Farewell for ever, gay-rob'd mirth, farewell,
Lo, pining Mis'ry loaths thy nectar'd spell,
Thy air-wrought fpell, which dies when care pervades,
As dawn-appall'd the night-yawn'd spectre fades.
Then may the wretch, whofe only joys were thine,
Awake to figh-and fofter woes like mine.
Ah! they admit no friendly beam to cheer,
Pale melancholy's fpurn'd, unpity'd tear.
ENEATH an oak, whose spreading boughs,
B Hung o'er the plain and form'd a fhade,
Two lovers lay exchanging vows,
Philander, and his lovely maid.
Not am'rous lefs than Eden's pair,
Soften'd by fweet embraces each; Strangers to difcontent and care,
But what love makes, their breasts could reach.
"O Sylvia," faid the enraptur'd swain, "When first thy form divine I view'd, Transport then rush'd thro' every vein, And inftant love my heart fubdued.
My bofom felt a flame, the effect
Of outward charms beyond compare;
But 'twas thy MIND with graces deck'd,
That fed the flame and fix'd it there.
Bereft of thee, all earth could give,
Would ne'er reftore my peace of mind,'
Poffeft of thee, content I'd live,
Live the most happy of mankind.”
"Philander dear," the maid return'd,
When big with love her breast had figh'd;
Long has my heart with paffion burn'd,
Tho' long my conftant fwain I've try'd.
At every rural walk my eye
Still thee preferr'd, no youth could move; The tender look, the expreffive figh,
'Tis you, my fwain, I still approve."
"If so," refum'd the exulting youth,
"Why put we off the nuptial day?
'Till fleeting years and posting age,
Our relish for fuch bliss destroy.
Hafte, then, and let connubial bands,
Bind deareft Sylvia to my heart;
Hafte-let us join our hearts and hands,
Which nought but death itself can part.
The blushing nymph confents to go
With her Philander to be bleft;
The joys the two admirers know
Are felt-but ne'er can be expreft.
BEING ONE OF THE FIRST PRODUCTIONS OF HIS
TERNITY, thou vaft unfathom'd deep,
Immenfity's twin fifter! from what fource,
From what vast fountain didft thou firft derive
Thy undiminish'd flood? What potent voice
Arm'd with the pow'r to form thy ample bed,
First bade thee take thy everlasting flow
And ftream unebbing an inceffant round?
Loft in the wild intricacy of thought,
Ah! whither would my mufe transport herself?
Ah! whither would fhe range in queft of thee?
No fource haft thou, and no beginning knew,
But felf-existent in one constant sphere
Has flow'd perpetual-time that now exists,
Is but a fpring, that will return to thee:
Gaze we thro' ages, and preceding ages,
'Till ages number vast infinitude !
Some trace of thee will still remain behind.
Amazing tow'r! the more we view thy bulk
The more in wond'ring extacy we're loft,
The more obfcur'd in ftriving to conceive thee:
From everlasting hath been thy domain
And increated, e'er thofe diftant orbs
Or that fair moon, or all yon funs were made,
Or feas were form'd, or nature blush'd abash'd
When perfect from the hand of God the came;
And folely fway'd thou with their matchless fire
The great companion of the Deity;
Sway'd thou impair'd not, endless, and entire :
And when old Time fhall, felf-fubdued, furceafe,
Refign his glass, and fink to rest for ever,
Deck'd in immortal beauty thou shalt flourish,
With youthful vigor never to know an end.
EVER lov'd the mufe! her cheering rays
Did always feek, e'en from earliest youth
(Thofe much regretted hours of joy and truth)
But it was long e'er the wou'd gild my days
With her kind influence; I often fought
In vain her airy form, cheer'd the while
By hopes fallacious, 'till at length a smile
Moft fweet appear'd, gladly I caught
Her kind indulgence, and did strive each art
To woe her to thefe arms. But now no more
We part. Fortune, thy empty gifts in ftore
No longer do I court.- -Oh! cou'd I impart
The pleasure that each mind (thee much poffeft)
Docs ever joyful feel-fupremely bleft.
Hertford, June 13, 1798.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. JOHN CASEBOULT, JUN. SPITALFIELDS.
WHO DIED IN THE 21ST YEAR OF HIS AGE,
MAY 24, 1798.
ILL not my eyes again his face behold,
Shall I no more his modeft accents hear?
No more my hand his gen'rous hand infold,
Ah! much-lamented youth to memory dear!
Just as his mind its opening charms display'd,
And tend'reft parents were with hope elate,
On him difeafe's baleful grafp was laid,
Who dragg'd him trembling to death's iron gate.
Oh! favage pow'r, thou mortal foe to worth,
Who fmil'it with ghastly joy at tears of woe,
Why the foul murd'ier doft thou leave on earth,
The fell oppreffor, or the villain low?
At morn's repaft, at evening's placid meal,
His dear-lov'd form no more his parents view,
Nor joy, nor pain will he again reveal,
Or fmiles illume his face, or tears bedew.
A little cell in earth's cold breast contains
The youth enlighten'd, modeft, and fincere:-
Ev'n thus muft lie ambition's proud remains,
Tho' puerile pageantry adorn'd the bier.
Tho' humble was his lot, his heart ne'er felt,
Remorfe's fcorpion fting, nor pen'ry's gripe,
Within his foul the mildest virtues dwelt,
And prompt his hand pale forrow's tears to wipe.
Fame to attract him unavailing tried,
And ev'n pleasure fhew'd her charms in vain, For nought could lure him from his parents fide, When led by duty to RELIGION's fane.
Who at the memory of fuch folid worth,
The tribute of a figh would wish suppress'd? But friendship's tears have moiften'd oft the earth, And oft has keen regret perturb'd her breast.
Yet why should forrow rend the feeling heart?
Hufh ye loud fighs, ah! cease ye tears to roll,
The dead feel not the agonizing smart,
That care, and pain, and pen'ry give the soul.
Enwrapt in flumber's arms thus ALL will reft,
'Till the loud clarion's voice shall bid them rife;
Then will the pious hear the angels bleft,
Hail kindred fpirits to their native skies!
Fort-freet.
LINES TO LAKENHAM,
A VILLAGE NEAR NORWICH.
H! blissful spot, where many pleafing hours;
I've pass'd full happy; when my infant feet
Have gayly wanton'd 'mid thy fylvan bow'rs,
And my young heart with filent transport beat.
Oft 'neath the fol'age of thy spreading wood,
A cool retreat I've fought from noon-tide ray ;
And oft have wander'd in a penfive mood,
When fober ev'ning clad the world in grey.
On the green margin of thy chrystal stream,
Full oft I've view'd the fish in fportive play;
While their bright scales illum'd by folar beam,
Gave filv'ry luftre to the wat'ry way.
"Tis thus fweet mem'ry brings thee to my view,
Thus paints those scenes which I when younger knew;
But ah! whilft noting thus the lapfe of time,
'Twixt reason's early dawn, and manhood's prime,
Say what the progrefs which thy foul has made
Heav'n-ward, by truth and virtue's holy aid?
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