For my distracted mind

What fuccour can I find;

On whom for confolation Thall I call?

Support me every friend;

Your kind affiftance lend,

To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe.
Alas! each friend of mine,

My dear departed love, so much was thine,
That none has any comfort to beftow.

My books, the best relief

In every other grief,

Are now with your idea fadden'd all:

Each favourite author we together read

My tortur'd memory wounds, and speaks of Lucy dead.

We were the happieft pair of human kind:

The rolling year its various courfe 'perform'd,
And back return'd again;

Another, and another fmiling came,

And faw our happinefs unchang'd témaîn,
Still in her golden chains.

Harmonious concord did our, wishes 'binu;
Our ftudies, pleasures, taste the fame.
O fatal, fatal ftroke!!

That all this pleasing fabric Love had rais'd

'Of rate félicity,

'On which cv'n wanton Vice with envy 'gaz'd

And every scheme of blifs our hearts had form'd With foothing hope for many a future day,

In one fad moment broke!

Yet O my foul! thy rifing murmurs ftay;
Nor dare 'th' all-wife Difpofer to arraign,
Or against his fupreme decree

With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade,
Was his moft righteous will-and be that will obey'd.

Would thy fond love his grace to her controul; And, in these low abodes of, fin and pain,a »A Her pure exalted foul,

Unjustly, for thy prätial good, detain ?-
No-rather ftrive thy groveling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd the now with pity fees
How frail, how infecure, how flight,

Is every mortal blifs;

Een Love itself, if rifing by degrees, Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state, Whofe fleeting joy's fo foon muft end,“ It does not to it's fovereign good afcend. Rife, then, my foul, with hope elate,

And feek thofe regions of ferene délight, Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate, No feet but those of harden'd Guilt fhall mifs:

There Death himself thy Lucy fhail restore;

There yield up all his power ne'er to divide you more,

O DE

TO

WHILE

REFLECTION.

HILE penfive through the vale I bend my
way

Where Stour (dear native stream) glides swift along, Come, ever friendly to the poet's lay,

Come, fweet Reflection, aid my artless song.

Be thou my guide through life's perplexed maze,
Dear monitrefs! do thou my steps attend;
Within my breast, oh! let thy influence blaze,
And ne'er forfake me till I meet my end.

Now Spring, with rofy cheek and airy tread,
On wings of fouthern breezes lightly borne,
Comes jocund-let me, by thee musing, led

With early footsteps meet the blushing morn.

While from the bushy haunts of men I rove,
Their folly, noife, and riot, leave behind.
And wand'ring far among the fcenes I love,

Do thou enlighten and expand my mind,

And as I fray with thee at ev'ning hour,
When Cynthia, rifing full illumes the skies,
Poffefs my foul, and let thy magic pow'r

Shew Nature's wonders to my raptur'd eyes.

Oft' let me there indulge Hope's foothing dream When fleep with ebon wand hath charm'd the town,

As on the hill I ray, or where the fream,

To liquid filver chang'd, flows bubbling down.

While worlds on worlds unnumber'd round me roll
Their glorious orbs, and speak their Maker's

praise :

How great magnificent, fublime, the whole,

Then in my breaft Devotion's altar raise.

Oh! could mine eyes, like heav'n-taught Newton trace
Their wond'rous fyftems, motions, changes, pow'rs
Like him explore th' unbounded realms of space
To inform mankind like him, employ my hours.

Thrice happy they to whofe enlarged minds
The book of Nature ever open lies,

Its truths difplay'd,-who freed from error's blind
Feaft on its beauties their enlighten'd eyes.

But themes like these so high above my Muse,
Brief let me touch, nor dare attempt to foar,
Familiar, fofter subjects let me chuse,

And humbler, not lefs touching, scenes explore,

The dear domeftic joys that glad the foul,

The chearing fmiles of friendship, let me prove; Though ftill one wish will reign to crown the whole, 'Would Heav'n, propitious, grant Maria's love.'

Prefumptuous wish! to think a nymph so fair,
So elegant in form, fo pure in mind,
Could aught but pity or compaffion spare,

Nor aught I more than friendship hope to find,

Then why complain? if Friendship's holy flame,
Or kind attention, could content my foul;
Reason would bid me urge no farther claim,
Forbid the figh to heave, the tear to roll,

Yet vain the maxims Reason would oppose,

And vain to Hope, though ftill I blefs my chain. E'en thou, Reflection, doft but aid my woes

Too weak thy influence, too fix'd my pain.