Sideway he leans, declining to the right,
And marks his way, and moderates his might.
Smooth-Ficing o'er the plain, th' obedient (phere
Held on its dubious road, while hope and fear
Alternate ebb'd and flow'd in every breast:
Now rolling nearer to the mark it prefs'd;
Then chang'd its courfe, by the ftrong biafs rein'd,
And on the foe difcharg'd the force that yet re-
main'd.

Smart was the ftroke, away the rival fled,
The bold intruder triumph'd in his stead.

Victorious Nimrod feiz'd the glittering prize,
Shouts of outrageous joy invade the skies;
Hands, tongues, and caps, exalt the victor's fame,
Sabrina's banks return him loud acclaim.

THE LAMENTATION OF DAVID over SAUL and JONATHAN. ROSTRATE on earth the bleeding warrior lies,

PROST

And Ifrael's beauty on the mountains dies;
How are the mighty fallen!

Hush'd be my forrows, gently fall my tears,
Left my fad tale fhould reach the aliens ears:
Bid Fame be dumb, and tremble to proclaim
In heathen Gath, or Afcalon, our shame;
Left proud Philiftia, left her haughty foe,
With impious fcorn infult our folemn woe.
O Gilboa, ye hills afpiring high,
The laft fad fcene of Ifrael's tragedy:
No fattening dews be on thy lawn diftill'd,
No kindly flowers refresh the thirty field;
No hallow'd fruits thy barren foil fhall raife,
No fpotlefs kids that on our altars blaze ;
Lonefome and wild fhall thy bleak fummits rife,
Accurs'd by men, and hateful to the skies.
On thee the fields of mighty warriors lay,
The fhield of Saul was vilely caft away;
The Lord's anointed Saul; his facred blood
Diftain'd thy brow, and fwell'd the common flood.
How are the mighty fallen!

Wheree'er their bands the royal heroes led,
The combat thicken'd, and the mighty bled;
The flaughter'd hofts beneath their falchions die,
And wing'd with death unerring arrows fly;
Unknowing to return, ftill urge the foe,
As fate infatiate. and as fure the blow.
The fon, who next his conquering father fought,
Repeats the wonders his example taught:
Eager his fire's illuftrious fteps to trace,
And by heroic deeds affert his race.

The royal eagle thus her ripening brood
Trains to the quarry, and directs to blood:
His darling thus, the fore monarch rears,
A firm affociate for his future wars;
In union terrible, they feize the prey,
The mountains tremble, and the woods obey.
In peace united, as in war combin'd,
Were Jonathan's and Saul's affections join'd,
Paternal grace with filial duty vy'd,
And love the knot of nature clofer ty'd.
Ev'n fate relents, reveres the facred band,
And undivided bids their friendship stand.

From earth to heaven enlarg'd, their joys im-"

prove,

Still fairer, brighter still they shine above,
Bleft in a long eternity of love.

Daughters of Ifrael, o'er the royal urn
Wail and lament; the king, the father, mourn.
Oh! now at leaft indulge a pious woe,
'l'is all the dead receive, the living can beftow.
Caft off your rich attire and proud array,
Let undiffembled forrows cloud the day:
Thefe ornaments victorious Saul bestow'd,
With gold your necks, your robes with purple
g'w'd:

Quit crowns, and garlands, for the fable weed," To fongs of triumph let dumb rief fucceed Let all our grateful hearts for our dead patron

bleed.

How are the mighty fallen!

Though thus diftress`d, though thus o'erwhelm'd
with grief,

Light is the busthen that admits relief;
My labouring foul fuperior woes opprefs,
Nor rolling time can heal, nor fate redress.
Another Saul your forrows can remove,
No lecon Jonathan shail bless my love.

O Jonathan, my friend, my brother dear! Eyes, ftream afreih, and call forth every tear: Swell, my fad heart, each faultering pulfe beat low.

Down fink my head beneath this weight of woe:
Hear my laments, ye hills! ye woods, return
My ceafelefs groans; with me, ye turtles, mourn!
How pleasant haft thou been! each lovely grace,
Each youthful charm, fate blooming on thy face:
Joy from thine eyes in radient glories fprung,
And nanna dropt from thy perfuafive tongue.
Witnefs, great heav'n! (from you those ardours`
came)

How wonderful his love! the kindest dame
Lov'd not like him, nor felt fo warm a flame.
No earthly paffion to fuch height afpires,
And feraphs only burn with purer fires.
In vain while honour calls to glorious arms,
And Ifrael s caufe the pious patriot warms:
In vain, while deaths promifcuous fly below,
Nor youth can bribe, nor virtue ward the blow.

To a YOUNG LADY, with the ILIAD of HoMER tranflated.

O, haypy volume, to the fair impart T The fecret wishes of a wounded heart : Kind advocate! exert thy utmoít zeal, Defcribe my paffion, and my woes reveal, Oft fhalt thou kifs that hand where rofes bloom, And the white lily breathes its rich perfume; On thee her eyes fhall thine, thy leaves employ Each faculty, and footh her foul with joy. Watch the foft hour, when peaceful filence reigns, And Philomel alone like me complains: When envious prudes no longer haunt the fair, But end a day of calumny in prayer:

O'er

Ride poft o'er hills, and woods, and feas,
From Thule to th' Hefperides †?
And yet the men of Grefham own
That this and ftranger feats are done,
By a warm fancy's power alone.
This granted; why can't you and I
Stretch forth our wings, and cleave the sky?
Since our poetic brains, you know,
'Than theirs must more intenfely glow.
Did not the Theban fwan take wing,
Sublimely foar, and sweetly fing?
And do not we of humbler vein,
Sometimes attempt a loftier strain,
Mount fheer out of the reader's fight,
Obfcurely loft in clouds and night?

Then climb your Pegafus with speed,
I'll meet thee on the banks of Tweed:
Not as our fathers did of yore,

To fwell the flood with crimfon gore;
Like the Cadmean murdering brood,
Each thirsting for his brother's blood.
For now all hoftile rage fhall ceafe;
Lull'd in the downy arms of peace,
Our honest hands and hearts shal! join,
O'er jovial banquets, fparkling wine.
Let Peggy at thy elbow wait,
And I hall bring my bonny Kate.
But hold-oh! take a fpecial care,
Tadmit no prying Kirkman there;
I dread the Penitential Chair.
What a strange figure fhould I make,
A poor abandon'd English rake;
A fquire well born, and fix foot high,
Perch'd in that facred pillory?

Let spleen and zeal be banish'd thence,
And troublefome impertinence,
That tells his ftory o'er again :
Ill-manners and his faucy train,
And self-conceit, and ftiff-rumpt pride,
That grin at all the world befide;
Foul fcandal, with a load of lies,
Intrigues, rencounters, prodigies;
Fame's bufy hawker, light as air,
That feeds on frailties of the fair:
Envy, hypocrify, deceit,

Fierce party-rage, and warm debate;
And all the hell-hounds that are foes
To friendship and the world's repofe.
But mirth inftead, and dimpling fmiles,
Aud wit, that gloomy care beguiles;
And joke, and pun, and merry tale,
And toafts, that round the table fail:
While laughter, bursting through the crowd
In vollies, tefls our joys aloud.
Hark! the fhrill piper mounts on high,
The woods, the fireams, the rocks reply,
To his far-founding melody.

Behold each labouring,fqueeze prepare
Supplies of modulated air.
Obferve Croudero's active bow,
His head ftill noddling to and fro,
His cyes his checks, with rapture glow.
See, fee the bashful nymphs advance,
To lead the regulated dance;

The Scilly islands were fo called by the antients.

Flying fill, the fwains pursuing,
Yet with backward glances wooing.
This, this fhall be the joyous scene;
Nor wanton elves that skim the green
Shall be fo bleft, fo blythe, fo gay,
Or lefs regard what dotards say.
My Rofe fhall then your il hiftle greet,
The Union shall be more compleat ;
And, in a bottle and a friend,
Each national dispute shall end.

ANSWER TO THE ABOVE EPISTLE,

IR,

BY ALLAN RAMSAY.

SB, Thad your's, and own my pleafure,

On the receipt, exceeded measure. You write with so much spirit and glee, Sae fmooth, fae ftrong, corte&t and iree; That any he (by you allow'd

To have fome merit) may be proud.
If that's my fault, bear you the blame,
Wha've lent me fic a lift to fame.
Your ain tours high, and widens far,
Bright glancing like the first rate star,
And all the world beftow due praise
On the Collection of your lays ;
Where various arts and turns combine,
Which even in parts first poets fhime:
Like Mat and Swift ye fing with ease,
And can be Waller when you please.
Continue, fir, and fhame the crew
That 's plagued with having nought to do,
Who fortune in a merry mood
Has overcharg'd with gentle blood,
But has deny'd a genius fit

For action or afpiring wit;

Such kenna how t' employ their time,
And think activity a crime:
Aught they to either do, or say,
Or walk, or write, or read, or pray!
When money, their Factotum 's able
To furnish them a numerous rabble,
Who will, for daily drink and wages,
Be chairmen, chaplains, clerks, and pages:
Could they, like you, employ their hours
In planting thefe delightful flowers,
Which carpet the poetic fields,
And lafting funds of pleafure yields;
Nae mair they'd gaunt and gove away,
Or fleep or loiter out the day,

Or waste the night damning their fauls
In deep debauch, and bawdy brawls:
Whence pox and poverty proceed
An early eild, and fpirits dead.
Reverse of you ;-and him you love,
Whofe brighter fpirit tours above
The mob of thoughtlefs lords and beaux,
Who in his ilka action fhows
"True friendship, love, benevolence,
“Unftudy'd wit, and manly fenfe."
Allow here what you 've faid your fell,
Nought can b' exprest so just and well:

ΤΟ

To him and her, worthy his love,
And every blefling from above,
A fon is given, God fave the boy,
For their's and every Som`ril's joy.

Ye wardins round him take your place,
And raise him with each mnly grace;
Make his meridian virtues fhine,
To add fresh luftres to his line :

And many may the mother fee
Of fuch a lovely progeny.

Now, fie, when Boreas nae mair thuds

Hail, fnaw and fleet, frae blacken d clouds;
While Caledonia's hills are green,
And a' her ftraths delight the een;
While ilka flower, with fragrance blows,
And a' the year its beauty fhows;
Before again the winter lour,

What hinders then your northern tour ?.
Be fure of welcome: nor believe
Those wha an ill report would give
To Ed'nburgh and the land of cakes,
That nought what's neceffery lacks.
Here plenty's goddess frae her horn
Pours fifh and cattle, claith and corn,
In blyth abundance ;—and yet mair,
Our men are brave, our ladies fair.
Nor will North Britain yield for fouth
Of ilka thing, and fellows couth,
To any but her filter South.-

True, rugged roads are curfed dreigh,
And fpeats aft roar frae mountains high:
The body tires-poor tottering clay,
And likes with ease at hame to ftay;
While fauls ftride warlds at ilka ftend,
And can their widening views extend.
Mine fees you, while you chearfu' roam
On fweet Avona's flowery howm,
There recollecting, with full view,
Thofe follies which mankind pursue;
While, confcious of fuperior merit.
You rife with a correcting spirit;
And, as an agent of the gods,
Lah them with fharp fatyric rods :
Labour divine !-Next, for a change,
O'er hill and dale I fee you range,
After the fox or whidding hare,
Confirming health in purest air;
While joy frae heights and dales refounds,
Rais'd by the hola, horn and hounds :
Fatigu'd, yet pleas'd, the chace out-run,
I fee the friend, and fetting fun,
invite you to the temperate bicquor,
Which makes the blood and wit flow quicker.
The clock ftrikes twelve, to reft you bound,
To fave your health by fleeping found.
Thus with cool head and healfome breaft
You fee new day dream frae the east:
Then all the Mufes round you fhine,
Infpiring every thought divine;

Be long their aid-Your years and blesses,
Your fervant Allan Ramfay wishes.

To ALLAN RAMSAY,

Upon his publishing a fecond Volume of Poems.

AIL, Caledonian bard! whofe rural ftrains

HDelight the linemang hills and chear the plains!

Already polifh'd by fome hand divine,

Thy purer ore what furnace can refine?
Carelefs of cenfure, like the fun, fhine forth,
In native luftre, and intrinfic worth.
To follow nature is by rules to write,
She led the way, and taught the Stagirite.
From her the critic's tafte, the poet's fire,
Both drudge in vain till fhe from heaven infpire:
By the fame guide inftructed how to foar,
Allan is now what Homer was before.

Ye chofen youths, who dare like him afpire,
And touch with bolder hand the golden lyre!
Keep nature ftill in view; on her intent,
Climb by her aid the dangerous fteep afcent
To lafting fame. Perhaps a little art
Is needful, to plane o'er fome rugged part;
But the most labour'd elegance and care,
T'arrive at full perfection must despair.
Alter, blot out, and write all o'er again,
Alas! fome venial fins will yet remain,
Indulgence is to human frailty due,
Ev'n Pope has faults, and Additon a few;
But thofe, like mifts that cloud the morning ray,
Are loft and vanish in the blaze of day.
Though fome intruding pimple find a place
Amid the glories of Clarinda's face,
We still love on, with equal zeal adore,
Nor think her lefs a goddefs than before.
Slight wounds in no difgraceful fears fhall end,
Heal'd by the balm of fome good-natur'd friend.
In vain fhall canker'd Zoilus affail.
While Spence prefides, and candor holds the fcale.
His generous breast, nor envy fours, nor fpite,
Taught by his founder's motto how to write,
Good-manners guides his pen. Learn'd without
pride,

In dubious points not forward to decide.
If here and there uncommon beauties rife,
From flower to flower he roves with glad furprize.
In failings no malignant pleasure takes,
Nor rudely triumphs over fmall mistakes.
No naufeous praife, no biting taunts offend,
W'expect a cenfor, and we find a friend.
Poets, improv'd by his correcting care,
Shall face their foes with more undaunted air,
Stripp'd of their rags, fhail like Ulyfles thine,
With more heroic port, and grace divine.
No pomp of learning, and no fund of fenfe,
Can c'er atone for loft benevolencé.
May Wykeham's fons, who in each art excel,
And rival antient bards in writing well.
While from their bright examples taught they

fing,

And emulate their flights with bolder wing, From their own frailties learn the humbler part, Mildly to judge in gentlenels of heart!

*William of Wykeham, "Manners maketh

man."

Such

Such critics, Ramfay, jealous for our fame, Will not with malice infolently blame, But lur'd by praife the haggard Mufe reclaim. Retouch each line till all is juft and neat, A werk of proper parts, a whole almost compleat. So when fome beauteous dame, a reigning toaft, The flower of Forth, and proud Edina's boast, Stands at her toilet in her tartan plaid, In all her richest head-geer trimly clad, The curious hand-maid with obfervant eye, Corrects the fwelling hoop that hangs awry; Through every plait her bufy fingers rove, And now the plics below, and then above, With pleafing tattle entertains the fair, Each ribbon fmooths, adjuíls each rambling hair, Till the gay nymph in her full luftre shine, And Homer's Juno was not half fo fine.

To the AUTHOR of the ESSAY ON MAN.

AS ever work to fuch perfection wrought; How elegant the diction! pure the thought! Not fparingly adorn'd with fcatter'd rays, But one bright beauty, one collected blaze: So breaks the day upon the fhades of night, Enlivening all with one unbounded light.

To humble man's proud heart, thy great de-
fign;

But who can read this wondrous work divine,
So jufly plann'd, and fo politely writ,
And not be proud, and boaft of homan wit?

Yet juft to thee, and to thy precepts true,
Let us know man, and give to God his due;
His image we, but mix'd with coarse alley,
Our happiness to love, acore, obey;

To praife him for each gracious boon bestow'd,
For this thy work, for every leffer good,
With proftrate hearts before his throne to fall,
And own the great Creator all in all.

The Mufe, which should inftruct, now enter-
tails.

On trifling subje&s, in enervate frains;
Be it thy talk to let the wandeler right,
Point out her way in her aerial flight;
Her noble mein, her honours loft restore,
And hid her reply think, and proudly foar.
Thy theme fublime, and eafy verfe, will prove
Her lagh decent, and miffion from above.

Let others now tranflate; thy abler pen
Shall vindicate the ways of God to men ;
In Virtue's caufe thell glorioul, prevail,
When the bench frowns in vain, and pulpits fail.
Made wife by thee, whole happy flyle conveys
The pureft morals in the fofteft lays,

As angels once, fo now we mortals told
Shaldab the ladder Jacob v ew'd of old;
Thy kind reforming & ufe fhall lead the way
To the bright regions of eternal day.

EPISTLE to Mr. THOMSON,

On the first Edition of his SEASONS.

So bright, fo dark, upon an April day,
The fun darts forth, or hides his various ray

So high. fo low, the lark afpiring fings,
Or drops to earth again with folded wings;
So imooth, fo rough, the fea that laves our fhores,
Smiles in a calm, or in a tempelt roars.
Believe . "Thomfon, 'tis not thus I write,
Severely and, by envy four'd or fpite :
Nor would I rob thy brows to grace my own;
Such arts are to my honeft foul unknown.
I read thee over as a friend fhould read,
Griev'd when you fail, o'erjoyed when you fuc-

ceed

Why fhould thy Mufe, born fo divinely fair,
Want the reforming toilet's daily care?
Drefs the gay maid, improve each native grace,
And call forth all the glories of her face:
Studiously plain, and elegantly clean,.
With unaffected fpeech and easy mein,
Th' accomplish'd nymph, in all her best attire,
Courts fhall applaud, and proftrate crowds admire.
Difcreetly daring, with a ftiffen'd rein,
Firm in thy feat the flying feed refrain.
Though few thy faults, who can perfection boast?
Spots in the fun are in his luftre loft:
Yst ev'n thofe fpots expunge with patient care,
Nor fondly the minutelt error spare.
For kind and wife the parent, who reproves
The flightest blemish in the child he loves.
Read Phiups much, confider Milton more;
But from their drefs extract the purer ore.
To coin new words, or to restore the old,
In fouthern bards is dangerous and bold;
But rarely, very rarely will fucceed,
When minted on the other fide of Tweed.
Let perfpicuity o'er all prefide-

Soon that thou be the nation s joy and pride.
The rhiming gingling tribe, with bells and fong,
Who drive their limping Pegafus along,
Shall learn from thee in bolder flights to rife
To fcorn the beaten road, and range the skies.
A genius fo refin'd. fo jut, fo great,
In Britain's ifle fhall fix the Mule's feat,
And new Parnaffus fhall at home create:
Rules from thy works each future bard fhall
draw,

Thy works, above the critic's nicer law,
And rich in brilliant gems without a flaw.