And urging their various opinions, intended

Say, father Thames, whose gentle pace To make me wed systems, which they recom- Gives leave to view what beauties grace mended.

Your flow'ry banks, if you have seen Said a lech'rous old friar skulking near Lincoln's- The much-sung Grotto of the queen. inn,

Contemplative, forget awhile
(Whose trade's to absolve, but whose pastime's to Oxonian towers, and Windsor's pile,
sin ;

And Wolsey's pridet (his greatest guilt)
Who, spider-like, seizes weak Protestant flies, And wbat great William since has buili,
Which hung in his sophistry cobweb he spies ;) And flowing fast by Richmond scenes,
“ Ah! pity your soul; for without our church pale, (Honor'd retreat of two great queensi)
If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail; From Sion-House,ll whose proud survey
The Bible, you boast, is a wild revelation :

Brow beats your flood, look 'cross the way, Hear a church that can't err, if you hope for sal. And view, from highest swell of tide, vation."

The milder scenes of Surrey side.
Said a formal non-con, (whose rich stock of grace Though yet no palace grace the shore,
Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face) To lodge that pair you should adore ;
“Ah! pily your soul: come, be of our sect :

Nor abbeys, great in ruin, rise,
For then you are safe, and may plead you 're elect. Royal equivalents for vice;
As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves Behold a grot, in Delphic grove,
saints,

The Graces' and the Muses' love.
Being Christ's little flock everywhere spoke against.” (O, might our laureate study here,

Said a jolly church parson, (devoted to ease, How would he hail his new-born year!)
While penal-law dragons guard his golden fleece) A temple from vain glories free,
“ If you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither; Whose goddess is Philosophy,
The first is in error, the last a deceiver:

Whose sides such licens'd idols crown That our's is the true church, the sense of our As Superstition would pull down: tribe is,

The only pilgrimage I know, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis."

That men of sense would choose to go: Said a yea and nay Friend, with a stiff hat and Which sweet abode, her wisest choice, band,

Urania cheers with heavenly voice, (Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his While all the Virtues gather round, hand,)

To see her consecrate the ground. Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, If thou, the god with winged feet, Though about ways and means they may all dis- In council talk of this retreat, agree ;

And jealous gods resentment show
Then pritheo be wise, go the Quaker's by-way, At altars rais'd to men below;
"Tis plain, without turnpikes, so nothing to pay." Tell those proud lords of Heaven, 'tis fit

Their house our heroes should admit;
While each exists, as poets sing,
A lazy, lewd immortal thing,
They must (or grow in disrepute)

With Earth's first commoners recruit.
THE GROTTO,*

Needless it is in terms unskill'd

To praise whatever Boyle 5 shall build ; WRITTEN BY MR GREEN, UNDER THE NAME OF

Needless it is the busts to name
PETER DRAKE, A FISHERMAN OF BRENTFORD.

Of men, monopolists of fame;
Four chiefs adorn the modest stone,

For virtue as for learning known;
Printed in the year 1732, but not published.

The thinking sculpture helps to raise

Deep thoughts, the genii of the place :
Scilicet hic possis curvo dignoscere rectum,
Atque inter silvas Academi quærere verum.

Нот. .
Our wits Apollo's influence beg,
The Grotto makes them all with egg:

Hampton Court, begun by Cardinal Wolsey, and im.
Finding this chalkstone in my nest,

proved by King William III. I strain, and lay among the rest.

1 Queen Anne, consort to King Richard II. and Queen

Elizabeth, both died at Richmond.
ADIEU awhile, forsaken flood,
To ramble in the Delian woud,

| Sion. House is now a seat belonging to the Duke of

Northumberland.
And pray the god my well-meant song
May not my subject's merit wrong.

& Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington, a nobleman remark. able for his fine taste in architecture. * Never were protection and great wealth more generously and judiciously

diffused than by this great person, who had every quality * A building in Richmond Gardens, erected by Queen of a genius and artist, except envy.” He died December

4, 1753. Caroline, and committed to the custody of Stephen Duck. Al the time this poem was written, many other verses ap- 11 The author should have said five; there being the peared on the same subject.

busts of Newton, Locke, Wollaston, Clarke, and Boyle

THOMAS TICKELL.

Thomas TICKELL, a poet of considerable ele- Gentleman at Avignon." Both these are selected gance, born at Bridekirk, near Carlisle, in 1686, for the purpose of the present volume. He was was the son of a clergyman in the county of Cum- about this time taken to Ireland, by Addison, who berland. He was entered of Queen's College, Ox- went over as secretary to Lord Sunderland. When ford, in 1701, and having taken the degree of M. A. Pope published the first volume of his translation of in 1708, was elected fellow of his college, first ob- the Iliad, Tickell gave a translation of the first taining from the crown a dispensation from the book of that poem, which was patronized by Addi. statute requiring him to be in orders.. He then son, and occasioned a breach between those emi. came to the metropolis, where he made himself nent men. Tickell’s composition, however, will known to several persons distinguished in letters. bear no poetical comparison with that of Pope, and When the negotiations were carrying on which accordingly he did not proceed with the task. On brought on the peace of Utrecht, he published a the death of Addison, he was intrusted with the poem entitled “The Prospect of Peace," which ran charge of publishing his works, a distinction which through six editions. Addison, with whom he had he repaid by prefixing a life of that celebrated ingratiated himself by an elegant poem on his opera man, with an elegy on his death, of which Dr. Johnof Rosamond, speaks highly of “The Prospect of son says, “That a more sublime or elegant funeral Peace," in a paper of the Spectator, in which he poem is not to be found in the whole compass of expresses himself as particularly pleased to find English literature.” Another piece, which might be that the author had not amused himself with fables justly placed at the head of sober lyrics, is his out of the Pagan theology. This commendation “Ode to the Earl of Sunderland,” on his installa. Tickell amply repaid by his lines on Addison's tion as a knight of the Garter; which, keeping Cato, which are superior to all others on that sub-within the limits of truth, consigns a favorite name ject, with the exception of Pope's Prologue. to its real honors.

Tickell, being attached to the succession of the Tickell is represented as a man of pleasing manHouse of Hanover, presented George I. with a poem ners, fond of society, very agreeable in conversa. entitled “The Royal Progress;" and more effec- tion, and upright and honorable in his conduct. Ho tually served the cause by two pieces, one called was married, and left a family. His death took * An Imitation of the Prophecy of Nereus ;" the place at Bath, in 1740, in the 54th year of his age. other, “An Epistle from a Lady in England, to a

To-morrow, in the church to wed,

Oh, gone for ever; take this long adieu ;
Impatient, both prepare !

And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. But know, fond maid ; and know, false man, To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, That Lucy will be there!

A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine ;

Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, “ Then bear my corse, my comrades, boar, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. This bridegroom blithe to meet,

If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part,
He in his wedding-trim so gay,

May shame afflict this alienated heart;
I in my winding-sheet."

of thee forgetful if I form a song,
She spoke, she died, her corse was borne, My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue.
The bridegroom blithe to meet,

My grief be doubled from thy image free,
He in his wedding-trim s gay,

And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee.
She in her winding-sheet.

Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,

Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown, Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? Along the walls where speaking marbles show How were these nuptials kept?

What worthies form the hallow'd mould below; The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead, Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; And all the village wept.

In arms who triumph'd ; or in arts excell'd; Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood; At once his bosom swell:

Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; The damps of death bedew'd his brow, Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

And saints wbo taught, and led, the way to heaven

Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, From the vain bride, ah, bride no more! Since their foundation, came a nobler guest; The varying crimson fled,

Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. She saw her husband dead.

In what new region, to the just assign'd, Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, What new employments please th' unbodied mind: Convey'd by trembling swains,

A winged Virtue, through th' ethereal sky, One mould with her, beneath one sod, From world to world unwearied does he fly? For ever he remains.

Or curious trace the long laborious maze

Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze Oft at this grave, the constant hind

Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
And plighted maid are seen ;

How Michael battled, and the dragon fell;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots, Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
They deck the sacred green:

In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below?
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
This hallow'd spot forbear;

A task well suited to thy gentle mind ?
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend : And fear to meet him there.

To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend !

When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart;

Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
EARL OF WARWICK,

Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more. ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.

That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree

Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me ;
IF, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd, In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,

Or, rous'd by Fancy, meets my waking eyes
Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. Th'unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight
What mourner ever felt poetic fires !

If in the stage I seek to sooth my care,
Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there;
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,

If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;

Can I forget the dismal night that gave "Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong,
My soul's best part for ever to the grave! Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song:
How silent did his old companions tread, There patient show'd us the wise course to steer,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, A candid censor, and a friend severe ;
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, There taught us how to live ; and (oh! too high
Through rows of warriors, and through walks of The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
kings!

Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire ;

grace, The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; Rear’d by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid ; Why, once so lov'd, whene'er thy bower appears, And the last words that dust to dust convey'd ! O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears' While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. | Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air!

TO THE