The Works of the English Poets

If I must wish at all--Desires are free,
High, as the Highest, I would wish to be!
Then might I, sole supreme, act, unconfinid,
And with unbounded influence bless mankind.
Mean is that foul, whom its own good can fill!
A prosperous world, alone, could feast

will. He 's poor, at best, who others misery fees, And wants the wish’d-for power to give them ease! A glory this, unreach'd, but on a throne ! All were enough-and, less than all, is none ! This .my

firft with :But since 'tis wild, and vain, To grasp at glittering clouds, with fruitless pain, More fafely low, let my next prospect be, And life's mild evening this fair fun-fet see.

· Far from a Lord's loath'd neighbourhood_a State ! Whole little greatness is a pride I hate ! On some lone wild, should my large house be placid, Vastly surrounded by a healthful waste ! Steril, and coarse, the untry'd soil should be, Till forc'd to flourish, and subdued by me. Seas, woods, meads, mountains, gardens, streams, and

skies, Should, with a changeful grandeur, charm my cyes! Where-e’er I walk?d, effects of my past pains Should plume the mountain tops, and paint the plains, Greatly obscure, and Thunning courts, or name; Widely befriended, but escaping fame ; Peaceful, in studious. quiet, would I live, Lie hid, for leisurç, and grow rich, to give !

Alas! what a folly, what wealth and domain

We heap up in fin and in sorrow! Immense is the toil, yet the labour how -vain !

Is not life to be over to-morrow ?

Then glide on my moments, the few that I have

Smooth-faded, and quiet, and even ; : While gently the body descends to the grave,

And the spirit arises to heaven.

TO MR. DYER, BY CLIO*.

'VE done thy merit and my friendship wrong, I

In holding back my gratitude so long;
The foul is sure to equal transport rais’d,
That juitly praises, or is juftly prais d :
The generous only can this pleasure know,
Who taste the god-like virtue--to bestow!
I ev'n grow rich, methinks, while I commend;
And feel the very praises which I send.
Nor jealousy nor female envy find,
Though all the Mufes are to Dyer kind.

Sing on, nor let your modest fears retard,
Whose verse and pencil join, to force reward :
Your claim demands the bays, in double wreath,
Your Poems lighten, and your pi&tures breathe.

I wish to praise you, but your beauties wrong ; No theme looks green, in Clio's artless song:

But * Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, is an Epistle, occasioned by Mr. Dyer's Picture of this Lady.

But
yours

will an eternal verdure wear,
For Dyer's fruitful soul will flourish there.
My humbler lot was in low distance laid;
I was, oh, hated thought! a woman made;
For houshold cares, and empty trifles meant,
The Name does immortality prevent.
Yet let me stretch, beyond my sex, my mind,
And, rising, leave the fluttering train behind;
Nor art, nor learning, with'd affiftance lends,
But nature, love, and music, are my friends.

CON

CONTENTS

DYER'S

PO E MS.

GRONGAR HILL,

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