FOR A TABLET, IN HONOUR TO CAPTAIN HARDINGE, AT BOMBAY,

In youth mature, in valour tried,
The zeal of Nelson for his guide,
At Glory's call to danger led,
The Hero fought-the Victor bled.
The God of Battles heard his prayer,
A Patriot's death and fame to share ;
Lamented, but immortal here -
Devotion consecrates the tear.

With rallied arm and strength renew'd,
His thundering arm the Foe pursued ;
With public spirit's towering flame
The Giant's force he overcame.
Affection cherish'd the appeal
Of Eloquence + to patriot zeal,
And British India gave to Art
The noblest feelings of the heart.

TO A BOUGH IN A TEMPEST, AT MY WINDOW, SOON AFTER THE
INTELLIGENCE ARRIVED THAT I HAD LOST MY NEPHEW.

Poor trembling bough! the Winter's come;
Thy days are fled, thy notes are dumb :

Thy leaf is of the sun bereft,

And thee its frail support has left.

But Spring and Summer wait for thee;
And song, renewed at Love's decree,
Shall breathe upon the vocal spray,
To cheer the night, or bless the day.
Thine, till the hurricanes are fled,
Is life asleep on Winter's bed.
Awake, it shall again adorn
The fading noon, or opening morn.
But the lost branch that I deplore
Nor Spring nor Summer can restore,

Nor Zephyr's gale shall prompt its breath:
Alas! the Winter's name is DEATH!

ON MY BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 22, 1809.
When pride of heart could age adorn,
How blest was then my natal morn!
Young in the Hero I had lov'd,
Nor years nor fortune I reprov'd.
The passion of an early choice

Was answer'd by a Nation's voice;

* Alluding to the superior force of La Piedmontaise, the captured frigate. + The animated and affecting Letter of Sir James Mackintosh gave birth to the subscription for the monument.

This alludes to my much lamented Nephew, who fell March 8, 1808.

Love upon Glory could refine;

"Twas Heaven to whisper-" He is mine!"
His blooming honours are my own;
For me their fragrant hues are blown.
My renovated spirits breathe

In his accumulated wreath :

Time heard the visionary hope,
And gave to Fancy all her scope;
Till, in the battle's wild career,
Mine was applauding Britain's tear:
Ungrateful to the name
* it bore,

The heart replied, "He LIVES no more!"
Now-on the morn that gave me birth,

My looks are bent upon the earth;
Hope's cheering melodies are dumb,

And my New-year UN-BLEST is come.

P. 161. Another copy of the lines to Bp. Watson ends thus: "Wreaths to worth and genius due,

Ever brilliant, ever new,

Cherish'd in the hearts of men

By a Locke's immortal pen.

Fame, who loves the Patriot's tomb,

For another Locke has room;

By the same attention nurs'd,

Heir and rival of the first."

ANOTHER POEM. TO THE BISHOP OF LANDAFF.

When other Prelates bow the knee

To Mammon for the vacant See,
The Farmer and the Woodman here
Is Prelate of another sphere.
He, though revering Britain's Throne,
Bends to the King of kings alone;
Reveres, but guards with honest pride,
A Nation's trust, the Sovereign's Guide.
Though match'd his eloquence by none,
Ambition's race it scorns to run;
It glows in Wisdom's hallow'd page
The gem of Time's remotest age.
Against the vain Blasphemer's boast,
With sword and shield himself a host,
He vindicates the Saviour's Creed,
And makes the wounded Sophist bleed.
The public spirit of the land,

Whose Champion is the Monarch's hand,
In all its lustre he displays,

Till blinded idiots feel the rays.

* His names were George Hardinge. He was my god-zon.

The

The field of Science he explores,

And opens all her hidden stores;

Truth, in his words that share her light,

Glows in the heart, and cheers the sight.

TO DR. WATSON, BISHOP OF LANDAFF, A CELEBRATED ALCHEMIST.
Can you, with all your alchemizing art,

Change into Virtue's gold a Courtier's heart?
Or strip the Fool of obstinate pretence?

Or melt the Pedant into common sense?

TO GILBERT Wakefield, ON HIS REPLY TO BP. WATSON.

Friend Gilbert! thou canst write and speak

In English, Latin, or in Greek;

Familiar thus in either text,

Let your Greek Pamphlet be your next.

TO THE CIRCLE at CalGARTH PARK,

WITH A NOVEL IN FRENCH, CALLED 'TABLEAUX DE FAMILLE,'
What are Family Pictures, though taken from life,
To the living perfections of Husband and Wife;
To the virtues and graces that Love has endear'd;
In the Children caress'd, and the Parents rever'd?

Here are talents and spirit, that ask not a Court,
How to rise in the world by their native support:
Here domestic attachment, though rural its throne,
Is the charm of the good, and the scene is their own.

THE SUPPERS AT CALGARTH PARK, WRITTEN THERE.

Never talk of the Attic Symposium again,

Or of banquets that Plato could well entertain:
Not a feast had Philosophy given the soul

To be named with provisions of supper and bowl* ;
Which at Calgarth made war against midnight and rest
In the armour of innocent laughter and jest,
When affectionate spirits and graces were ours,
In collusion with Time we arrested the hours.
Here alone are the Loves in their temple enshrin'd,
Here the pilgrims of taste their Loretto can find.
It is not in profusion that blessings are found —
They are chain'd by the heart, and with sympathies bound

A CI-DEVANT M. P. TO HIS DEPARTED BOROUGH.

Tell me, gentle Sarum, tell

Why your Voters thus rebel!

Tell me, dear Constituents, where

You have hid your one-horse-chair † ?

What offence of act or voice

Lost me Sarum's envied choice?

We had always a bowl of punch. G. H.

+ It has been said the Electors for Old Sarum all come to poll at once,

and were so conveyed.

I was Innocence itself,
Unobserv'd upon the shelf:
Nothing's Representative
Is of course an Expletive:
Though in age I'm stiff and cold,
You, my Love, yourself are old.

Sympathy esteem ensures ;

Mine's a RUIN―so is yours.

INSCRIPTION AT MY COTTAGE AT RAGMAN'S CASTLE.
From Law, from Senates, and from Courts retir'd,
Sweet Fancy's tenant - of ambition tir'd,

In Twickenham's* cot I lay my tortur'd head,
And shun the living, but embrace the dead: ---
With step entranc'd the shades of Pope explore,
And feel Adversity's reproofs no more.

THE TEARS OF RAGMAN'S CASTLE.
When Pritchard† left the Tyrant Queen,
For Mistress of the Fairy Scene

That circles my domain,

The Castle, of her genius proud,
Heard the same voice, but not so loud,
And bless'd the milder strain.

Euphrosyne I next have claim'd;
She upon Earth was Bridget ‡ nam'd,
The soul of jest and wit.

With envy at her comic tale,

The cheeks of Clive § herself grew pale ||,
And Cambridge § fled the pit.
Though last, not least in love, the taste,
That with enamour'd arms embrac'd
The beauties of the scene.

Around him sprung the new-born flowers ¶¶,
At home he chain'd the dancing hours,
And rifled Beauty's Queen.

I lov'd him well -- and, loving, swore
That I would part with him no more;
Alas; the bird is flown!

To others, joy and gifts he dealt ;

Reflected happiness he felt

But sported with his own.

* It was called for some time Twickenham Castle. G. H.

Mrs. Pritchard, the celebrated Actress, was my predecessor as an occupier of the Castle. G. H.

Lady Bridget Tollemache. G. H.

Mrs. Clive, the Comic Actress, and Mr Cambridge, an accomplished Wit, lived in the neighbourhood. G. H.

In general they could look the Red Lion of Brentford in the face. G. H. ¶ The writer pays himself these compliments to ensure them. G. H. P. 290.

P. 290. Mr. KYNNESMAN to Dr. ZACHARY GREY. "DEAR SIR, Bury St. Edmund's, Aug. 19, 1749. "As the persons concerned in the disposal of Mr. Tisser's books live nearly twenty miles from me, I have not an opportunity of hearing from them above once a week. What they will say to your last letter I shall not know before Wednesday next. In the mean time, they seem so eager for having the Catalogue returned, that I must desire, for their satisfaction, you will send it by the bearer. Your most humble servant, ART. KYNNESMAN.”

Sir WILLIAM MUSGRAVE to Mr. NICHOLS.

"Park-place, St. James's, Aug. 6, 1796. "Sir William Musgrave presents his compliments to Mr. Nichols, thinking it probable, that among the very ample Collections which Mr. Nichols has made for his History of Leices→ tershire, he may have taken lists of the Pictures to be seen in the Nobleman's and other great houses in that County, Sir William will take it a particular favour if he may be permitted to copy from them the painted Portraits. He does not want to know their attitudes and dress, but only the names of the persons represented, with the date, if any, and the name of the painter where it is known. If Mr. Nichols should not have any such lists, Sir William will be obliged if he can procure them for him, or suggest how he can obtain them, particularly from the late Lord Huntingdon's, where, if Sir William's memory does not fail him, there are some very curious pictures of persons illustrious in the English History. Should Mr. Nichols be so kind as to give Sir William his assistance in procuring these lists, he requests to have a specification of the painted Portraits only, and will readily pay any expense, with many thanks.”

"Aug. 15. Sir William Musgrave has been favoured with Mr. Nichols's letter, dated the 11th instant, enclosing a printed list of the Pictures in Belvoir Castle, which has been of the greatest use to him. It would have been returned herein,—but is delayed, that Sir William may receive Mr. Nichols's directions when he next writes, informing Sir William whether he may be allowed to retain it, in case Mr. Nichols can spare it, in order to be resorted to for solving any questions that may, and probably will, arise in the arrangement of Sir William's Collection of Prints.

"Sir William is very glad to hear that Mr. Nichols has some other notices of the Pictures in the Noblemen's and Gentlemen's houses in Leicestershire. They will be very thankfully received, though they should not contain complete lists of all the Pictures in each house. They will still communicate considerable information as far as they extend. Should Mr. Nichols recollect any of the modern County Histories, or any other books which give lists of Pictures, Sir William will be much obliged by the mention of their titles.”

END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.

Nichols, Son, and Bentley, Printers, Red Lion Passage, Fleet-street.

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