My Muse to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan.
O memory! thou foul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why doft thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous smart to every blow ?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad'st me not:
While fharp and numberlefs my forrows fall;
Yet thou repeat'ft, and multiply'st them all!
Is chance a guilt? that my difafterous heart, For mifchief never meant, muft ever fmart? Can felf-defence be fin-Ah, plead no more! What though no purpos'd malice ftain'd thee o'er? 70 Had heaven befriended thy unhappy fide,
Thou had not been provok'd-Or thou hadst died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all
On whom, unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale Dead revives, and lives to me,
To me through Pity's eye-condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their way! 80
He might have liv'd till folly died in shame,
Till kindling wifdom felt a thirst for fame.
He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd;
Both happy, generous, candid, and belov'd
He might have fav'd some worth, now doom'd to fall 3 And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.
O fate of late repentance! always vain :
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.
Where shall my hope find rest ?—No Mother's care
Shielded my
infant innocence with prayer:
No father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain❜d.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome powerful arm,
First to advance, then skreen from future harm?
Am I return'd from death, to live in pain?
Or would Imperial Pity fave in vain ?
Diftruft it not-What blame can mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind?
Mother, miscall'd, farewell-of foul fevere,
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by to you I ow'd,
Alone from ftrangers every comfort flow'd!
Loft to the life you gave, your fon no more,
And now adopted, who was doom'd before,
New-born, I may a nobler Mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name ;
Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestic Mother of a kneeling State!
QUEEN of a People's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed-yet now with one confent adore!
One contest yet remains in this defire,
Who moft fhall give applaufe, where all admire.
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY
THERE Thames with pride beholds Augufta's
charms,
And either India pours into her arms;
Where Liberty bids honeft arts abound,
And pleasures dance in one eternal round;
High-thron'd appears the laughter-loving dame,
Goddess of mirth! Euphrofyne her name.
Her fmile more cheerful than a vernal morn;
All life! all bloom! of Youth and Fancy born.
Touch'd into joy, what hearts to her fubmit!
She looks her Sire, and speaks her Mother's wit.
O'er the gay world the fweet infpirer reigns;
Spleen flies, and Elegance her pomp sustains.
Thee, goddess! thee! the fair and young obey;
Wealth, Wit, Love, Music, all confefs thy fway.
In the bleak wild ev'n Want by thee is blefs'd,
And pamper'd Pride without thee pines for reft.
The rich grow richer, while in thee they find
The matchless treasure of a smiling mind.
Science by thee flows soft in social case,
And virtue, lofing rigour, learns to please.
The goddess fummons each illuftrious name,
Bids the gay talk, and forms th' amufive
game.
She, whofe fair throne is fix'd in human fouls,
From joy to joy her eye delighted rolls.
But where (the cried) is fhe, my favorite! she
Of all my race, the dearest far to me!
Whofe life's the life of each refin'd delight?
She faid-But no Tyrconnel glads her fight.
Swift funk her laughing eyes in languid fear;
Swift rofe the fwelling sigh, and trembling tear.
In kind low murmurs all the lofs deplore!
Tyrconnel droops, and pleasure is no more.
The goddess, filent, paus'd in museful air;
But Mirth, like Virtue, cannot long despair.
Celestial-hinted thoughts gay hope inspir'd,
Smiling fhe rose, and all with hope were fir'd.
Where Bath's afcending turrets meet her eyes;
Straight wafted on the tepid breeze she flies,
She flies, her elder fifter Health to find;
She finds her on the mountain-brow reclin'd.
Around her birds in earliest concert fing;
Her cheek the semblance of the kindling spring ;
Fresh-tinctur'd like a summer-evening sky,
And a mild fun fits smiling in her eye.
Loose to the wind her verdant veftments flow; 45
Her limbs yet-recent from the fprings below;
There oft the bathes, then peaceful fits secure,
Where every gale is fragrant, fresh, and pure;
Where flowers and herbs their cordial odours blend,
And all their balmy virtues faft afcend.
Hail, fifter, hail! (the kindred goddess cries) No common fuppliant stands before your eyes. You, with whose living breath the morn is fraught, Flush the fair cheek, and point the cheerful thought! Strength, vigour, wit, depriv'd of thee, decline! 55 Each finer fenfe, that forms delight, is thine! Bright funs by thee diffufe a brighter blaze, And the fresh green a fresher green displays! Without thee pleasures die, or dully cloy, And life with thee, howe'er deprefs'd, is joy. Such thy vaft power!-The deity replies. Mirth never afks a boon, which Health denies, Our mingled gifts tranfcend imperial wealth; Health ftrengthens Mirth, and Mirth infpirits Health, Thefe gales, yon fprings, herbs, flowers, and fun, are
Thine is their fmile! be all their influence thine.
Euphrofyne rejoins-Thy friendship prove!
See the dear, fickening object of my love!
Shall that warm heart, fo cheerful ev'n in pain,
So form'd to please, unpleas'd itfelf remain ?
Sifter! in her my fmile anew difplay,
And all the focial world fhall blefs thy fway.
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