Than all her witless revels happier far;
These deep-felt joys, by Contemplation taught.
Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail!
From thee began, aufpicious maid, my fong,
With thee fhall end: for thou art fairer far
Than are the nymphs of Cirrha's moffy grot;
To loftier rapture thou canft wake the thought,
Than all the fabling Poet's boasted pow'rs.
Hail, queen divine! whom, as tradition tells,
Once, in his ev'ning-walk a Druid found,
Far in a hollow glade of Mona's woods;
And piteous bore with hospitable hand
To the close shelter of his oaken bow'r.
There foon the fage admiring mark'd the dawn
Of folemn mufing in your penfive thought;
For when a smiling babe, you lov❜d to lie
Oft deeply lift'ning to the rapid roar

Of wood-hung Meinai, ftream of Druids old,
That lav'd his hallow'd haunt with dashing wave.

A SON

W

in the Absence of

By the Same:

DE

-DE, thy beechen flopes with waving grain

Border'd, thine azure views of wood and lawn, Whilom could charm, or when the joyous Dawn 'Gan Night's dun robe with flushing purple stain, Or Evening drove to fold her woolly train;

Her fairest landscapes whence my Muse has drawn, 'Too free with fervile courtly phrase to fawn, Too weak to try the Bufkin's stately strain;

Yet now no more thy flopes of beech and corn Nor prospects charm, fince He far-distant strays With whom I trac'd their fweets each eve and morn,

From Albion far, to cull Hefperian bays;

In this alone they please, howe'er forlorn, That still they can recall thofe happier days..

On BATHING.

A SONNET.

By the Same,

HEN late the trees were ftript by Winter pale,

Fair HEALTH, a Dryad-maid in vefture green, Rejoyc'd to rove 'mid the bleak fylvan scene, On airy uplands caught the fragrant gale, And ere fresh morn the low-couch'd lark did hail Watching the found of earliest horn was feen. But fince gay Summer, thron'd in chariot fheen, Is come to fcorch each primrose fprinkled dale, She chooses that delightful cave beneath

The cryftal treasures of meek Ifis' ftream; And now all glad the temperate air to breathe, While cooling drops diftil from arches dim, Binding her dewy locks with fedgy wreath

She fits amid the quire of Naiads trim,

Το

To Lady Hy. By Mr. de VOLTAIRE.

H

--Y would you know the paffion

You have kindled in my breast,

Trifling is the inclination

That by words can be exprefs'd.

On Sir ROBERT WALPOLE's Birth-day, AUGUST the 26th.

A

By the Honourable Mr. D-TON.

LL hail, auspicious day, whose wish'd return

Bids every breaft with grateful ardor burn,
While pleas'd Britannia that great man surveys
The Prince may truft, and yet the People praise:
One bearing greatest toils with greatest ease,
One born to serve us, and yet born to please;

His foul capacious, yet his judgment clear,
His tongue is flowing, and his heart fincere :
His counfels guide, his temper cheers our isle,
And smiling gives three kingdoms cause to smile.
August, how bright thy golden fcenes appear,
Thou faireft daughter of the various year,
On thee the fun with all his ardor glows,
On thee in dowry all its fruits bestows,
The greatest Prince, the foremost son of fame,
To thee bequeath'd the glories of his name;
Nature and Fortune thee their darling chofe,
Nor could they grace thee more, 'till Walpole rofe.
By steps to mighty things Fate makes her way,
The fun and Cæfar but prepar'd this day.

Written in the Year 1744.

AS, by fome tyrant's ftern command,

A wretch forfakes his native land,
In foreign climes condemn'd to roam
· An endless exile from his home ;

Penfive