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How Adulation drops hep courtly dow
On titled rhimers and ioglorious kings!

See from the depths of his exhaustlefs mine,

His glitt'ritig stores the tuneful fpendthrift throws: j Where fear or int'rest bids, beholds they ihine;

Now grace a Cromwell's now a Charles's brows. Born with too geu'rous or too mean a heart,

Dryden! in vain to thee thofe stores wera lent; Thy fweetest numbers but a trifling art 5

Thy strongest diction idly eloquent.

The fimplest, lyre, if Truth directs its lays,
Warbles a melody ne'er heard from thine:

Not to disgust with falfe and venal praife,

Was Faruell's modest fame, and may be mine. '

Go then, my friend, nor let thy candid breast
Condemn me, if t check the plausive string:

Go to the wayward world; complete the rest;
Bs what the purest Mufe would wish to sing.

Be still thyfelf: that open path of truth,

Which led thee here, let manhood sirm purfue; .1 Retain the fweet fimplicity of youth;

And all thy virtue dictates, dare to do.

Still fcorn, with confcious pride, the malk of art;

On Vice's front let fearful caution low'r } And teach the diffident, difcreeter part

Of knaves that plot, and fools that fawn for pow'r. So, round thy brow when Age's honours fpread,

When Death's cold hand unstrmgs thy Mafon's Iyre#. £A When the green turf lies lightly on his head.

Thy worth fhall fome fuperior bard infpire;

He to the ample!! bounds of Time's domain

On Rapture's plume shall give thy name to fly;' For trust, with revVence trust, this Sabine strain,

"The Mufe forbids the virtuous man to die."

-s- s~ ^

ODE,

TO A FRIEND,
i.

AH! ceafe this kind perfualive strain,

Which, when it flows from Friendlhip's tongue,

However weak, however vain,

O'erpow'rs beyond the Siren's fong:

Leave me, my friend, indulgent go,

And let me mufe upon my woe.

Why lure me from thefe pale retreats? »

Why rob me of thefe penfive fweets?

Can Music's voice, can beauty's eye,

Can Painting's glowing hand fupply

A charm fo fuited to my mind,

As blows this hollow gust of wind,

As drops this little weeping rill,

Soft tinkling down the mofs-grown hill, ^'

While thro' the west, where sinks the crimfon day, Meek Twilight stowly fails, and waves her banners gray!

ir.

Say, from Affliction's various fource
Do none but turbid waters flow?
And cannot Fancy clear their courfe?
For Fancy is the friend of Woe.

OS

Say, mid that grove, in love-lorn state,

While yon poor Ringdove mourns her mate.

Is all that meets the fhepherd's ear,

Infpir'd by anguilh,and defpair?

Ah, no! fair Fancy rules the fong:

She fwells her throat; fhe 'guides her tongue;

She bids the waving afpin fpray

Quiver in cadence to her lay;

She bids the fringed osiers bow,

And rustle round the lake below. To fuit the tenor of her gurgling sighs, And foothe her throbbing breast with folemn fympathies.

in.

To thee, whofe young and polifh'd brow
The wrinkling hand of Sorrow fpares;
Whole checks, bestrew'd with rofes, know
No channel for the tide of tears;
To thee yon abbey, clank and lone.
Where ivv chains each mouldering stone
That nods o'er many a martyr's tomb,
May cast a formidable gloom.
Yet fome there are, who, free from fear,
Could wander through the cloijiers drear,
Could rove each defolated aile,
Though midnight thuuders shook the pile;
And dauntlefs view, or feem to view,
(At faintly flafh the light'nin^s blue,)
Thin lhiv'ring ghofts from yawning charnels throng,
And glance with silent fweep the fhaggy vaults ftloag
rv.

But fuch terrisic charms as these,
I ask not yet; my sober mintl ,

The fainter forms of fadnefs pleafe; *

My forrows are of fofter kind.

Through this still valley let me stray,

Rapt in fome strain of penfve Gray:

Whofe lofty genius hears along"

The confcious dignity of fong j

And fcorning from the facred store

To waste a note on Pride or Power,

Roves through the glimmering twilight gloom,

And warhles round each rustic tomh:

He too, perchance (for well I know,

His heart can melt with fiiendly woe), He loo, perchance, when thefe poor limhs are laid, Will heare one tuneful sigh, and foothe my hovering fhade,

BEATTIE.

RETlREMENT,

AN ODE.

HEN in the crimfon cloud of even,
The ling'ring light decays,
And Hefper on the front of heaven

His glittering gem difplays;
Deep in the tilent vale, unfeen,

I.elide a lulling stream,
A pensive youth of placid mien,

Indulged his tender theme.
Ye clisss, in hoary grandeur pil'd,
, High o'er the glimmering dale;

Ye woods, along whofe wmding wild

Murmurs the folemn gale;
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,

And Woe retires to weep,
What time the wan moon's yellow hora

Gleams on the western deep .

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms

Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
'Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms,

To your retreats I fly.
Deep in your most sequesterM bow'r

Let me at last recline,
Where Solitude, mild, modest pow'r!

Leans on her ivy'd fhrine.
How fhall I woo thee, matchlefs fair 1

Thy heavenly fmile how win;
Thy fmile, that fmooths the brow of Care,

And stills the storm within? O wilt thou to thy fav'rite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,
And blefs hrs hours, and bid them move

Serene, on silent wing!
Osl let remembrance foothe his mind

With dreams of former days,
When in the lap of Peace reclin'd

He fram'd his infant lays;
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care,

Nor cold Distrust alarm'd,
Nor Envy, with malignant glare,
His simple youth had harm'd.
•Twos then, O Solitude,,,to thoe
His early vows wene paid,

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