The gloom difpels, the charnel fmiles,
Light flashes thro' the vaulted iles.
Blow filky foft, thou western gale,
O goddess of the defert, hail!

She burfts from yon cliff-riven cave,
Infulted by the wintry wave;
Her brow an ivy garland binds,
Her treffes wanton with the winds,
A lion's fpoils, without a zone,
Around her limbs are careless thrown;
Her right hand wields a knotted mace,
Her eyes roll wild, a stride her pace;
Her left a magic mirror holds,
In which the oft herfelf beholds.

O goddess of the defart, hail!

And fofter blow, thou western gale!

Since in each scheme of life I've fail'd, And disappointment seems entail'd;

Since all on earth I valued most,

My guide, my stay, my friend is loft;
You, only you, can make me blest,
And hush the tempeft in my breast.
Then gently deign to guide my feet
To your hermit-trodden feat,
Where I may live at last my own,
Where I at last may die unknown.
I spoke, the twin'd her magic ray,
And thus fhe faid, or feem'd to fay.

Youth,

Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find
In fhades a medicine for a troubled mind;
Wan Grief will haunt you wherefoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow,
There pale Inaction pines his life away,
And, fatiate, curses the return of day:
There naked Frenzy laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main :
There Superftition broods o'er all her fears,
And yells of dæmons in the Zephyr hears.
But if a hermit you're refolv'd to dwell,
And bid to focial life a last farewell;
"Tis impious..

God never made an independent man,
'Twould jarr the concord of his general plan:
See every part of that ftupendous whole,
"Whofe body Nature is, and God the foul;"
To one great end, the general good, conspire,
From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire.
Should man thro' Nature folitary roam,
His will his fovereign, every where his home,
What force wou'd guard him from the lion's jaw?
What swiftnefs wing him from the panther's paw?
Or fhould Fate lead him to fome fafer fhore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar ;
Where liberal Nature all her charms beflows,

Sans fhine, birds fing, flowers bloom, and water flows,

Fool,

Fool, doft thou think he'd revel on the store,

Abfolve the care of Heaven, nor afk for more?

Tho' waters flow'd, flow'rs bloom'd, and Phœbus fhone,

He'd figh, he'd murmur that he was alone.

For know, the Maker on the human breast
A fenfe of kindred, country, man, impreft;
And focial life to better, aid, adorn,
With proper faculties each mortal's born.

Tho' Nature's works the ruling mind declare,
And well deserve enquiry's ferious care,
The God (whate'er Mifanthrophy may say)
Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray.
What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole?
Hang o'er the fun, and with the planets roll ?
What boots thro' space's furtheft bourns to roam?
If thou, O man, a stranger art at home.
Then know thyfelf, the human mind furvey,
The use, the pleasure will the toil repay.
Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays,

Hence Homer's crown, and Shakespear hence thy bays.
Hence he, the pride of Athens and the fhame,
The best and wifeft of mankind became.

Nor ftudy only, practise what you know,
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine:
Those who in ftudy, fhou'd in practice shine.
Say, does the learned Lord of Hagley's fhade,
Charm man fo much by moffy fountains laid,

As when arouz'd, he stems Corruption's course,
And shakes the fenate with a Tully's force?
When Freedom gafp'd beneath a Cæfar's feet,
Then publick Virtue might to shades retreat;
But where the breathes, the least may useful be,
And Freedom, Britain, ftill belong to thee.
Tho' man's ungrateful, or tho' Fortune frown;
Is the reward of worth a fong, or crown ?
Nor yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains,
Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
Nor dare repine, tho' early Friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares he's freed.
But know, Adverfity's the child of God;
Whom Heaven approves of most, most feel her rod.
When smooth old Ocean and each storm's afleep,
Then Ignorance may plough the watery deep;
But when the dæmons of the tempest rave,`-
Skill muft conduct the veffel thro' the wave.
Sidney, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who wou'd not wish Anytus for a foet

n

Intrepid Virtue triumphs over Fate,

The good can never be unfortunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind,

The height of virtue is to serve mankind.

But when old age has filver'd o'er thy head, When memory fails, and all thy vigour's fled,

Then may'st thou seek the ftillness of retreat,
Then hear aloof the human tempeft beat,

Then will I greet thee to my woodland cave,

Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave.

染染

An

O DE

To the Right Honourable

STEPHEN POYNTZ, Efq; &c. &c.

By the Honourable

Sir CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS, Kt. of the Bath.
Senfere quid mens rite, quid indoles di
Nutrita fauftis fub penetralibus

WHILST

Each English breast with transport raise,

Each English tongue employ;

Say, Poyntz, if thy elated heart

Affumes not a fuperior part,

A larger thare of joy?

II. But