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C O N T E N T S.
Fitzpatrick 217 Verses sent to a young Lady with the new edition of Shakespeare
Carlisle 221 Verfcs on Mrs. Crewe Rhapsody on Taste
Carlise 215 Elegy written in the Garden of a Friend Mason 227 Elegy written in a Country Church Yard
Gray 231 Elegy on Captain Cook
Seward 237 Death of Alico
Edwards 249 Monody to the Memory of Lady Lyttleton
Lyttletor 251 Verses making part of an Epitaph on the same Lady
ditto-751 Monody ! on Major Andre 1 i Bervard 363
. 263 Ode to John Howard, Esq;
Hayley 381 2
H! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shinesafar!
In life's low vale remote has pined alone,
II. And yet, the languor of inglorious days, Not equally oppreffive is to all. Him who ne'er liften'd to the voice of praise, The filence of neglect can ne'er appal. There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Wou'd shrink to hear th'obftreperous trump of Fame * Supremely bleft if to their portion Call
Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had He, whose finiple tale these artless lines prom
III. This fapient age disclaims all classic lore ; Else I Thould here in cunning phrase display, How forth The Minstrel fared in days of yore,. Right glad of heart, though homely in array ; His waving locks and beard all hoary grey : And, from his bending shoulder, decent hung His harp, the fole companion of his way,
Which to the whilling wind respon five rung: And ever as he went some merry lay lie sung.
iv. Tret not yourselves, ye filken fons of pride, That a poor wanderer should inspire my ttrain, The muses fortune's fickle smile deride, Nor ever bow the knee in Mammon's fane ; Tur their delights are with the village train, Whom nature's law's engage, and nature's charms : They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain;
The parafite their influence never warms, Nor him whose fordid soul the love of wealth alarms.
V. Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn, Yet horror screams from his discordant throat. Rife, fons of harmony, and hail the morn, While warbling larks on rusiet pinions float ; Or seek at doon the woodland scene remote, Where the grey linnets carol from the hill. O let them ne'er with artificial note,
To please a tyrant, train the little bill, But sing what heaven inspires, and wander where they
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise ;
Here peaceful are ihe valęs, and pure the skies, And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.
VII. Then grieve not, thou to whom the indulgent Myse Vouchlafes a portion of celsflial fire ; Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse Th' imperial banquet, and the rich'attire. Know thine own worth and reverence the lyre. Wilt thou debale the heart which God refin'd; No; let the heaven-taught soul, to heaven aspire
To fancy, freedom, harmony, relign'd; Ambition's groveling crew for ever left behind.
Canst thou forego the pure etherial foul
Where fear, diftruit, malevolence, abide,
IX. O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her vot’ry yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all thai echoes to the fong of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bofom fields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven!
x. These charms fhall work thy soul's eternal health, And love, and gentleness, and joy impart.