** ODE to NIGHT. T HE bufy cares of day are done; In yonder western cloud the fun Now fets, in other worlds to rife, And glad with light the nether skies. With ling'ring pace the parting day retires, And flowly leaves the mountain tops, and gilded fpires. Yon azure cloud, enrob'd with white, No more the ivy-crowned oak Refounds beneath the wood-man's ftroke. Now Silence holds her folemn sway; Mute is each bush, and every fpray: Nought but the found of murm'ring rills is heard, Or from the mould'ring tow'r, NIGHT's folitary bird. Hail facred hour of peaceful reft! Short refpite from his galling pains; But for a while forgets his chains, and fultry toil. No horrors haft thou in thy train, No scorpion lash, no clanking chain, When the pale murd❜rer round him fpies A thousand grifly forms arise, When shrieks and groans aroufe his palfy'd fear, 'Tis guilt alarms his foul, and confcience wounds his ear. The village fwain whom Phillis charms, To tell the fair his love-fick tale: Nor lefs impatient of the tedious day, Oft by the covert of thy fhade LEANDER WOo'd the THRACIAN maid; The The conscious virgin from the fea-girt tow'r Hung out the faithful torch to guide him to her bow'r. Oft at thy filent hour the fage There pleas'd to range the realms of endless night, Numbers the stars, or marks the comet's devious light. Thine is the hour of converfe sweet, Such is the feast thy focial hours afford, GRANVILLE, whofe polifh'd mind is fraught When he affumes the critic's chair, Or from the STAGYRITE or PLATO draws The arts of civil life, the fpirit of the laws. O let O let me often thus employ The hour of mirth and focial joy! And glean from GRANVILLE's learned ftore Then will I ftill implore thy longer ftay, Nor change thy festive hours for sunshine and the day. Written upon leaving a FRIEND'S House in WALES. By the Rev. Dr. M. HE winds were loud, the clouds deep-hung; THE And dragg'd their sweepy trains along The dreary mountain's fide; When, from the hill, one look to throw On Towy's rambling flood below, But foon the gufts of fleet and hail Flew thick across the darken'd vale, And blurr'd the face of day: Forlorn and fad, I jogg'd along; And though Tom cry'd, "You're going wrong," The scenes, which once my fancy took, And my aw'd mind with wonder ftruck, Pafs'd unregarded, all! Nor black Trecarris' fteepy height, Nor clamorous Hondy's fall. Did the bleak day then give me pain? Far other cares engrofs'd my mind, * In Newton's happy groves! Yet not because its woods difclofe Or grots or lawns more fweet than those But that, befide its focial hearth Dwells every joy, which youthful mirth Or ferious age can claim : Newton is the name of a feat belonging to Sir John Price. The |