Her wilderneffes, fragrant brakes,

Her gloomy bowers, and shining lakes.·
Keep, ye gods, this humble feat,
For ever pleasant, private, neat.
See yonder hill, uprifing fteep,
Above the river flow and deep :
It looks from hence a pyramid,
Beneath a verdant forest hid;

On whofe high top there rises great,
The mighty remnant of a feat,

An old green tower, whofe batter'd brow
Frowns upon the vale below.

Look upon that flowery plain,

How the sheep furround their swain,
How they crowd to hear his strain !
All careless with his legs across,
Leaning on a bank of mofs,

He spends his empty hours at play,
Which fly as light as down away.
And there behold a bloomy mead,
A filver ftream, a willow fhade,
Beneath the fhade of fisher stand,
Who, with the angle in his hand,
Swings the nibbling fry to land.

In blushes the defcending fun
Kiffes the ftreams, while flow they run;
And yonder hill remoter grows,

Or duíky clouds do interpofe.

The fields are left, the labouring hind
His
weary oxen does unbind;

K 3

}

}

And

And vocal mountains, as they low,
Re-echo to the vales below;

The jocund fhepherds piping come,
And drive the herd before them home;
And now begin to light their fires,
Which fend up fmoke in curling spires!
While with light hearts all homeward tend,
To* Abergafney I defcend.

But, oh! how blefs'd would be the day,
Did I with Clio pace my way,

And not alone and folitary ftray.

THE

ENQUIRY.

}

E poor little fheep, ah! well may ye ftray, While fad is your fhepherd, and Clio away! Tell where have you been, have you met with my love, On the mountain, or valley, or meadow, or grove? Alas-aday, No-Ye are ftrav'd, and half dead; Ye faw not my love, or ye all had been fed.

Oh, Sun, did you fee her?-ah! furely you did: 'Mong what willows, or woodbines, or reeds, is she hid? Ye tall, whistling pines, that on yonder hill grow, And o'erlook the beautiful valley below,

Did you

fee her a-roving in wood or in brake?

Or bathing her fair limbs in fome filent lake?

Ye mountains, that look on the vigorous eaft, And the north, and the fouth, and the wearifom west,

Pray

* The name of a feat belonging to the Author's brother.

Pray tell where the hides her, you furely do know,
And let not her lover pine after her fo.

Oh, had I the wings of an eagle, I'd fly

Along with bright Phoebus all over the sky ;

Like an eagle, look down, with my wings wide difplay'd,
And dart in my eyes at each whispering fhade:
I'd search every tuft in my diligent tour,

I'd unravel the woodbines, and look in each bower,
Till I found out my Clio, and ended my pain,
And made myself quiet, and happy again.

AN EPISTLE TO A FAMOUS PAINTER.

DELIGHTFUL partner of my heart,

Mafter of the lovelieft art!

How sweet our fenfes you deceive,
When we, a gazing throng, believe!
Here flows the Po!-The Minis there,
Winding about with fedgy hair!
And there the Tyber's yellow flood,
Beneath a thick and gloomy wood!
And there Darius' broken ranks
Upon the Grannic's bloody banks;
Who bravely die, or bafely run
From Philip's all-fubduing fon!
And there the wounded Porus brought
(The bravest man that ever fought!)
To Alexander's tent, who eyes
His dauntless vifage, as he lies
In death's most painful agonies.

To me reveal thy heavenly art,
To me thy myfteries impart.
As yet I but in verse can paint,
And to th' idea colour faint
What to the open eye you fhow,
Seeming Nature's living glow!
The beauteous fhapes of objects near!
Or diftant ones confus'd in air!
The golden eve, the blushing dawn,
Smiling on the lovely lawn!

And pleafing views of chequer'd glades!
And rivers winding through the fhades!
And funny hills !-and pleasant plains!
And groups of merry nymphs and fwains!
Or fome old building, hid with grass,.
Rearing fad its ruin'd face;

Whofe columns, frizes, ftatues, lie,
The grief and wonder of the eye!
Or fwift adown a mountain tall:
A foaming cataract's founding fall;
Whose loud roaring stuns the ear
Of the wondering traveller !
Or a calm and quiet bay,

And a level fhining fea!

Or furges rough, that froth, and roar,
And, angry, dafh the founding fhore!
And veffels toft! and billows high!
And lightning flashing from the sky!
Or that which gives me most delight,
The fair idea (feeming fight!)

of

Of warrior fierce, with shining blade!
Or orator, with arms difplay'd!
Tully's engaging air and mien,
Declaiming against Cataline.
Or fierce Achilles towering high
Above his foes, who round him die.
Or Hercules, with lion's hide,
And knotty cudgel, thrown afide,
Lifting Antæus high in air!
Who, in his gripe, expires there!

Or Sifyphus, with toil and fweat,
And muscles ftrain'd, ftriving to get.
Up a steep hill a ponderous stone,

Which near the top recoils, and rolls impetuous down

Or beauteous Helen's easy air,

With head reclin'd, and flowing hair;

Or comely Paris, gay and young,
Moving with gallant grace along!
Thefe

you can do!-I but advance

In a florid ignorance;

And fay to you, who better know,

You fhould defign them fo and fo.

TO AARON HILL, ESQ; On his POEM called GIDEON.

TELL

ELL me, wondrous friend, where were you When Gideon was your lofty fong! Where did the heavenly spirit bear you, When your fair foul reflected strong