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"Talk not of love, it gives me pain," &c.

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"If to gaze on thee waking, with love never

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W. Roscoe junTM. 113

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W. Smyth........ 114

Idem

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117

118

Miss C***

120

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Directions to the Porter

Ode to a Fountain..

The Visionary

"When brightly glows the western wave, &c.

« Say, who art thou, and whence thy cure, &c. "As now the shades of eve embrown," &c. .. May-Day

Corin's Adieu..

The Ruin, from the Italian of Petrochi. "The twilight shades are thick'ning fast," &c. Written on the blank leaf of a Lady's Book of Manuscript Poems

. Sonnet to Dr. C....

Stanzas from the Latin of Angelus Politianus, On the Tomb of Themistocles, from the Greek

On old Age, from the Greek.

To a Painter, Epigram, from the Greek ....

On the Death of Captain Charles Bunbury... Ode on the Genius of Chatterton..

Capell's Ghost, a Parody

On Reading the Sorrows of Werter..

On a Butterfly bursting from its Chrysalis in a Lady's hand

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To Mrs. A. on the Writer's Birth-day....
Inscribed on the Temple of Friendship at

St. Ann's Hill.......

Written in the Album at Crewe Hall

Prologue to "The Grave,"

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Prologue to "The Fashionable Friends,"

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Danaë....

The Complaint

168

Maria Riddell...

171

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Elegy on the Death of Captain J. Woodley Idem..

173

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THE rich and cultur'd flow'r to find,

Pleas'd must we range the garden's maze, Where Splendor reigns, with Taste combin❜d, And Art her fairy wand displays.

Yet oft near tangled brake, or stream,
By Nature's careless bounty thrown,
A flow'r we mark, that sure we deem
Is all too fair to blush unknown.

Wild and unshelter'd as it stands,
Low drooping thus in modest guise,
We raise its stem with ready hands,
Its beauties catch with willing eyes.

Such artless sweets, where'er descried,
The Muse has sought with patient care
'Mid secret wilds, and meads untried,
A various chaplet to prepare.

And doubly blest, if These can charm
A heart to gentle Friendship prone,
Who feels with Int'rest prompt and warm
The praise of others—as its own.

THE EDITOR.

IMITATION

OF THE

IDYLLIUM OF MOSCHUS,

ON THE

DEATH OF BION.

FROM THE GREEK.

YE Doric Streams, that with poetic wave,
Sicilia's verdant hills and forests lave;

Ye Groves, whose sacred haunts the Muses tread,
Come mourn with me the gentle BION dead.
Ye Flow'rs no more perfume the vernal gale,
Ye Vi'lets wither, Roses turn to pale,
And thou sweet Hyacinth, whose letter'd leaf,
So long has worn the bloody marks of grief,

B

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