For years, the fole joy of her heart,

Thence faithful he sung by her fide;

And at her when cold death flung his dart,
He languish'd; he ficken'd; he died.
Adieu! ye companions, fo dear!

Ye pretty sweet warblers, adieu!

No more your glad notes fhall I hear;
How rare meet affection fo true!

ELEGY

Bleis'd be the Hand which then, with timely Power,
Humanely Brong, and generoully brave,
Approach'd the Traveller in his needy Hour,
And fnatch'd the loet from a watery Grave!
Whyte's Porms Hogy ?*

Ashford Pina

Efdall sadp.

COLES HILL.

ADDRESSED

TO THOMAS SPRING, ESQ.

WRITTEN AT THE SWAN INN THERE,

ON SEEING A POEM OF HIS IN THE NEWS-PAPER.

WHEN, lonely, on far distant climates cast,
The weary pilgrim, refting from his toil,
Cheerlefs and pale, a world of peril past,

Sees fome known relick from his native foil;

Fix'd, bless'd event! in penfive joy he stands,
His cares, awhile, to foft oblivion given;
He drops the crofier from his trembling hands;
He steals a figh from his lov'd faint and heaven:

But, should, perchance, the fweet memorial bear
Some ftamp of worth peculiarly imprefs'd;
Should friendship mark some kindred traces there,
Then, then, what ardors heave his panting breast!

So, even now, my penfive bosom glows,

As o'er thy sterling lines I cast my eye; My pains, fufpended, fink into repofe,

And, lo! once more, my flender reed I try.

Though small my skill to touch the various lyre,
The Nine to me though niggards of their aid,
My humble ivy dare to fame aspire,

Beneath thy facred laurel's friendly shade

Well know'ft thou, COLESHILL, feat of calm delight,

A fwelling mount, with bowery dwellings crown'd;

How fair in prospect breaks it on the fight!
How rich the Eden of the country round!

The muse, still grateful, loves the sylvan scene;
Nor is the genius of the people rude ;
Humanity and courage grace the men ;

The nymphs all beauteous, fenfible, and good.

Bleak was the night, and fore my mind opprefs'd,
When hither, first, I fadly bent my way;

My frozen blood scarce crept in my torn breast,
And all one trackless waste drear nature lay.