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Her eyes

The gloom difpels, the charnel (miles,
Light flashes thro' the vaulted iles.
Blow filky foft, thou western gale,
O goddess of the desart, hail!
She bursts from you cliff-riven cave,
Insulted by the wintry wave;
Her brow an ivy garland binds,
Her treffes wanton with the winds,
A lion's spoils, without a zoné,
Around her limbs are careless thrown ;
Her right hand wields a knotted mace,
roll wild, a stride her

pace;
Her left a magic mirror holds,
In which she oft herself beholds.
O goddess of the defart, hail !
And softer blow, thou western gale!

Since in each fcheme of life I've fail'd,
And disappointment seems entaild;
Since all on earth I valued most,
My guide, my stay, my friend is lost';
You, only you, can make me bleft,
And hofh the tempeft in my breaft. '
Then gently deign to guide my feet
To your hermit- trodden feat,
Where I may live at laft my own,
Where I at last may die unknown.
I spoke, she twind her magic ray,
And thus she faid, or seem'd to say.

Youth,

Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find In shades a medicine for a troubled mind; Wan Grief will haunt you wherefoe'er you go, Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow, There pale Inaction pines his life away, And, satiate, curses the return of day: There naked Frenzy laughing wild with pain, Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main : There Superstition broods o'er all her fears, And yells of dæmons in the Zephyr hears. But if a hermit you're resolv'd to dwell, And bid to social life a last farewell; 'Tis impious. God never made an independent man, "Twould jarr the concord of his general plan: See every part of that ftupendous whole, « Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;". To one great end, the general good, conspire, From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire. Should man thro’ Nature folitary roam, His will his fovereign, every where his home, What force wou'd guard him from the lion's jaw?". What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw ? Or should Fate lead him to some safer fhore, Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar; Where liberal Nature all her charms bestows, Suns hine, birds fing, flowers bloom, and water flows,

Fool,

Fool, dost thou think he'd revel on the store,
Absolve the care of Heaven, nor ak for more?
Tho' waters flow'd, flow'rs bloom'd, and Phæbus hone,
He'd figh, he'd murmur that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breast
A sense of kindred, country, man, impreft ;
And social life to better, aid, adorn,
With proper faculties each mortal's born.

Tho' Nature's works the ruling mind declare,
And well deserve enquiry's serious care,
The God (whate'er Misanthrophy may say)
Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray.
What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole?
Hang o'er the sun, and with the planets roll?
What boots thro' space's furtheft bourns to roam ?
If thou, O man, a stranger art at home.
Then know thyself, the human mind survey,
The use, the pleasure will the toil repay.
Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays,
Hence Homer's crown, and Shakespear hence thy bays.
Hence he, the pride of Athens and the shame,
The best and wifeft of mankind became.
Nor study only, practise what you know,
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine;
Those who in study, shou'd in practice shine.
Say, does the learned Lord of Hagley's shade,
Charm man so much by mosly fountains laid,

As

As when arouz'd, he stems Corruption's course,
And shakes the senate with a Tully's force?
When Freedom gasp'd beneath a Cæsar's feet,
Then Publick Virtue might to shades retreat;
But where she breathes, the least may useful be,
And Freedom, Britain, still belong to thee.
Tho' man's ungrateful, or tho' Fortune frown;
Is the reward of worth a song, or crown?
Nor yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains,
Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
Nor dare repine, tho' early Friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares he's freed.
But know, Adversity's the child of God;
Whom Heaven approves of most, most feel her rod.
When smooth old Ocean and each storm's alleep,
Then Ignorance may plough the watery deep;
But when the dæmons of the tempest rave,
Skill must conduct the vessel thro' the wave.
Sidney, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who wou'd not wish Anytus for a foe?
Intrepid Virtue triumphs over Fate,
The good can never be unfortunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind,
The height of virtue is to serve mankind.

But when old age has filver'd o'er thy head,
When memory fails, and all thy vigour's filed,
One of the accusers of Socrates,

Then

Then may't thou seek the fillness of retreat,
Then hear aloof the human tempeft beat,
Then will I

greet

thee to my woodland cave, Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave.

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To the Right Honourable Stephen Poentz, Esq; &c. &c.

By the Honourable
Sir CHARLES HAN.WILLIAMS, Kt. of the Bath.

Sensere quid mens rite, quid indoles
Nutrita faufis fub penetralibus
Polet
Do&trina fed vim promovet infitam,
Re&tique cultus pe&tora roborant.

Hor. Od.

4.

4. Lib.

W

I.
HILST William's deeds and William's praise

Each English brealt with transport raise,

Each English tongue employ ;
Say, Poyntz, if thy elated heart
Assumes not a superior part,
A larger share of joy?

II. But

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