No fecret horrors gnaw this quiet breast,
This pious hand ne'er robb'd the facred fane ;
I ne'er disturb'd the gods' eternal rest 15
With curfes loud,-but oft have pray'd in vain.

No ftealth of time has thinn'd my flowing hair,
Nor age yet bent me with his iron hand;
Ah, why fo foon the tender blossom tear?
Ere Autumn yet the ripen'd fruit demand.

Ye gods, whoe'er in gloomy fhades below
Now flowly tread your melancholy round;
Now wand'ring view the baleful rivers flow,
And mufing hearken to their folemn found:

Oh, let me ftill enjoy the cheerful day;
Till, many years unheeded o'er me roll'd,
Pleas'd in my age, I trifle life away,
And tell how much we loved, ere I grew

old.

20

But you, who now, with festive garlands crown'd, In chase of pleasure the gay moments spend, 30 By quick enjoyment heal love's pleafing wound, And grieve for nothing but your absent friend.

VERSES

TO MR. BROOKE, ON THE

REFUSAL OF A

LICENCE то HIS PLAY OF GUSTAVUS

VASA.

W

BY PAUL WHITEHEAD, ESQ.

5

HILE Athens glory'd in her free-born race, And Science flourish'd round her fav'rite place, The Mufe unfetter'd trod the Grecian stage; Free were her pinions, unrestrain'd her rage : Bold and fecure she aim'd the pointed dart, And pour'd the precept poignant to the heart, Till dire Dominion ftretch'd her lawless sway, And Athens' fons were deftin'd to obey: Then first the Stage a Licens'd Bondage knew, And Tyrants quafh'd the scene they fear'd to view: 10 Fair Freedom's voice no more was heard to charm, Or Liberty the Attic audience warm.

Then fled the Mufe, indignant, from the shore, Nor deign'd to dwell where Freedom was no more : Vain then, alas! fhe fought Britannia's isle, 15 Charm'd with her voice, and cheer'd us with her If Gallic laws her gen'rous flight reftrain, [fmile. And bind her captive with th' ignoble chain;

Born 1710; dyed 1774.

Bold and unlicens'd, in ELIZA's days,
Free flow'd her numbers, flourish'd fair her bays; 20
O'er Britain's Stage majeftic, unconfin'd,
She tun'd her Patriot leffons to mankind d;
For mighty Heroes ranfack'd ev'ry age,

Then beam'd them glorious in her SHAKE-
SPEARE'S page.

SHAKESPEARE's no more!-loft was the Poet's

name,

25

Till Thou, my friend, my genius, fprung to Fame;
Lur'd by his laurel's never-fading bloom,
You boldly fnatch'd the trophy from his tomb,
Taught the declining Muse again to foar,
And to Britannia gave one Poet more.

Pleas'd, in thy lays we fee GUSTAVUS live; But, O GUSTAVUS! if thou can'ft, forgive. Britons, more favage than the tyrant Dane, Beneath whose yoke you drew the galling chain, Degen'rate Britons, by thy worth difmay'd, Prophane thy glories, and profcribe thy shade.

30

35

ELE GY.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ.

HE ARRIVES AT HIS RETIREMENT IN THE
COUNTRY, AND TAKES OCCASION то
EXPATIATE IN PRAISE OF SIMPLICITY.
то A FRIEND.

FOR rural virtues, and for native skies,
I bade Augufta's venal fons farewel;
Now 'mid the trees, I fee my fmoke arife;

Now hear the fountains bubbling round my cell.

O may that Genius, which fecures my reft,
Preferve this villa for a friend that's dear!
Ne'er may my vintage glad the fordid breast ;
Ne'er tinge the lip that dares be unfincere!

5

Far from these paths, ye faithless friends, depart! Fly my plain board, abhor my hoftile name! 10 Hence! the faint verfe that flows not from the heart, But mourns, in labour'd strains, the price of fame!

O lov'd fimplicity! be thine the prize!

Affiduous art correct her page in vain!

15

His be the palm who, guiltless of disguise, Contemns the pow'r, the dull refource to feign!

Born 1714; dyed 1763.

Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears
For lucre's venal meed, invite my fcorn!
Still may the bard diffembling doubts and fears,
For praife, for flatt'ry fighing, figh forlorn! 20

Soft as the line of love-fick Hammond flows, 'Twas his fond heart effus'd the melting theme; Ah! never could Aonia's hill difclofe

So fair a fountain, or fo lov'd a ftream.

Ye lovelefs bards! intent with artful pains
To form a figh, or to contrive a tear!
Forego your Pindus, and on

plains

Survey Camilla's charms, and grow fincere.

25

But thou, my friend! while in thy youthful foul Love's gentle tyrant feats his aweful throne, 30 While from thy bofom-let not art controul

The ready pen, that makes his edicts known.

Pleafing, when youth is long expir'd, to trace
The forms our pencil, or our pen defign'd!
"Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face!
Such the foft image of our youthful mind!

Soft whilft we fleep beneath the rural bow'rs, The loves and graces steal unseen away ; And where the turf diffus'd its pomp of flow'rs,

We wake to wintry fcenes of chill decay!

40