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No doubt to genius fome reward is due,
(Excluding that were satirizing you):
But yet believe thy undesigning friend,
When truth and genius for thy choice contend,
Tho' both have weight, when in the balance cast,
Let probity be first, and parts the last.
On these foundations if thou dar'it be great,
And check the growth of folly and deceit,
When party rage shall drop thro' length of days,
And calumny be ripen'd into praise,
Then future times shall to thy worth allow
That fame, which envy wou'd call flattery now.
Thus far my zeal, tho? for the task unfit,
Has pointed out the rocks where others split:
By that inspir'd, tho' ftranger to the Nine,
And negligent of any fame but thine,
I take that friendly, but fuperfluous part,
That acts from nature what I teach from art.
To a Lady on a LANDSCAPE of her Drawing.
EHOLD the magic of Theresa's hand!
A new creation blooms at her command.
Touch'd into life the vivid colours glow,
Catch the warm stream, and quicken as they flow.
The ravish'd fight the pleasing landscape fills,
Here fink the vallies, and there rise the hills.
Not with more horror nods bleak Calpe's height,
Than here the pi&ur'd rock astounds the fight.
Not Thames more devious-winding leaves his fource,
Than here the wand'ring rivers shape their course.
Obliquely lab'ring runs the gurgling rill;
Still murm'sing runs, or seems to murmur ftill.
An aged oak, with hoary moss o'erspread,
Here lifts aloft its venerable head;
There overshadowing hangs a sacred wood,
And nods inverted in the neighb’ring food.
Each tree as in its native forest shoots,
And blushing bends with Autumn's golden fruits.
Thy pencil lends the rose a lovelier hue,
And gives the lily fairer to our view.
Here fruits and flow'rs adorn the varied year,
And paradise with all its sweets is here.
There stooping to its fall a tow'r appears,
With tempefts shaken, and a weight of years.
The daisied meadow, and the woodland green,
In order rise, and fill the various scene.
Some parts, in light magnificently dress’d,
Obtrusive enter, and stand all confess'd ;
Whilft others decently in shades are thrown,
And by concealing make their beauties known.
Alternate thus, and mutual is their aid,
The lights owe half their lustre to the shade.
So the bright fires that light the milky way,
Loft and extinguish'd in the solar ray;
In the sun's absence pour a flood of light,
And borrow all their brightness from the night.
To cheat our eyes how well dost thou contrive!
Each object here seems real and alive.
Not more resembling life the figures ftand,
Form'd by Lysippus, or by Phidias' hand.
Unnumber'd beauties in the piece unite;
Rush on the eye, and crowd upon the fight.
At once our wonder and delight you raise,
We view with pleasure, and with rapture praise.
ODE to Cupid on VALENTINE's Day.
OME thou rosy-dimpled boy,
Source of ev'ry heart-felt joy,
Leave the blissful bow'rs awhile,
Paphos and the Cyprian isle:
Visit Britain's rocky shore,
Britons too thy pow'r adore.
Britons hardy, bold, and free,
Own thy laws, and yield to thee,
Source of ev?ry heart-felt joy,
Come thou rosy-dimpled boy,
Haíte to Sylvia, hafte away,
This is thine, and Hymen's day ;
Bid her thy soft bondage wear,
Bid her for Love's rites prepare.
Let the nymphs with many a flow'r
Deck the sacred nuptial bow'r.
Thither lead the lovely fair,
And let Hymen too be there.
This is thine, and Hymen's day,
Hafte to Sylvia, hafte away.
Only while we love we live,
Love alone can pleasure give;
Pomp and pow'r, and tinsel ftate,
Those false pageants of the great,
Crowns and scepters, envied things,
And the pride of Eastern kings,
Are but childifh empty toys,
When compar'd to Love's sweet joys.
Love alone can pleasure give,
Only while we love, we live.
To the Honourable and Reverend F. C.
N frolick’s hour, ere serious thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear CS, when The Muse would take me on her airy wing
And waft to views romantic; there present
Some motley vision, shade and sun: the cliff
O'erhanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins grey ;
Bad me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of varying clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes ambition, brushing by, wou'd twitch
My mantle, and with winning look fublime
Allure to follow. What tho' steep the track,
Her mountain's top wou'd overpay when climb'd
The scaler's toil; her temple there was fine,
And lovely thence the prospects. She cou'd tell
Where laurels grew, whence many a wreath antique;
But more advis’d to fun the barren twig,
(What is immortal verdure without fruit?)
And woo some thriving art: her num'rous mines
Were open to the searcher's skill and pains.
Caught by th' harangue, heart beat, and flatt'ring pulse
Sounded irregular marches to be gone
What, pause a moment when Ambition calls ?
No, the blood gallops to the distant goal,
And throbs to reach it. Let the lame fit still.
When Fortune gentle, at the hill's verge extreme,
Array'd in decent garb, but somewhat thin,
Smiling approach'd, and what occafion af'd,
Of climbing ? She already provident
Had cater'd well, if stomach cou'd digest
Her viands, and a palatę not too nice.