Or, in the senate, when Britannia's cause

With generous themes infpires the glowing mind;
While listening Freedom grateful looks applause,
Pale Slavery drops her chain, and fculks behind;

With conscious joy the tender parent fraught,
Still to her fon's renown adjoins her name;
For, at the nurturing breast the patriot caught
The love of virtue, and the love of fame.

A PASTORAL.

TO A YOUNG LADY, UPON HER LEAVING AND RETURN TO THE COUNTRY.

BY DR. BROOME.

DAMON.

AY, while each scene fo beautiful appears,

SA

Why heaves thy bofom, and why flow thy tears ? See from the clouds the spring defcends in fhow'rs, The painted vallies laugh with rifing flow'rs:

Smooth flow the floods, foft breathe the vernal airs;

The spring, flow'rs, floods, confpire to charm our cares.

FLORUS.

But vain the pleasure which the season yields,

The laughing vallies, or the painted fields.

No more, ye floods, in filver mazes flow;

Smile not, ye flow'rs, no more soft breezes blow
Far, Damon! far from thefe unhappy groves
The cruel lovely Rosalinda roves.

DAMON.

Ah! now I know, why late the op'ning buds
Clos'd up their gems, and ficken'd in the woods;
Why droop'd the lily in her snowy pride,
And why the rofe withdrew her sweets, and dy'd.

For

For thee, fair Rofalind, the op'ning buds
Clos'd up their gems, and ficken'd in the woods ;
For thee the lily fhed her fnowy pride,

For thee the rose withdrew her sweets, and dy'd.

FLORUS.

See where yon vine in foft embraces weaves
Her wanton ringlets with the myrtle's leaves;
There tun'd sweet Philomel her sprightly lay,
Both to the rifing and the falling day:
But fince fair Rofalind forfook the plains,
Sweet Philomel no more renews her ftrains ;
With forrow dumb, fhe difregards her lay,
Nor greets the rifing nor the falling day.

DAMON.

Say, O ye winds! that range the diftant fkies,
Now fwell'd to tempeft by my rifing fighs;
Say, while my Rofalind deferts these shores,
How Damon dies for whom his foul adores.

FLORUS.

Ye murm'ring fountains, and ye wand'ring floods,
That vifit various lands thro' various roads;
Say, when ye find where Rofalind refides,
Say how my tears increase your swelling tides.

DAMON.

Tell me, I charge you, O ye fylvan fwains!
Who range the mazy grove, or flow'ry plains,
Befide what fountain, in what breezy bow'r,
Reclines my charmer in the noon-tide hour?

FLORUS.

Soft, I adjure you by the skipping fawns,
By the fleet roes that bound along the lawns;
Soft tread, ye virgin daughters of the grove,
Nor with your dances wake my sleeping love!

DAMON.

Return, O virgin! and if proud disdain
Arm thy fierce foul, return, enjoy my pain:

If

If pleas'd thou view'ft a faithful lover's cares,

Thick rise, ye fighs! in floods descend, ye tears

FLORUS.

Return, O virgin! while in verdant meads
By fprings we fport, or dream on flow'ry beds,
She weary wanders thro' the defart way,

The food of wolves, or hungry lions prey.

DAMON.

Ah! shield her, Heav'n! your rage, ye beafts, forbear!

Those are not limbs for favages to tear!

Adieu, ye meads! with her thro' wilds I go,

O'er burning fands or everlafting fnow;
With her I wander through the defart way,
The food of wolves, or hungry lions prey.

FLORUS.

Come, Rofalind! before the wint❜ry clouds
Frown o'er th' aërial vault, and rush in floods;
Ere raging ftorms howl o'er the frozen plains;
Thy charms may fuffer by the ftorms or rains.

DAMON.

Come, Rofalind! O come! then infant flow'rs
Shall bloom and fmile, and form their charms by yours:

By you the lily fhall her white compofe,

Your blufh fhall add new blushes to the rofe;

Each flow'ry mead, and ev'ry tree fhall bud,
And fuller honours clothe the youthful wood.

FLORUS.

Yet, ah! forbear to urge thy homeward way,
While fultry funs infeft the glowing day :
The fultry funs thy beauties may impair !-
Yet hafte away, for thou art now too fair.

DAMON.

Hark! from yon bow'r what airs foft-warbled play!
My foul takes wing to meet th' enchanting lay.
Silence, ye nightingales !-attend the voice;
While thus it warbles all your fongs are noife.

FLORUS.

FLORUS.

See from the bow'r a form majestick moves,
And smoothly gliding shines along the groves!
Say, comes a goddess from the golden fpheres?
A goddess comes, or Rofalind appears!

DAMON.

Shine forth, thou fun! bright ruler of the day;
And where the treads, ye flow'rs! adorn the way?
Rejoice, ye groves! my heart, difmifs thy cares!
My goddess comes! my Rofalind appears !

THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY,

BY DR. BEATTIE..

EM'RY, be ftill! why throng upon the thought
These scenes, fo deeply ftain'd with Sorrow's dye?

Is there in all thy ftores no chearful draught,
To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye?

Yes-from afar a landscape seems to rife,

Embellish'd by the lavish hand of Spring;
Thin gilded clouds float lightly o'er the skies,
And laughing Loves difport on flutt'ring wing.

How bless'd the youth, in yonder valley laid!
What smiles in ev'ry confcious feature play!
While, to the murmurs of the breezy glade,
His merry pipe attunes the rural lay.

Hail Innocence! whofe bofom, all ferene,
Feels not as yet th' internal tempeft roll:

O! ne'er may Care distract that placid mien!
Ne'er may the fhades of Doubt o'erwhelm thy foul!

Vain wifh for lo, in gay attire conceal'd,

Yonder she comes! the heart-inflaming fiend! (Will no kind pow'r the helpless ftripling fhield ) Swift to her deftin'd prey see Passion bend!

O fmile accurs'd, to hide the worst designs!
Now with blithe eye fhe wooes him to be bless'd ;
While round her arm unfeen a ferpent twines—
And, lo fhe hurls it hiffing at his breast!

And inftant, lo! his dizzy eye-ball fwims

Ghaftly, and redd'ning darts a frantick glare; Pain with strong grafp diftorts his writhing limbs, And Fear's cold hand erects his frozen hair

Is this, O Life, is this thy boafted prime!

And does thy fpring no happier prospect yield! Why should the fun-beam paint thy glitt'ring clime, When the keen mildew defolates the field!

How Mem'ry pains! let fome gay theme beguile
The mufing mind, and foothe to foft delight:

Ye images of Woe, no more recoil;

Be Life's paft scenes wrapp'd in oblivious night!

Now, when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful pow'r,
Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar ;

How fweet to fit in the fequefter'd bow'r,

To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war!

Ambition here difplays no gilded toy,

That tempts on defperate wing the foul to rife; Nor Pleafure's paths to wilds of woe decoy,

Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's proud difguife.

Oft