Old EDWARD's fons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from CRESSY's laurell'd field
And gaze with fix'd delight;
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they fnatch the gleamy fteel,
And with th' avenging fight.
VII.
If, weak to footh fo foft an heart,
Thefe pictur'd glories nought impart
To dry thy conftant tear
If yet in forrow's distant eye,
Expos'd and pale thou feeft him lie,
Wild war infulting near.
Where-e'er from time thou court't relief,
The Muse shall still with focial grief
Her gentle promise keep :
Ev'n humble HARTING'S cottag'd vale
Shall learn the fad repeated tale,
And bid her hepherds weep.
Written in the fame Year.
W fleep the brave, who fink to rest,
By all their country's wifhes bleft!
When Spring with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mold,
She there fhall dress a sweeter fod,
Than FANCY's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unfeen their dirge is fung;
There HONOUR comes, a PILGRIM grey,
'To blefs the turf that wraps their clay,
And FREEDOM fhall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping HERMIT there!
F aught of oaten stop, or pastoral fong,
May hope, chafte Eve, to footh thy modeft ear,
Like thy own folemn fprings,
Thy springs, and dying gales,
O NYMPH referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun
Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede etherial wove,
Now air is hush'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat,
With fhort fhrill fhrieks flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His fmall but fullen horn,
As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedlefs hum.
Now teach me, maid compos'd,
To breathe fome foften'd ftrain,
Whose numbers ftealing through thy dark'ning vale,
May not unfeemly with its ftillness fuit,
As mufing flow, I hail
Thy genial lov'd return!
For when thy folding star arifing fhews
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who flept in flow'rs the day,
And many a Nymph, who wreaths her brows with fedge,
And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still,
The PENSIVE PLEASURES fweet
Prepare thy fhadowy car.
Then lead, calm Vot'refs, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallow'd pile,
Or up-land fallows grey
Reflect its laft cool gleam.
But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's fide,
Views wilds, and fwelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
While Spring fhall pour his fhow'rs, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekeft Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy ling’ring light;
While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy fhrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;
So long, fure-found beneath the Sylvan shed,
Shall FANCY, FRIENDSHIP, SCIENCE, rofe-lip'd HEALTH,
Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!
VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF,
By Lord LANSDOWN, when he prefented his Works to the Queen, 1732.
Muse expiring, who with earliest voice,
Made kings andqueens, and beauty's charms her choice, Now on her death-bed, the laft homage pays,
O Queen, to thee; accept her dying lays.'
So at th' approach of death the cygnet tries
To warble one note more, and finging dies.
Hail mighty Queen, whofe powerful fmiles alone
Command obedience and fecure the throne.
Contending parties, and Plebeian rage,
Had puzzled Loyalty for half an age :
Conqu❜ring our hearts you end the long difpute;
All who have eyes confefs you absolute;
To Tory doctrines even Whigs refign,
And in your person own the right divine.
Thus fung the Muse, in her last moments fir'd
With CAROLINA's praise, and then expir'd.
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