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To meet fair health upon the mountain's fide :
There, while blue mists the lower vallies hide,
Health and her rose-lipt zephyrs meet, to pay
Their balmy fragrance to the new-born day.

When Evening hovers, in her noiseless car,
Upon the shadowy bosom of the air,
What time the star, that bids the dews arise,
Drinks the lait radiance of the western skies,
And Nature breathes refrelli'd-quick let my feet,
Retirement! hasten to thy lov'd retreat :
There, while each paffion calm'd, and willa refin'd,
Expand the heart, and elevate the mind;
Let Fancy bear me to th’immortal clime,
Where Poesy, above the moon fublime,
With Inspiration dwells-Or, let me hold
Converse uith sages of the years of old ;
And gleaning ev'ry truth and moral art,
Treasure the living harvest in my heart.



(From FORDYCE's Poems.)
H me! what countless myriads lie entomb'd,

To deep forgetfulness for ever doom'd,
Who once adorn'd life's active stage,
Who shone the wonders of their age,
And hop'd pofterity to charm,
By their atchievements to difarm
Time's ruthless ali-oppofing force,

And give their fame an endless course!
No more, alas ! are heard the high acclaims
That pronis'd to transmit the glory of their names.

Those very names have long on earth been lost :
In solemn filence sunk their loudelt boatt !

Soon were their gaudy ensigns torn;
Soon were their gilded scutchcons worn;
Their marble monuments no more
Are seen to tell they liv'd before : :
All, all is vanilhi'd like a dream.
Yet pride ftill hopes to be the theme
Of praise unwearied to the wond'ring world;
Nor fears to be forgot, when from its confines hurl’d!

While you are acting your allotted part,
Well-tim'd applause, no doubt, will chear the heart,

Your languid powers demand such aid;
Without it virtue foon would fade.



Virtue, alas! is weak at beit,
And ilight her hold upon the breaft.-
Self-love could ne'er content the mind :

She seeks the fanction of her kind.
But when Heav'n's awful verdiet once is past,
What can avail to her Fame's fondeft, loudest blatt?

Or grant its notes could pierce the ear of Death;
They could not yet restore the vital breath,

Or call forth pleasure in the tomb,
Or change or fix your final doom.
The world's joint plaudit still were vain :
Each soul would in the place remain,
Affign'd her by the Judge supreme,

Whose approbation, or whose blame,
Must stamp the colour of her fate,
In that uotry'd, unseen, and dread eternal state.

VIRTUE and ORNAMENT: an Ode to the Ladies.

(From the same Publication.)

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HE diamond's and the ruby's rays

Shine with a milder, finer fame,
And more attract our love and praise

Than beauty's self, if loft to fame.
But the sweet tear in pity's eye

Tranfi ends the diamond's brightest beams ;
And the soft blush of Modesty

More precious than the ruby scems.
The glowing gem, the sparkling stone,

May strike the fight with quick surprise ;
But Truth and Innocence alone

Can ftill engage the good and wise.
No glitt'ring ornament or Now

Will aught avail in grief or pain :
Only from inward worth can flow

Delight that ever shall remain.
Behold ye fair, your lovely queen!

'Tis not her jewels, but her mind;
A meeker, purer, ne'er was seen;

It is her yirtue charms mankind !

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S sprightly fun-beams gild the face of day,

When low'ring tempeits calmly glide away,
So when the poet's dark horizon clears,
Array'd in smiles, the Epilogue appears.
She of that house the lively emblem ftill,
Whose brilliant speakers ftart what themes they will ;
Still varying topics for her sportive rhyines,
From all the follies of these fruitful tines;
Uncheck'd by forms, with Alippant hand may cull,
Prologues, like Peers, by privilege are dull.
In folemn strain address th' affembled pit,
The legal judges of dramatic wit,
Confining still, with dignify'd decorum,
Their obfervations to the play before 'em.

Now when each bachelor a helpmate lacks,
(That sweet exemption from a double tax)
When laws are fram'd with a benignant plan
Of lightning burdens on the married man,
And Hymen adds one folid comfort more,
To all those comforts he conferr'd before ;
To snooth the rough laborious road to fame,
Our bard has chosen-an alluring nanze.
As wealth in wedlock oft is known to hide
The imperfections of a homely bride,
This tempting title, he perhaps expects,
May heighten beauries--and conceal defects :
Thus Sixty's wrinkles view'd through Fortune's glass,
The roly dimples of Sixteen furpafs :
The modern Suitor gralps his fair one's hand,
O'erlooks her person, and adorer-her land;
Leers on her houses with an ogling eye,
O'er her rich aeres heaves an am'rous tigh,
His heart-felt pangs through groses ofTimber vents,
And runs distracted for her three per cents.

Will thus the poet's mimic Heiress find,
The bridegroom critic to her failings blind,
Who claims, alas! his nicer tafte to hit,
The lady's portion paid in fterling wit?
On your decrecs, to fix her furure fate,
Depends our Heinefs for her whole eftate:
Rich in your smiles, the charms th' admiring town;
A very bankrupt, thould you chance to frown:
O may a verdict given in your applause,
Pronounce the prosp'rous iffue of her cause

, Confirm the name an ancient parent gave her, And prove her Heiress of the Public favour.


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HE Cornic Muse, who here erects her thrine,

To court your offerings, and accepts of mine,
Sends me to state an anxious author's plea,
And wait with humble bope this couri's decreo,
By no prerogative will she decide,
She vows an English jury is her pride.
Then for our HEIRESS — forc'd from finer air,
That lately fann'd her plumes in Berkeley-square ;
Will she be helpless in her necu resort,
And find no friends about the Inns of Court ?
Sages, be candid, though you hate a knare,
Sure, for example, you'll a Rightly fave.
Be kind for once, ye clerks-ye sportive Sirs,
Who haunt our cheatres in boots and fours,
So may you safely press your nightly hobby,
Run the whole ring and end it in the lobby.
Lovers of truth, be kind, and own that bere,
That love is strain'd as far as it will bear.
Poets may write-Philosophers may dream
But would the suorld bear truth in the extreme?
What, not one Blandifl left behind! not one!
Poets are mute, and painters all undone :
Where are thosc charins that nature's term survive,
The maiden bloom that glows at forty-five?
Truth takes the pencil-wrinkle--freckles-quint,
The whole's transforin'd-the devil's in't,
Dimples rurn scars, the smile becomes a scowl!
The hair the ivy-bush, the face the owl.

But Mall an author mock the flatterer's pow'r?
Oh, might you all be Blandibes this hour!
Then would the candid jurors of the pir,
Grant their mild passport to the realms of wit ;
Then would I mount the car where oft I ride,
And place the favour'd culprit by my fide.
To aid our flight--one fashionable hint-
See my authority -- a Morning Print-
“ We'learn”-obserre it ladies – France's Queen,
“ Loves, like our own, a heart-directed scene;
“ And while each thought the weighs, each beauty scans,
“ Breaks, in one night's applause, a score of fans!"

| Bearing her fan against her hand. Adopt the mode, ye belles-lo end my prattle, And Thew how you'll out-do a Bourbon rattle.



[ From an Ode to SUPERSTITION, &c.]

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EAR is my little native vale,

The ring-dove builds and warbles there ;
Close by my cot the tells her tale
To ev'ry passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
In orange groves and myrtle bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,
I charm the fairy-tooted hours
With my lov'd lute's romantic sound;
Or crowns of living aurel weave,
For those that win the race at eve.
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
The ballet danc'd in twilight glade,
The canzonet and roundelay
Sung in the filent green-wood shade;
These fimple joys, that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.

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