Here temples rife, amid whofe hallow'd bounds
Spires the black pine, while thro' the naked street,
Once haunt of tradeful merchants, fprings the grass:
Here columns heap'd on proftrate columns, torn
From their firm base, increase the mould'ring mass.
Far as the fight can pierce, appear the spoils
Of funk magnificence! a blended scene
Of moles, fanes, arches, domes, and palaces,
Where, with his brother Horror, Ruin fits.

O come then, Melancholy, queen of thought!
O come with faintly look, and stedfast step,
From forth thy cave embower'd with mournful yew,
Where to the diftant curfeu's folemn found

Lift'ning thou fitt'ft, and with thy cypress bind
Thy votary's hair, and feal him for thy fon.
But never let Euphrófyne beguile

With toys of wanton mirth my fixed mind,
Nor in my path her primrofe-garland cast.
Tho' 'mid her train the dimpled Hebe bare
Her rofy bofom to th' enamour'd view ;
Tho' Venus, mother of the Smiles and Loves,
And Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, in citron-bow'r
With her on nectar-ftreaming fruitage feaft :
What tho' 'tis her's to calm the low'ring (kies,
And at her prefence mild th' embattel'd clouds
Difperfe in air, and o'er the face of heav'n
New day diffufive gleam at her approach;
Yet are these joys that Melancholy gives,

Than

Than all her witlefs revels happier far;
Thefe deep-felt joys, by Contemplation taught.
Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail!
From thee began, aufpicious maid, my fong,
With thee fhall end: for thou art fairer far
Than are the nymphs of Cirrha's moffy grot;
To loftier rapture thou canft wake the thought,
Than all the fabling Poet's boafted pow'rs.
Hail, queen divine! whom, as tradition tells,
Once, in his ev'ning-walk a Druid found,
Far in a hollow glade of Mona's woods;
And piteous bore with hospitable hand
To the clofe fhelter of his oaken bow'r.
There foon the fage admiring mark'd the dawn
Of folemn mufing in your penfive thought;
For when a smiling babe, you lov❜d to lie
Oft deeply lift'ning to the rapid roar

Of wood-hung Meinai, ftream of Druids old,
That lav'd his hallow'd haunt with dashing wave.

*******

A SONNET; written at W in the Absence of

By the Same.

DE, thy beechen flopes with waving grain
Border'd, thine azure views of wood and lawn,
Whilom could charm, or when the joyous Dawn
'Gan Night's dun robe with flushing purple ftain,

DE

Or

Or Evening drove to fold her woolly train;
Her fairest landscapes whence my Muse has drawn,
Too free with fervile courtly phrase to fawn,
Too weak to try the Bufkin's ftately strain;

Yet now no more thy flopes of beech and corn
Nor profpects charm, fince Hɛ far-diftant ftrays
With whom I trac'd their fweets each eve and morn.
From Albion far, to cull Hefperian bays;
In this alone they please, howe'er forlorn,
That ftill they can recall those happier days.

W

On BATHING.

A SONNET.

By the Same.

WHEN late the trees were ftript by Winter pale,

Fair HEALTH, a Dryad-maid in vesture green,
Rejoyc'd to rove 'mid the bleak fylvan scene,
On airy uplands caught the fragrant gale,
And ere fresh morn the low-couch'd lark did hail
Watching the found of earliest horn was seen.
But fince gay Summer, thron'd in chariot sheen,
Is come to fcorch each primrose sprinkled dale,

She

She chufes that delightful cave beneath

The crystal treasures of meek Ifis' stream;
And now all glad the temperate air to breathe,
While cooling drops distil from arches dim,
Binding her dewy locks with fedgy wreath
She fits amid the quire of Naiads trim.

To Lady H-Y. By Mr. de VOLTAIRE.

-Y would you know the paffion
You have kindled in my breast,

Hy

Trifling is the inclination

That by words can be express'd.

In my filence fee the lover,

True love is by filence known;
In my eyes you'll beft discover

All the power of your own.

*****************

On Sir ROBERT WALPOLE'S Birth-day,
AUGUST the 26th.

A

By the Honourable Mr. D. ΤΟΝ.

LL hail, aufpicious day, whose wish'd return
Bids every breaft with grateful ardor burn,

1

While pleas'd Britannia that great man furveys
The Prince may truft, and yet the People praise :

One bearing greatest toils with greatest ease,`

us, and

One born to ferve
yet born to please;
His foul capacious, yet his judgment clear,
His tongue is flowing, and his heart fincere;
His counfels guide, his temper cheers our isle,
And smiling gives three kingdoms caufe to fmile.
Auguft, how bright thy golden fcenes appear,
Thou faireft daughter of the various year,
On thee the fun with all his ardor glows,
On thee in dowry all its fruits bestows,
The greatest Prince, the foremost fon of fame,
To thee bequeath'd the glories of his name;
Nature and Fortune thee their darling chofe,
Nor could they grace thee more, 'till Walpole rofe.
By steps to mighty things Fate makes her way,
The fun and Cæfar but prepar'd this day.

XXXX

The Lawyer's Farewell to his Mufe.

Written in the Year 1744

AS, by fome tyrant's ftern command,

A wretch forfakes his native land,

In foreign climes condemn'd to roam
An endless exile from his home;

XXXX

Penfive