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Is't reason? no; that my whole life will belye,
For who fo at variance as reason and I?
Is’t ambition that fills up each chink of my heart,
Nor allows any softer sensation a part?
Oh no! for in this all the world must agree,
One folly was never sufficient for me.
Is my mind on distress too intensely employ'd,
Or by pleasure relax'd, by variety cloy'd ?
For alike in this only, enjoyment and pain
Both Nacken the springs of those nerves which they

That I've felt each reverse that from fortune can flow,
That I've tasted each bliss that the happiest know,
Has still been the whimsical fate of
Where anguish and joy have been ever at strife.
But tho'vers’d in th' extremes both of pleasure and paid,
I am ftill but too ready to feel them again.
If then for this once in my life I am free,
And escape from a fnare might catch wiser than me;
"Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms
For tho'brightness may dazzle 'tis kindness that warms :
As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze,
But feel not the warmth though their fplendour we

praise, So beauty our just admiration may claim, But love, and love only the heart can inflame.

my life,




On seeing the Duchess of Devonshire in full



OME, thou goddess fair and free,

Whom the meek nymph, Simplicity,
To the son of Maia bore,
And nurs'd upon th’ Athenian shore,

Then to thy fire her charge refign'd,
Who to such elegance of mind
Added, whatever polish'd ease
Could give, and all the arts to please :
Whether on Reynolds (beauty's friend)
Thou hiddest every grace attend;
Or smiling doft in sportive song
Hail the great guest of Kien-long *:
Hither, various goddess, haste,
Boundless, inimitable taste,

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And save those charms from fashion's tawdry reign,
Which Nature gave to Dev'n, and gave in vain--

From her cumbrous forehead tear
The architecture of her hair,
But leave one snow-white plume to fhew
It faintly mocks the neck below
Snatch from her lip the 'immodeft guile
Of affectation's constant smile,
And on her cheek replace the rose,
Which, pale and wan, no longer glows
With all that beauty, youth, and love,
Could copy from some saint above-
Would the promife real bliss,
Bid her seem but what she is :
Or, if lovelier still she'd be,
From Granby learn to worship shee.

Lincolns-Inn New Squart.



Written in the Garden of a Friend.

By W. M A SON, A. M.

Its arch of glittering verdure wildly Alings, Can fancy flumber? can the tuneful pow'r,

That rules my lyre, neglect her wonted strings?

No; if the blightning East deform’d the plain,

If this gay bank no balmy sweets exhal’d, Still should the grove re-echo to my strain, And friendship prompt the theme, where beauty


For he, whose careless art this foliage drest,

Who bad these twining braids of woodbine bend, He first with truth and virtue taught my breast

Where best to chuse, and belt to fix a friend.


How well does mem'ry note the golden day,

What time reclin'd in Marg'ret's ftudious glade, My miinic reed first tun'd the * Dorian lay,

Unscen, unheard, beneath an hawthorn' shade !"

'Twas there we met : the muses hail'd the hour;

The fame defires, the fame ingenious arts
Inspir'd us both : we own's and bless’d the pow's

That join'd at once our studies and our hearts.
O! fince those days, when science spread the feast,

When emulative youth its relish lent,
Say has one genuine joy e'er warm'd my breaft?

Enough: if joy was his, be mine content.

To thirst for praise his temperate youth forbore ;

He fondly wilh'd not for a poet's name,
Much did he love the mufe, but-quiet more,

And, tho' he might command, he flighted fame.

Hither in manhood's prime he wisely fed

From all that folly, all that pride approves;
To this soft scene a tender partner led ;

This laurel shade was witness to their loves.

“ Bégone (he cry'd) ambition's air-drawn plan;

“ Hence with perplexing pomp's unwieldy wealth : “ Let me not seem, but be the happy man,

“ Poffeft-of love, of competence, and health."
Smiling he spake, nor did the fates withstand;

In rural arts the peaceful moments flew :
Say, lovely lawn ! that felt his forming hand,

How soon thy surface shone with verdure new :

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Mufæus, the first Poem which the author pub. lished, written while he was a scholar of St. College in Cambridge.

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