And all the complicated ills that wait
Ever attendant on that helpless state.

Yet, yet, illuftrious youth, no more repine, That Homer's, or that Milton's lot is thine;

Since from those tuneful bards the palm you bear, And more our wonder claim, as more their fate you fhare.

If, where the body's light extinct we find,
Such inward rays illuminate the mind,
Who would not wish to be for ever blind?

Ev'n he whose pious muse attempts to raise
This humble verse to thy immortal praise,
Partakes thy lofs; with close contracted fight
All things he views, and scarce discerns aright
Those objects which in mid-day lustre shine,
The fun's bright orb, or female face divine.
Yet might an equal portion of thy fire,

With notes like thine, his fwelling breast inspire, His foul with heav'nly vifions bleft would glow, And leave to feeing mortals all below.

Thou

Thou too, whom by thefe ftrains I ftrive to please, And give thy pains fome interval of eafe,

With me prefer this pray'r: That heav'n may grant Such large amends for the clear fight we want; Pour on our minds this poet's brighter day,

And bless us with his intellectual ray:

So fhall our grief a frequent refpite know,
And our alternate fong relieve each other's woe,

Thus sweetest Philomel, once fpotlefs maid,
Till by a brother's brutal luft betray'd,
Within the covert of the fhady grove
Sings darkling, and forgets her injur'd love.

POEMS

POEMS

ON

SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

HORACE, ODE I. Imitated.

Infcribed to

Dr. JOHN STEVENSON, Physician,

in Edinburgh.

THOU, whofe goodness unconfin'd

Extends its wish to human kind;

By whose indulgence I aspire

To strike the sweet Horatian lyre:

THERE are who on th' Olympic plain Delight the chariot's speed to rein

;

Involv'd in glorious duft, to roll;
To turn with glowing wheel the goal;

B

5

Who

Who by repeated trophies rife,

And fhare with Gods their

pomp and skies.

ΤΟ

This man, if changeful crouds admire,

Fermented ev'n to mad defire,

Their fool or villain to elate

To all the honours of the ftate;

Whate'er th' autumnal fun matures,

Pleas'd his paternal field to plow,
Remote from each ambitious view;
Vaft India's wealth would bribe in vain,
To launch the bark, and cut the main.

THE merchant, while the western breeze

Ferments to rage th' Icarian feas,

Urg'd by th' impending hand of fate,

15

20

Extolls to heav'n his country-feat,

Its sweet retirement, fearless eafe,

25

The fields, the air, the streams, the trees;

Yet fits the shatter'd bark again,

Refolv'd to brave the tumid main,
Refolv'd all hazards to endure,

Nor fhun a plague, but, to be poor.

30

ONE

ÖNE with the free, the gen'rous bowl,
Abforbs his cares, and warms his foul:

Now wrapt in ease, fupinely laid
Beneath the myrtle's am'rous fhade;

Now where fome facred fountain flows,

Whose cadence soft invites repose;
While half the fultry fummer's day

On filent pinions steals away.

SOME bofoms boast a nobler flame,

In fields of death to toil for fame,

In war's grim front to tempt their fate;

Curft war! which brides and mothers hate:

As in each kindling hero's fight

Already glows the promis'd fight,

Their hearts with more than transport bound, 45
While drums and trumpets mix their found.
UNMINDFUL of his tender wife,

And ev'ry home-felt bliss of life,
The huntsman, in th' unfhelter'd plains,
Heav'n's whole inclemency fuftains,
Now scales the steepy mountain's fide,
Now tempts the torrent's headlong tide;

B 2

59

Whether