Lord of my time my devious path I bend,
Thro' fringy woodland, or fmooth-fhaven lawn;
Or penfile grove, or airy cliff afcend,

And hail the scene by nature's pencil drawn.

Thanks be to fate-tho' nor the racy vine,
Nor fatt'ning olive cloath the fields I rove,
Sequefter'd fhades, and gurgling founts are mine,
And ev'ry filvan grott the muses love.

Here if my vista point the mould'ring pile,
Where hood and cowl devotion's afpect wore,
I trace the tott'ring reliques with a smile,
To think the mental bondage is no more!

Pleas'd if the glowing landscape wave with corn;
Or the tall oaks, my country's bulwark, rife;
Pleas'd, if mine eye, o'er thousand vallies borne,
Discern the Cambrian hills support the skies.

And fee PLINLIMMON! ev'n the youthful fight
Scales the proud hill's etherial cliffs with pain!
Such CAER-CARADOC! thy ftupendous height,
Whose ample shade obfcures th' Iernian main.

Bleak, joylefs regions! where, by fcience fir'd,
Some prying fage his lonely step may bend;
There, by the love of novel plants infpir'd,
Inviduous view the clamb'ring goats afcend.

Yet for thofe mountains, clad with lafting fnow,
The freeborn BRITON left his greenest mead,
Receding fullen from his mightier foe,

For here he saw fair liberty recede.

Then if a chief perform'd a patriot's part,
Suftain'd her drooping fons, repell'd her foes,
Above or Perfian luxe, or Attic art,

The rude majestic monument arofe.

Progreffive ages carol'd forth his fame;

Sires, to his praise, attun'd their children's tongue; The hoary druid fed the gen'rous flame,

While, in fuch strains, the rev'rend vizard fung.

Go forth, my fons !-for what is vital breath, Your gods expell'd, your liberty refign'd? Go forth, my fons! for what is inftant death To fouls fecure perennial joys to find?

For fcenes there are, unknown to war or pain,
Where drops the balm that heals a tyrant's wound;
Where patriots, bleft with boundless freedom, reign,
With mifletoe's myfterious garlands crown'd

Such are the names that grace your myftic fongs;
Your folemn woods refound their martial fire;
To you, my fons, the ritual meed belongs,

If in the caufe you vanquish, or expire.

Hark!

Hark! from the facred oak that crowns the groves,
What aweful voice my raptur'd bofom warms;
This is the favour'd moment heav'n approves,
Sound the fhrill trump; this inftant, found, to arms."

Theirs was the science of a martial race,

To shape the lance, or decorate the shield; Ev'n the fair virgin ftain'd her native grace, To give new horrors to the tented field.

Now, for fome cheek where guilty blushes glow,
For fome falfe FLORIMEL's impure disguise,
The lifted youth, nor war's loud fignal know,
Nor virtue's call, nor fame's imperial prize.

Then if soft concord lull'd their fears to fleep,
Inert and filent flept the manly car;
But rush'd horrific o'er the fearful steep,
If freedom's aweful clarion breath'd to war.

Now the fleek courtier, indolent and vain,
Thron'd in the fplendid carriage glides fupine;
To taint his virtue with a foreign strain,
Or at a fav'ourite's board, his faith refign.

Leave then, O luxury! this happy foil!

Chafe her, BRITANNIA, to fome hoftile fhore! Or* fleece the baneful pest with annual spoil, And let thy virtuous offspring weep no more!

ELEGY

Alludes to a tax upon Luxury, then in debate,

ELEGY XXII.

Written in the year

when the rights of

S

fepulture were so frequently violated.

A Y, gentle fleep, that lov'ft the gloom of night, Parent of dreams! thou great magician, say, Whence my late vifion thus endures the light;

Thus haunts my fancy thro' the glare of day.

The filent moon had fcal'd the vaulted skies,
And anxious care refign'd my limbs to reft;
A fudden luftre ftruck my wond'ring eyes,
And SILVIA ftood before

my

couch confeft.

Ah! not the nymph fo blooming and so gay,
That led the dance beneath the festive shade!
But the that, in the morning of her day,

Intomb'd beneath the grafs-green fod was laid.

No more her eyes their wonted radiance caft;
No more her breast inspir'd the lover's flame,
No more her cheek the Pæftan rose surpast;

Yet feem'd her lip's etherial fmile the fame.

Nor fuch her hair as deck'd her living face;

Nor fuch her voice as charm'd the lift'ning crowd; Nor fuch her drefs as heighten'd ev'ry grace;

Alas! all vanish'd for the mournful shroud!

Yet feem'd her lip's etherial charm the fame;
That dear distinction every doubt remov'd;
Perish the lover, whofe imperfect flame

Forgets one feature of the nymph he lov❜d.

"DAMON, fhe faid, mine hour allotted flies;
Oh! do not wafte it with a fruitless tear!
Tho' griev'd to fee thy SILVIA's pale disguise,
Sufpend thy forrow, and attentive hear.

So may thy mufe with virtuous fame be bleft!
So be thy love with mutual love repaid!

So

may thy bones in facred filence rest,

Faft by the reliques of fome happier maid!

Thou know'ft, how ling'ring on a distant shore
Disease invidious nipt my flow'ry prime;

And oh ! what pangs Ly tender bosom tore,
To think I ne'er muft view my native clime!

No friend was near to raife my drooping head;
No dear companion wept to fee me die;
Loage me within my native foil, I faid;
There my fond parents honour'd reliques lie.

Tho'