To a FRIEND in the COUNTRY *.

W

HILE you (where paffion, noise, nor cares affail,)

Waste the calm hour in Life's fequefter'd vale, Bleft with each object that confpires to please, Books, friends, retirement, freedom, health, and eafe; Me vainly pining, Fate's rough hand removes Far from deep fhades, and confecrated groves;

To count long days that roll fucceffive o'er,

Launch'd far on deeps where darkness wraps the fhore;
Forced in tumultuous fcenes to bear a part,

What numbs the thought, or tears the feeling heart;
Yet Fancy rapt where her fair Eden blows,
Counts the loved haunt of filence and repofe.

SHE, oft' attendant on thy happier days,
Burfts the dim fhade, or wood's involving maze ;
Beholds thee rapt to Ilion's towery height,

Or whirl'd with Hector thro' the ranks of fight;
Or borne where groves o'erhang the central pile,
Stretch'd in the depth of Circe's lonely isle;

* The greater part of this Poem der this intimation might have been was wrote at a very early period of life. Perhaps to the difcerning rea

spared,

Thrill'd as thou hearft the patient man complain, The waste of æther eyed, or pathless main, While, each dear object of his care furvey'd, Loved fceres, but wrapt in ever-during fhade, Still to the murmuring deeps that rowl below, Swells the long plaint of foul-fubduing woe.

PERHAPS You liften to fome gentler ftrain That paints the gliding ftream, or flowery plain; Or fee'ft Corneille the ftrength of Genius prove, Or hearst on Petrarch's lute the plaint of love. Does milder Fenelon his aid impart

To charm the fancy, while he mends the heart? Unhappy Fenelon! condemn'd to spend

Thy Youth in cares, thine age without a friend;
Forced at a rival's hated fhrine to bow,

To tear the lawrel wreath that graced thy brow;
Thy worth forgot, thy labours unrepaid,
Thy name dishonour'd, and thy Patron dead;
T'obey the mandate of imperious Rome,'
And kifs the fcornful hand that feal'd thy doom.
Yet then ferene triumphant virtue ftood:
Thy Genius blazed refulgent thro' the cloud;
The mind that ruled a court, adorn'd retreat;
And Cambray's bowers became the Mufe's feat.

Then foreign realms confpired thy fame to raise,
Contending Wits turn'd rivals in thy praise;
A diftant Nation own'd thy worth with pride,
And Britain paid the debt that France denied.

HAIL loved retreat where melts the thrilling lay! Hail fhades illumed with Pleasure's gentleft ray ! When shall I rest in each sequester'd cell!

Or haunt the bower where Thought delights to dwell!
On Life's wide stage, where with inchanting mien
Young Hope or Beauty paint the varying scene,
Soon pafs the forms, though deem'd divinely fair;
One finks to duft, and one diffolves in air:
Long o'er the space where all the Loves refort,
Or Childhood meek, or frolic Youth disport;
Long o'er Life's devious walks delight to roam,
Till fober Evening calls the wanderers home.
Then fled what light th' illufive phantoms gave,
Age wooes Retirement's drear' but peaceful cave;
There, heard remote what once with transport blest,
Sooth'd with the lingering murmur sinks to rest.

HERE Shakespear first th' inspiring voice obey'd, Lone Nature rear'd him in the woodland fhade: Deep was the gloom, the intermingling fprays Screen'd her wild manfion from the noon-day blaze:

A

A folemn vault, to human fearch denied,
Torn from the ragged rock's refounding fide!
Around in cells difpofed with parent care,

Lay what informs the earth, or fcents the air;
The orient hue, the Zephir's mufky wing,
The cloud's prolific balm that wakes the fpring;
The genial breath that gives the buds to blow,
The vital drop that warms the bleeding bough.
Nor thefe alone her quickening power confefs'd ;
The tender tale that thrills the fwelling breaft,
That melts th' impaffion'd heart to her was given,
And words that lift th' inraptured foul to heaven.

LED by the light her own effulgence gave,
Slow roam'd the Goddefs o'er the fhadowy cave;
Or lay transform'd in high extatic dream,
Lull'd by the lapfe of Avon's murmuring ftream!
Here, as in Fancy's lap he lay reclined,

The Power observant scann'd his boundless mind;
Soon to her piercing thought its end was known;
She faw, She loved, She mark'd him for her own.
Hence fcorn'd the Bard, when Nature warm'd his ftrain,
The feeble curb of Art's controuling rein;

He burft the bands, and with exalted aim

Tower'd like the Source from whence his Genius came.

O grant me Heav'n fome deep fequefter'd scene, Though calm, not dull, and though retired, not mean!

With affluence bleft to still the plaint of woe,
With health to tafte the pleasures I bestow;
To raise th' oppreft, to fmooth the front of Care,
The deep felt pang to foften, or to share :
Be mine the task infulted worth to clear,
To check in Pity's eye th' o'erfhading tear;
Watch the first found of Want's complaining voice,
And bid the Mourner's drooping heart rejoice.

OFT' when the mind to cool remembrance brought, O'erpower'd, not fated, leaves the feast of thought; (Bleft, where the liberal heart with pleasure ftored, Shares each rich viand of the various board ;) Then may we, rapt to Fancy's woodbine bower, Steal from the noife of life one happier hour; O'er themes ftill new each mutual thought impart, Indulge the talk that opes th' unconscious heart; Thus bleft, till landed on the peaceful fhore, Serene we reft where Pleasure lures no more.

Written