Yet, nurs❜d with skill, what dazzling fruits appear!
Ev'n now sagacious foresight points to show
A little bench of heedless bishops here,
And there a chancellour in embryo,

Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so,

As Milton, Shakspeare, names that ne'er shall

die!

Though now he crawl along the ground so low, Nor weeting how the Muse should soar on high, Wisheth, poor starveling elf! his paper kite may fly.

And this perhaps, who, censuring the design, Low lays the house which that of cards doth build, Shall Dennis be! if rigid fate incline, And many an epic to his rage shall yield; And many a poet quit th' Aonian field: And, sour'd by age, profound he shall appear, As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrill'd, Surveys mine work and levels many a sneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What stuff is here?"

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skie,
And liberty unbars her prison-door:
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,
And now the grassy cirque han cover'd o'er
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar;
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run,
Heaven shield their short-liv'd pastimes, I im-
plore!

For well may freedom erst so dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladsome than the sun.

Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade, And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flowers; For when my bones in grass-green sods are laid; For never may ye taste more careless hours In knightly castles or in ladies bowers. O vain to seek delight in earthly thing! But most in courts where proud ambition towers; Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can spring Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of king.

See in each sprite some various bent appear!
These rudely carol most incondite lay;
Those sauntering on the green, with jocund leer
Salute the stranger passing on his way;
Some builden fragile tenements of clay;
Some to the standing lake their courses bend,
With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to play;
Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend,

In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend.

Here, as each season yields a different store,
Each season's stores in order ranged been;
Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,
Galling full sore th' unmoney'd wight, are seen;
And goose-❜brie clad in livery red or green;
And here of lovely dye, the catharine pear,
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween:

VOL. IV.

CC

O may no wight e'er pennyless come there, Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hopeless care!

See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With thread so white in tempting posies ty'd, Scattering, like blooming maid, their glances round,

With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside; And must be bought, though penury betide. The plumb all azure and the nut all brown, And here each season do those cakes abide, Whose honour'd names th' inventive city own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises

known.

Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave, Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd, Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave: Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave, Whose art did first these dulcet cates display A motive fair to learning's imps he gave, Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray; Till reason's morn arise, and light them on their way.

ELEGY.

DESCRIBING THE SORROW OF AN INGENUOUS MIND ON THE MELANCHOLY EVENT OF A LICENTIOUS AMOUR.

WHY mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast eye?

That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to shine?' Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh; Spring ne'er enamell'd fairer meads than thine.

Art thou not lodg'd in fortune's warm embrace ? Wert thou not form'd by nature's partial care? Blest in thy song, and blest in every grace

That wins the friend, or that inchants the fair?

Damon, said he, thy partial praise restrain;

Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore; Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,

And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more.

For oh that nature on my birth had frown'd,
Or fortune fix'd me to some lowly cell!
Then had my bosom 'scap'd this fatal wound,
Nor had I bid these vernal sweets farewell.

But led by Fortune's hand, her darling child,
My youth her vain licentious bliss admir'd;
In Fortune's train the syren Flattery smil❜d,
And rashly hallow'd all her queen inspir'd.

Of folly studious, ev'n of vices vain,

Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay!
I chas'd the guileless daughters of the plain,
Nor dropt the chase till Jessy was my prey.

Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name,
Expence, and art, and toil, united strove;
To lure a breast that felt the purest flame,
Sustain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love.

School'd in the science of love's mazy 'wiles,
I cloth'd each feature with affected scorn;
I spoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn.

Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care,
Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove;

I bade my words the wonted softness wear,
And seiz'd the minute of returning love.

To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the rest?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline!
Assur'd that virtue, by misfortune prest,
Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine.

Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame;
Erewhile to flaunt it in the face of day;
When, scorn'd of virtue, stigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet desponding Jessy lay.