So oft I have, the evening still, At the fountain of a rill,

Sat upon a flow'ry bed,

With my hand beneath my head,
While ftray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over mead and over wood,
From house to houfe, from hill to hill,
Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd fides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind;
And
groves and grottos, where I lay,
And viftos fhooting beams of day.
Wide and wider fpreads the vale,
As circles on a fmooth canal :
The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their fummits from the skies,
And leffen as the others rife.
Still the profpect wider fpreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens ftill,
And finks the newly-rifen hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow;
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours, intervene;
But the the
gay,
fcene
open
Does the face of Nature fhew
In all the hues of heaven's bow;
And, fwelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the fight.
Old caftles on the cliffs arife,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies;
Rufhing from the woods, the fpires
Seem from hence afcending fires :
Half his beams Apollo fheds
On the yellow mountain-heads,
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.
Below me trees unnumber'd rife,
Beautiful in various dyes:
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the sable yew:
The flender fir that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs;
And, beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye.
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood;
His fides are cloth'd with waving wood;
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That caft an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps:
So both a fafety from the wind
On mutual dependance find.

"Tis now the raven's bleak abode,
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds,
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs, and weeds;`
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.

Yet time has feen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state:
But tranfient is the fmile of Fate !
A little rule, a little fway,

A fun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradie and the grave.

And fee the rivers, how they run
Thro' woods and meads, in fhade and fun!
Sometimes fwift, fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless fleep!
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To inftruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus the dreffes
and
green gay,
To difperfe our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the fky!
The pleafant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r;
The town and village, dome and farm;
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's fouthern fide,
Where the profpect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide,
How clofe and fall the hedges lie!
What ftreaks of meadows crofs the eye!
A ftep, methinks, may pafs the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem:
So we mistake the future's face,
Eyed thro' Hope's deluding glafs.
As yon fummits foft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the fame coarse way;
The prefent's ftill a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I fee!
Content me with a humble fhade,
My paffions tam'd, my wifhes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the bufy beat the air,
And mifers gather wealth and care.
Now, c'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain turf I lie;
While the wanton zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the fhepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufic fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts! be great who will;
Search for peace with all your skill;

}

}

Onen

Nor where Clitumnus rolls his gentle
ftream,

Nor where, through hanging woods,
Steep Anio + pours his floods,
Nor yet where Meles or Iliffus § ftray.
Ill does it now befeem,

That, of your guardian care bereft,

To dire difeafe and death your darling fhould be left.

Now what avails it, that in early bloom,
When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex's joys,

With you the fearch'd the wit of Greece
and Rome;

And all that in her latter days,
To emulate her ancient praife,
Italia's happy genius could produce;
Or what the Gallic fire

Bright sparkling could infpire,
By all the Graces temper'd and refin'd;
Or what, in Britain's ifle,

Moft favour'd with your fmile,
The pow'rs of Reafon and of Fancy join'd
To full perfection have conspir'd to raise ?
Ah! what is now the ufe

Of all thofe treasures that enrich'd her mind, To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd!

At leaft, ye Nine, her fpotlefs name

'Tis yours from death to fave,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.
Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,

And ftrew with choiceft flow'rs her hal-
low'd tomb;

But foremost thou, in fable veftinent clad,
With accents fweet and fad,
Thou plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's
Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn; [urn
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impaffion'd tear, a more pathetic lay!
Tell how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by fome fweet peculiar grace!
How eloquent in ev'ry look
Thro' her exprellive eyes her foul distinctly
fpoke !

Tell how her manners, by the world refin'd,
Left all the taint of modish vice behind,
And madeeach charm of polish'd courts agree
With candid Truth's fimplicity,
And uncorrupted Innocence!
Tell how to more than manly fenfe
She join'd the foft'ning influence
Of more than female tenderness:

How, in the thoughtlefs days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others good destroy,
Her kindly-melting heart,

To every want, and every woe,
To guilt itfelf when in distress,
The balm of pity would impart,
And all relief that bounty could bestow!
E'en for the kid or lamb, that pour'd its life
Beneath the bloody knife,

Her gentle tears would fall;
Tears, from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all.
Not only good and kind,

But ftrong and elevated was her mind :
A fpirit that with noble pride
Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's fmile or frown;
That could, without regret or pain,
To Virtue's lowest duty facrifice
Or Interest or Ambition's highest prize;
That, injur'd or offended, never tried
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
But by magnanimous difdain.
A wit that, temperately bright,
With inoffenfive light

All pleafing fhone; nor ever pafs'd
The decent bounds that Wisdom's fober hand,
And fweet Benevolence's mild command,
And bathful modefty, before it caft.
A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd,
That nor too little nor too much believ'd;
That fcorn'd unjuft Sufpicion's coward fear,
And, without weaknefs, knew to be fincere.
Such Lucy was, when in her fairest days,
Amidft th' acclaim of univerfal praife.
Death came remorfelcfson, and funk her to the tomb,
In life's and glory's fresheft bloom,
So, where the filent streams of Liris glide,
In the foft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wint'ry tempefts all are fled,
And genial fummer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head;
From ev'ry branch the balmy flow'rets rife,
On every bough the golden fruits are feen;
With odours fweet it fills the finiling skies,
The wood nymphs tend it, and th' Idalian

queen:

But, in the midft of all its blooming pride, A fudden blaft from Apenninus blows, Cold with perpetual fnows; [and dies. The tender blighted plant fhrinks up its leaves, Arife, O Petrarch! from th' Elvfian bow'rs, With never-fading myrtles twin'd, And fragrant with ambrofial flow'rs, Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd; Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre, Tun'd by thy fkilful hand, To the foft notes of elegant defire, With which o'er many a land Was fpread the fame of thy difaftrous love; To me refign the vocal thell,

The Iliffus is a river at Athens.

And

And teach my forrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,
As may c'en things inanimate, [move.
Rough mountain oaks, and defart rocks, to pity

What were,alas! thy woes, compar'd to mine?
To thee thy miftrefs in the blifsful band
Of Hymen never gave her hand;

The joys of wedded love were never thine.
In thy domeftic care

She never bore a fhare,

Nor with endearing art

Would heal thy wounded heart

Of every fecret grief that fefter'd there:
Nor did her fond affection on the bed
Of fickness watch thee, and thy languid head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the fenfe of pain:
Nor did fhe crown your mutual flame
With pledges dear,and with a father's tender name.

O beft of wives! O dearer far to me
Than when thy virgin charms
Were yielded to my arms;

How can my foul endure the lofs of thee?
How in the world, to me a defart grown,
Abandon'd and alone,
Without my fweet companion can I live?
Without thy lovely fmile,

The dear reward of every virtuous toil,
What pleafures now can pall'd Ambition give?
E'en the delightful fenfe of well-carn'd praife,
Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts

could raife.

Yet, O my foul! thy rifing murmurs stay;
Nor dare th'all-wife Difpofer to arraign,
Or against his fupreme decree
With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, Was his molt righteous will-and be that will obey'd.

Would thy fond love his grace to her controul;
And, in these low abodes of fin and pain,
Her pure exalted foul,

Unjustly, for thy partial good, detain ?
No-rather ftrive thy grovelling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd the now with pity fees,
How frail, how infecure, how flight,

Is every mortal blifs;

Even Love itfelf, if rifing by degrees
Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state,
Whofe fleeting joys fo foon muft end,
It does not to its fovereign good ascend.

Rife then, my foul, with hope clate,
And feck thofe regions of ferene delight,
Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate,
No feet but thofe of harden'd Guilt fhall mifs:
There Death himself thy Lucy fhall reftore;
There yield up all his pow'r ne'er to divide you

And cruel was my mother, that fuch a fight could And cruel is the wint'ry wind, that chills my heart with cold, [for gold!

But crueller than all, the lad that left my love

Hufh, hufh, my lovely baby, and warm thee in

my breast;

[treft! Ah, little thinks thy father how fadly we're dif For, cruel as he is, did he know but low we fare, He'd fhield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.

Cold, cold, my deareft jewel! thy little life is gone: Oh let my tears revive thee, fo warm that trickle down: [they fail : My tears that gush so warm, oh they freeze before Ah wretched, wretched mother! thou'rt now bereft of all."

Then down the funk defpairing upon the drifted fnow; [her woe: And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud She kifs'd her baby's pale lips, and laid it by her

fide;

Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow'd her head, and died.

Ff

AH me! full forely is my heart forlorn,
Tothink how modeft worth neglected lies,
While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn
Such deeds alone as pride and
pomp difguife;
Deeds of ill fort, and mischievous emprize :
Lend me thy clarion, Goddef's! let me try
To found the praise of merit ere it dies;

Such as I oft have chanced to efpy,
Loft in the dreary shades of dull obfcurity.
In ev'ry village, mark'd with little fpire, [fame,
Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to
There dwells, in lowly fhade and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we School-miftrefs

name;

Who beafts unruly brats with birch to tame:
They, grieven fore, in piteous durance pent,
Aw'd by the pow'r of this relentless dame,

And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,
For unkempt hair, ortafk unconn'd,are forely fhent.
And all in fight doth rife a birchen tree,

Which Learning near her little dome did ftow, Whilome a twig of fmall regard to see, Tho' now fo wide its waving branches flow, And work the fimple vaffals mickle woe; For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew, ['low; But their limbs fhudder'd, and their pulfe beat And, as they look 'd, they found their horror

grew,

And fhap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view.
So have I feen (who has not, may conceive)
A lifeless phantom near a garden plac'd;
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave,

Of fport, of fong, of pleafure, of repast: They start, they stare, they wheel, they look aghaft ;

Sad fervitude! Such comfortless annoy
May no bold Briton's riper age e'er tafte!

Ne fuperftition clog his dance of joy,
Ne vifion empty, vain, his native blits deftroy.
Near to this dome is found a patch fo green,

On which the tribe their gambols do difplay; And at the door impris'ning board is feen, Left weakly wights offmaller fize fhould stray, Eager, perdie, to bafk in funny day!

The noifes intermix'd, which thence refound, Do Learning's little tenement betray; Where fits the dame, difguis'd in look profound, [around. And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel Her cap, far whiter than the driven fnow,

Emblem right meet of decency docs yield; Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe,

As is the harc-Lell that adorns the field: And in her hand, for fceptre, fhe does wield Twav birchen prays, with anxious fear entwin'd,

With dark distrust, and fad repentance fill'd, And ftedfaft hate, and sharp affliction join'd And fury uncontroul'd, and chastisement unkind. Few but have kenn'd, in femblance meet pour tray'd,

The childish faces of old Æol's train, Libs, Notus, Aufter: thefe in frowns array'd, How then would fare or earth, or sky, or main, Were the ftern god to give his flaves the rein?

And were not the rebellious breafts to quell, And were not the her ftatutes to maintain,

The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell Where comely peace of mind and decent order dwell.

A ruffet ftole was o'er her fhoulders thrown;
A ruffet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air;
'Twas fimple ruffet, but it was her own,

'Twas her own country bred the flock to fair; 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare, And, footh to fay, her pupils, rang'd around, Thro' pious awe did term it paffing rare;

And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight For they in gaping wonderment abound, on ground.

Albeit, ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth;

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Goody, good-woman, goffip, n'aunt, forfooth

Or dame, the fole additions the did hear; Yet these the challeng'd, thefe fhe held right

dear:

Ne would eftcem him act as mought behove, Who should not honour'd eld with these revere

But there was eke a mind which did that title love For never title yet fo mean could prove, One ancient hen he took delight to feed,

The plodding pattern of the bufy dame, Which ever and anon, impell'd by need,

Into her fchool, begirt with chickens, came; Such favour did her paft deportment claim: And if neglect had lavish'd on the ground Fragment of bread, fhe would collect the fame; For well the knew, and quaintly could ex pound, What fin it were to wafte the fmalleft crumb the found.

Herbs too fhe knew, and well of each could

fpeak,

That in her garden fipp'd the filv'ry dew, Where no vain flow'r difclos'd a gaudy streak, But herbs for ufc and phyfic not a few, Of grey renown, within thofe borders grew; The tufted bafil, pun-provoking thyme, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue, The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, And more I fain would fing, difdaining here t rhyme.

Yet euphrafy may not be left unfung,

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound;