Thinks his strong Muse takes wondrous flights, Whene'er she sings of peerless wights, Of dens, of palfreys, spells and knights : T' instruct and please in moral tale, Others, more daring, fix their hope Satyr's the word against the times— And borne from earth by Pope's strong wings, In these the spleen of Pope we find; Some few, the fav'rites of the Muse, Whom with her kindest eye she views; Round whom Apollo's brightest rays Shine forth with undiminish'd blaze; Some few, my friend, have sweetly trod In Imitation's dang'rous road, Long as Tobacco's 1aild perfume Shall scent each happy curate's room, And quaffs his ale, and cracks his jokes, * Isaac Hawkins Browne, Esq. author of a piece called The Pipe of Tobacco, a most excellent imitation of six different authors. I. SONG. THOUGH Winter its desolate train Though the sun in his glories decreast, Of his beams in the evening is shorn, Yet he rises with joy from the east, And repairs them again in the morn. But what can youth's sunshine recall, Or the blossoms of beauty restore ? When its leaves are beginning to fall, It dies, and is heard of no more. The spring-time of Love then employ, "Tis a lesson that's easy to learn, For Cupid's a vagrant, a boy, And his seasons will never return. A BALLAD. HARK, hark, 'tis a voice from the tomb, Come, Lucy, it cries, come away, All mournful the midnight bell rung, And night-ravens croak'd all around. "How long, my lov'd COLIN," she cry'd, "How long must thy Lucy complain ? "How long shall the grave my love hide? "How long ere it join us again? "For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd, "With thee o'er the world would she fly; "For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd; "For thee would she lie down and die. "Alas! what avails it how dear "Thy Lucy was once to her swain! "Her face like the lily so fair, "And eyes that gave light to the plain, "The shepherd that lov'd her is gone; "That face and those eyes charm no more; "And Lucy forgot, and alone, "To death shall her COLIN deplore." While thus she lay sunk in despair, And mourn'd to the echoes around, Inflam'd all at once grew the air, And thunder shook dreadful the ground, “I hear the kind call, and obey, "Oh, COLIN receive me," she cried, Then breathing a groan o'er his clay, She hung on his tomb-stone, and died. |