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« If Heav'n with children crown your dwelling,

"As mine its bounty does with you, "In fondnefs fatherly excelling,

"Th' example you have felt purfue."

He paus'd—for tenderly caressing

The darling of his wounded heart, Looks had means only of expressing

Thoughts, language never could impart.

Now night, her mournful mantle fpreading,
Had rob'd in black th' horizon round,

And dank dews, from her tresses fhedding.
With genial moisture bath'd the ground j

When back to city follies flying,

'Midst custom's flaves he liv'd resign'd,

His face, array'd in fmiles, denying
The true complexion of his mind.

For ferioufly around furveying

Each character, in youth and age,
Of fools betray'd, and knaves betraying,

That play'd upon this human stage;

(Peaceful himfelf and undeligning)

He loath'd the fcenes of guile and strife,

And felt each fecret wUh inclining
To leave this fretful farce of life.

Yet to whate'er above was fated

Obediently he bow'd his foul,
For, what all-bounteous Heav'n created,

He thought Heav'n only should controul.



Occasioned by seeing the Graves dressed with Flowers, at Brecknock in Wales.

"WHITHER away, fair maid!" I cry'd,

As on old Hundy's bank I lay, When, passing by me, I efpy'd

A modest maid in neat array.

Upon her red but well-turn'd arm

A littfe wicker-balket hung;
With flowers of various hues complete,

And branches ever-green and young:

The fragrant bay, the mournful yew,
The cyprefs, and the box, were there;

The daify py'd, the violet blue,

The red pink, and the primrofe fair.

"And why that balket on your arm,

"With all thofe fragrant fweets fupply'd f"

With blulhing look, and pensive air,
And voice of meeknefs, foft Ihe sigh'd:

f To yonder church-yard do I haste,

"To drefs the grave where Henry fleeps;

"No maid a truer Lover blefs'd—

"No maid more faithful lover weeps.

"Stern Death forbade us to unite,

"And cut him down with ruthlefs blow;

"And now I fpeed to deck his grave,
"As 'tis our weekly wont to do."

The melancholy custom pleas'd i

She left me wrapp'd in pensive thought; Ideas fad, but foothing, rofe,

When my flow steps the church-yard fought.

There, kneeling o'er her Henry's grave,

Adorn'd with all her basket's store, The rural maiden, sighing, hung,

Her eyes with tender tears ran o'er.

She rais'd thofe eyes, fo full of tears,

Which now and then stole down her cheek _

And much to Heav'n flie would have fpoke,
But forrow Would not let her fpeak.

Yet, though her thoughts could sind no vent,

There is, who reads each honest minds And the true heart to Him devote, 'Shall ample fatisfaction sind.

Then, gentle maiden! do not fear,

Again thy Henry thou fhalt meet S Till then thy tender talk purfue,

And strew thy greens and fiow'rs fo fweet.

And you, whom all around 1 fee,

The fame dear mournful tafk employ: Ye parents, children, hulbands, wives,

The melancholy blifs enjoy! Oh I 'tis delicious to maintain

Of friends deceas'd a due refpect! Then bring me fiow'rets—bring me greens,

Straight fhall my parents' grave be deck'd; And many a friend's (whom faithful lore

Still keeps alive within my breast)

Luxurioufly fad, I'll fee

With choicest garlands weekly drefs'J.

Come, then, the wicker-bafket bring;

Come, Memory, and with me go!
Each lovely flower that breathes the fpring

Affection's gentle hand lhall strew:

A mellow tear of foothing woe,

Shall o'er the graves fpontaneous fall;

While Heav'n the heart's still wish Audi hear,
And to each other grant us all.




Ere yet, ingenuous youth, thy steps retire

From Cam's fmooth margin, and the peaceful Tale, Where Science call'd thee to her studious quire,

And met thee musing in her cloisters pale; O let thy friend (and may he boast the name!)

Breathe from his artlefs reed one parting lay: A lay like this thy early virtues claim,

And this let voluntary friendlhip pay.

Yet know, the time arrives, the dang'rbus time.
When all thofe virtues, op'ning now so fair,

Tranfplanted to the world's tempestuous clime,
Must learn each passion's beUVrous breath to bear;

There, if Amhition, pestilent and pale,

Or Luxury should taint their vernal glow; If cold felf-interest, with her chilling gale,

Should hlast th' unfolding hloffoms e'er they hlow

If mimic hues, hy Art or Fashion fpread,

Their genume simple colouring should fupply;

O may with them thefe laureate honours fade,
And with them (if it can) my friendship die!

Then do not hlame, if, though thyfelf infpire,
Cautious I strike the panegyric string;

The Mufe full oft purfues a meteor sire,

And vainly vent'rous, foars on waxen wing:

Too actively awake at Friendship's voice,

The Poet's hofom pours the fervent strain, . Till fad Reflection hlames the hasty- choice, And oft invokes Ohlivion's aid in vain.

Call we the made of Pope from that hlest how'r, Where thron'd he sits with many a tuncfi'l fage;

A/k, if he ne'er hemoans that haplefs hour

When St. John's name illumin'd Glory's page.

Ask, if the wretch who dar'd his mem'ry stain;
Ask, if his country's, his religion's foe,

Deferv'd the meed that Malhro' fail'd to gain;
The deathlefs meed he only could hestow:

The Bard will tell thee, the misguided praife
Clouds the celestial funshine ot his hreast;

E'en now, repentant of his errmg lays,
He heaves a sigh amid the realms of rest.

If Pope Lhrc tgh Frieudship fail'd, mdignant view,
Vet pity Dry den—hark, whene'er he sinjjs,

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