None, to a virgin's mind, prefer'd her dower;
To fire with vicious hopes a modest heir:
The fire, in place of titles, wealth, or power,
Afsign'd him virtue; and his lot was fair.
They fpoke of fortune, as some doubtful dame,
That fway'd the natives of a diftant sphere;
From lucre's vagrant fons had learnt her fame,
But never wish'd to place her banners here.
Here youth's free fpirit, innocently gay,
Enjoy'd the most that innocence can give,
Those wholesome sweets that border virtue's way;
Those cooling fruits, that we may taste and live.
Their board no ftrange ambiguous viand bore;
From their own ftreams their choicer fare they drew,
To lure the scaly glutton to the shore,
The fole deceit their artlefs bofom knew!
Sincere themselves, ah too fecure to find
The common bofom, like their own, sincere! 'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous mind; 'Tis her own poifon bids the viper fear.
Sketch'd on the lattice of th' adjacent fane,
Their fuppliant bufts implore the reader's prayer; Ah gentle fouls! enjoy your blissful reign,
And let frail mortals claim your guardian care. For fure, to blissful realms the fouls are flown, That never flatter'd, injur'd, censur'd, strove; The friends of fcience! mufic, all their own; Mufic the voice of virtue and of love!
The journeying peafant, through the fecret fhade,
Heard their foft lyres engage his listening ear;
And haply deem'd fome courteous angel play'd;
No angel play'd-but might with transport hear.
For thefe the founds that chafe unholy ftrife!
Solve envy's charm, ambition's wretch release!
Raife him to fpurn the radiant ills of life:
To pity pomp, to be content with peace.
Farewel, pure fpirits! vain the praise we give,
The praise you fought from lips angelic flows
Farewel! the virtues which deferve to live,
Deferve an ampler blifs than life bestows.
Laft of his race, Palemon, now no more
The modeft merit of his line display'd;
Then pious Hugh Vigornia's mitre wore-
Soft fleep the duft of each deferving shade!
ELE GY XVI.
He fuggefts the advantages of birth to a perfon of merit, and the folly of a fuperciliousness that is built upon that fole foundation.
WHEN genius grac'd with lineal splendor glows,'
When title fhines with ambient virtues crown'd, Like fome fair almond's flowery pomp it fhews; The pride, the perfume of the regions round.
Muft Delia's foftnefs, elegance, and ease,
Submit to Marian's drefs? to Marian's gold?
Muft Marian's robe from diftant India please?
The fimple fleece my Delia's limbs enfold?
Yet fure on Delia feems the ruffet fair;
"Ye glittering daughters of disguise, adieu!”
So talk the wife, who judge of fhape and air,
But will the rural thane decide fo true?
Ah! what is native worth efteem'd of clowns?
'Tis thy falfe glare, O fortune! thine they see ::
'Tis for my Delia's fake I dread thy frowns,
And my last gasp shall curfes breath on thee.
He complains how foon the pleafing novelty of To Mr. JAGO.
H me, my friend! it will not, will not last!
This fairy-fcene, that cheats our youthful eyes!
The charm diffolves; th' aerial music's past;
The banquet ceafes, and the vifion flies.
Where are the fplendid forms, the rich perfumes,
Where the gay tapers, where the spacious dome ?
Vanish'd the coftly pearls, the crimson plumes,
And we, delightless, left to wander home!
Vain now are books, the fage's wisdom vain!
What has the world to bribe our steps astray,
Ere reason learns by study'd laws to reign,
The weaken'd paffions, self-subdued, obey.
Scarce has the fun feven annual courfes roll'd,
Scarce fhewn the whole that fortune can fupply; Since, not the mifer fo carefs'd his gold,
As I, for what it gave, was heard to figh. On the world's ftage I wifh'd some sprightly part; To deck my native fleece with tawdry lace! 'Twas life, 'twas taste, and-oh my foolish heart; Subftantial joy was fix'd in power and place. And you, ye works of art! allur'd mine eye,
The breathing picture, and the living ftone: "Though gold, though splendour, heaven and fate « deny,
"Yet might I call one Titian stroke my own!" Smit with the charms of fame, whofe lovely spoil, The wreath, the garland, fire the poet's pride, I trim'd my lamp, confum'd the midnight oil –
But foon the paths of health and fame divide ! Oft too I pray'd, 'twas nature form'd the prayer, To grace my native fcenes, my rural home; To fee my trees exprefs their planter's care,
And gay, on Attic models, raise my dome.
But now 'tis o'er, the dear delufion 's o'er!
A ftagnant breezelefs air becalms my foul:
A fond afpiring candidate no more,
I fcorn the palm, before I reach the goal.
O youth! enchanting ftate, profufely bleft!
Blifs ev'n obtrufive courts the frolic mind;
Of health neglectful, yet by health careft;
Careless of favour, yet fecure to find.
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Then glows the breaft, as opening rofes fair;
More free, more vivid, than the linnet's wing;
Honeft as light, tranfparent ev'n as air,
Tender as buds, and lavish as the spring.
Not all the force of manhood's active might,
Not all the craft to fubtle age affign'd,
Not fcience fhall extort that dear delight,
Which gay delufion gave the tender mind.
Adieu foft raptures, transports void of care!
Parent of raptures, dear deceit adieu !
And you, her daughters, pining with defpair,
Why, why fo foon her fleeting steps purfue!
Tedious again to curfe the drizling day!
Again to trace the wintry tracks of fnow!
Or, footh'd by vernal airs, again furvey,
The self-fame hawthorns bud, and cowflips blow! O life! how foon of every bliss forlorn!
We start false joys, and urge the devious race :
A tender prey;
that chears our youthful morn,
Then finks untimely, and defrauds the chace.
O more the Mufe obtrudes her thin difguife!
No more with awkward fallacy complains,
How every fervour from my bofom flies,
And reafon in her lonesome palace reigns.
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