifles the

fway.

A ferious omen of an early date,

Which threaten'd a convulfion of the ftate:

When on thy brow they plac'd the royal Crown,
Then the most precious jewel tumbled down:
Now it is verified—events must tell,

The jewel was America—that fell.

VOL. II.

S

N.

A little

A little

MONOD Y.

To the memory of a natural child which died a few days after the birth---O&. 13, 1772.

HA

By Capt. E. THOMPSON.

AIL! lovely babe-pure as thy natal morn,
Begot with rapture-in difhonour born:

That breaft refus'd-which nature bade thee claim,
Alas! refus'd-to fave thy mother's fame.
The cup of life thou took'st-and turn'd'ft afide-
Tafted-and found it bitter-wept and died.

This to thy fate a piteous parent gave,

Who with his tears bedew'd thy fad, untimely grave.

The

The Lafs of Tylgarfely. Infcribed to Mrs. Lacey, 1775.

PON a wild and thymy heath,

UPON

Near Woodstock's fecret bower;

Where gallant Henry wove a wreathe

Of ev'ry fragrant flower,

To make a garland sweet and rare,
To deck his Rosamunda's hair.

Thrice hapless maid, old Clifford's child,
Whose fall the Mufes fung:

At whofe chafte birth the graces

And every Village rung!

fmil'd,

Fell Jealoufy, which could destroy,

The world's fweet rofe and Henry's joy.

Not fo, the beauteous lafs I fing,

No crime hath ftain'd her name;

For chastity's imperial ring

Her finger fits---and fame;
Virtue on which this pofie wove,
"Simplicity---good nature, love."
Since Rofamond confefs'd the pow'r
Of Eleanor's hard hand;

Nature ne'er nurs'd fo fweet a flow'r

To grace her fairy land:

Had Chaucer liv'd---her charms to fee,

He'd fung the lafs of Tylgarfely.

$ 2

E. T.

Ordo

Ordo mundi probat Deum.

The order of the world proves that there is a God.

L

OOK round thee, man, obferve the planets roll,
Inspect the universe from pole to pole,
From lefs to greater, greater to the whole;
Scearch but the bowels of thy mother earth,
To what unnumber'd beings fhe gives birth;
Explore the deep, proud Neptune's dread domain,
Admire the wonders of his wat❜ry plain;
Try then thy skill, confefs thy weak defign,
Confefs, and own the architect's divine.

But doubting ftill, review the vaulted fkies,
Where worlds on worlds to infinite arife:
Where the bright god of day corrects the ftorms,
And beaming foft, the face of heav'n reforms:
Where Cynthia pale, emits her feeble light,
And rules the realms of folitary night,
Where Hefper leads his starry train along,
Shining himself the brightest of his throng;
Trace all their paths, in beauteous order trod,
And fay, if CHANCE directs them, or a God.
Yet, hark! loud thunder rends the trembling fky,
See, bursting clouds, the livid light'ning fly!
Hear and behold these things, prefumptuous man,
Then be the boasted Atheist, if you can.

LINES

LINES

CLA

ADDRESSED TO A LADY.

LARA, I yield :-deferv'd contempt I meet:
But fpare the worm that curls beneath thy feet!
'Tis true I fink, my race of scandal run,
But what has harmlefs, helpless Tattle done?
No mischiefs threaten from that pond'rous fcull-
My farthing poft,-as innocent as dull:
His head un-us'd, his legs on errands ran,

I fcorn'd the blockhead, but employ'd the man.

Too late, I wish thy dang'rous fpoils unfought,
And curfe the trophies I fo dearly bought.
Abash'd, appall'd, I kifs the vengeful rod,
And shame no more the enfigns of my God.
Secure from me, be hence thy life approv'd,
Thy talents honour'd, and thy beauty lov'd!
For fure as malice points at Clara's fame,
So oft will infult tread on Strato's name.