Soft o'er his birth, and o'er his infant hours,
Th' ambitious maid could every care employ;
Then with affiduous fondnefs cropt the flowers,
To deck the cradle of the princely boy?
But foon the bofom's pleafing calm is flown;
Love fires her breast; the fultry passions rise;
A favour'd lover feeks the Mercian throne,

And views her Kenelm with a rival's eyes.
How kind were fortune, ah! how juft were fate,
Would fate or fortune Mercia's heir remove!
How fweet to revel on the couch of ftate!
To crown at once her lover and her love!
See, garnish'd for the chace, the fraudful maid
To thefe lone hills direct his devious way;
The youth all prone the fifter guide obey'd,
Ill-fated youth! himself the deftin'd prey.
But now, nor fhaggy hill, nor pathless plain,
Forms the lone refuge of the fylvan game;
Since Lyttelton has crown'd the sweet domain
With fofter pleasures, and with fairer fame.
Where the rough bowman urg'd his headlong steed,
Immortal bards, a polifh'd race, retire;

And where hoarfe fcrcam'd the ftrepent horn, fucceed The melting graces of no vulgar lyre.

See Thomson loitering near fome limpid well,

For Britain's friend the verdant wreath prepare! Or, ftudious of revolving feafons, tell,

How peerless Lucia made all feasons fair!

See

See

from civic garlands fly,

And in thefe groves indulge his tuneful vein! Or from yon' fummit, with a guardian's eye, Obferve how freedom's hand attires the plain! Here Pope! ah never muft that towering mind To his lov'd haunts, or dearer friend, return? What art! what friendships! oh! what fame refign'd! -In yonder glade I trace his mournful urn. Where is the breaft can rage or hate retain,

And these glad ftreams and fimiling lawns behold? Where is the breaft can hear the woodland ftrain, And think fair freedom well exchang'd for gold? Through thefe foft fhades delighted let me ftray, While o'er my head forgotten funs defcend! Through thefe dear valleys bend my cafual way,

Till fetting life a total fhade extend!

Here far from courts, and void of pompous cares, I'll mufe how much I owe mine humbler fate: Or fhrink to find, how much ambition dares,

To thine in anguish, and to grieve in itate!

Canft thou, O fun! that spotless throne disclose,
Where her bold arm has left no fanguine ftain?
Where, fhew me where, the lineal fceptre glows,
Pure, as the fimple crook that rules the plain?
Tremendous pomp! where hate, diftruft, and fear,
In kindred bofoms folve the focial tie;

There not the parent fmile is half fincere ;
Nor void of art the confort's melting eye.

There with the friendly with, the kindly flame,
No face is brighten'd, and no bofoms beat;
Youth, manhood, age, avow one fordid aim,
And ev'n the beardlefs lip affays deceit.

There coward rumours walk their murderous round;
The glance, that more than rural blame inftills;
Whispers, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound,
Pity that injures, and concern that kills.

Their anger whets, but love can ne'er engage;
Careffing brothers part but to revile;

There all men fmile, and prudence warns the wife,
To dread the fatal ftroke of all that fimile.

There all her rivals! fifter, fon, and fire,
With horrid purpose hug deftructive arms;
There foft-ey'd maids in murderous plots confpire,
And scorn the gentler mischief of their charms.
Let fervile minds one endlefs watch endure;

Day, night, nor hour, their anxious guard refign;
But lay me, fate! on flowery banks, fecure,
Though my whole foul be, like my limbs, fupine,
Yes, may my tongue disdain a vassal's care;
My lyre refound no prostituted lay;

More warm to merit, more elate to wear

The cap of-freedom, than the crown of bay.
Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood,
I wish it not o'er golden fands to flow;
Chear'd by the verdure of my spiral wood,
I fcorn the quarry, where no fhrub can grow.

No

No midnight pangs the shepherd's peace pursue;
His tongue, his hand, attempts no fecret wound;
He fings his Delia, and if she be true,

His love at once, and his ambition's crown'd.

He takes occafion, from the fate of ELEANOR of BRETAGNE, to fuggeft the imperfect pleasures of a folitary life.

WHEN beauty mourns, by fate's injurious doom,

Hid from the chearful glance of human eye;

When nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rifing figh. Fair Eleonora! would no gallant mind,

The cause of love, the cause of justice own? Matchlefs thy charms, and was no life refign'd

To fee them sparkle from their native throne?
Or had fair freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms,
Well might fuch brows the regal gem refign;
Thy radiant mien might fcorn the guilt of arms,
Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine.

O fhame of Britons! in one fullen tower
She wet with royal tears her daily cell;

She found keen anguish every rofe devour;

They sprung, they fhone, they faded, and they fell.

Through one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round,
Succeffive funs a languid radiance threw;
To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd,
To mark how faft her waning beauty flew.
This, age might bear; then fated fancy palls,
Nor warmly hopes what fplendor can fupply;
Fond youth inceffant mourns, if rigid walls
. Reftrain its liftening ear, its curious eye.
Believe me, ****, the pretence is vain!
This boasted calm that smooths our early days,
For never yet could youthful mind restrain

Th' alternate pant for pleasure and for praise.
Ev'n me, by shady oak or limpid spring,

Ev'n me, the scenes of polifh'd life allure;
Some genius whispers, "Life is on the wing,
And hard his lot that languishes obfcure.
What though thy riper mind admire no more-
The fhining cincture, and the broider'd fold,
Can pierce like lightning through the figur'd ore,
And melt to drofs the radiant forms of gold.
Furs, ermins, rods, may well attract thy fcorn;
The futile prefents of capricious power!

But wit, but worth, the public sphere adorn,
And who but envies then the focial hour?

Can virtue, careless of her pupil's meed,
Forget how *** fuftains the fhepherd's caufe?
Content in fhades to tune a lonely reed,

Nor join the founding pean of applaufe?

For