Then shall my youthful fons, to Widom led
By fair example and ingenuous praise,
With willing feet the paths of Duty tread;
Through the world's intricate or rugged ways
Conducted by Religion's sacred rays;
Whose soul-invigorating influence
Shall purge their minds from all impure allays
Of fordid selfisiness and brutal sense,
And swell th' ennobled heart with bless'd benevolence.
Then also shall this emblematic pile,
By magic whilom fram'd to sympathize
With all the fortunes of this changeful ifle,
Still, as my fons in fame and virtue rise,
Grow with their growth, and to th' applauding skies Its radiant cross uplift; the while, to grace The multiplying niches, fresh supplies Of worthies shall succeed, with equal pace Aye following their fires in virtue's glorious race.
Fir'd with th' idea of her future fame,
She rose majestic from her lowly stead;
While from her vivid eyes a sparkling flame,
Out-beaming, with unwonted light o'erspread
That monumental pile; and as her head
To every front she turn'd, discover'd round
The venerable forms of heroes dead;
Who, for their various merit erst renown'd,
In this bright fane of glory thrines of honour found.
On these that royal dame her ravish'd eyes Would often feast; and ever as she spy'd Forth from the ground the lengthening structure rise With new-plac'd statues deck'd on every fide, Her parent-breast would swell with generous pride. And now with her in that sequester'd plain, The Knight awhile constraining to abide, She to the Fairy Youth with pleasure fain Those sculptur'd chiefs did shew, and their great lives
Written in Lord WESTMORLAND'S Hermitage.
Ne arched roof, ne pictur'd wall;
Ne cook of Fraunce, ne dainty board,
Bestow'd with pyes of perigord;
Ne power, ne such like idle fancies,
Sweet Agnes, grant to Father Francis;
Let me ne more myself deceive;
Ne more regret the toys I leave ;
The world I quit, the proud, the vain,
Corruption's and Ambition's train;
But not the good, perdie, nor fair,
'Gainst them I make ne vow, ne prayer;
But fuch aye welcome to my cell,
And oft, not always with me dwell;
Then cast, sweet Saint, a circle round,
And bless from fools this holy ground;
From all the foes to worth and truth,
From wanton old, and homely_youth;
The gravely dull, and pertly gay,
Oh banish these; and, by my fay,
Right well I ween that in this age,
Mine house shall prove an hermitage.
AN INSCRIPTION ON THE CELL.
Beneath these moss-grown roots, this rustic cell,
Truth, Liberty, Content, sequester'd dwell;
Say you, who dare our hermitage difdain,
What drawing-room can boast so fair a train?
AN INSCRIPTION IN THE CELL
Sweet bird, that sing'st on yonder spray,
Pursue unharm'd thy sylvan lay;
While I beneath this breezy shade,
In peace repose my careless head;
And joining thy enraptur'd fong,
Instruct the world-enamour'd throng,
That the contented harmless breast
In folitude itself is blest.
INSCRIP.
INSCRIPTION on a SUMMER-HOUSE
Belonging to Mr. WEST, at WICKHAM, in KENT. (An Imitation of AUSONIUS, "Ad Villam.")
NOT wrapt in finoky London's fulphurous clouds,
And not far distant, stands my rural cot:
Neither obnoxious to intruding crowds,
Nor for the good and friendly too remote.
And when too much repose brings on the spleen,
Or the gay city's idle pleasures cloy;
Swift as my changing wish, I change the scene,
And now the country, now the town enjoy.
The first Nemean Ode,
The eleventh Nemean Ode,
The fecond Isthmian Ode,
The Song of Orpheus, and the setting out of the
Argo. Translated from the Argonautics of
Apollonius Rhodius,
The Story of Phineus. From the fame,
The Hymn of Cleanthes,
The Triumphs of the Gout,
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