O'er the brown wood he sheds a trembling ray,
And with his treffes wipes the tearful thorn;
Shrill foars the lark, to greet the early day,
And herald to the world return of morn!
DIEU, my fair !---this hapless day
Tears me from all my joys away.
Remov'd from love and thee,
Who knows---O cause of all my pain,
If thou wilt hear me once complain,
Or lofe one thought on me.
Yet, to regain my lost repose,
My penfive mind fhall footh its woes,
For ever fix'd on thee;
On thee shall every thought attend,
But wilt thou ever condefcend
To fix one thought on me?
On distant shores my mournful groans
Shall ask the melancholy ftones,
Where can my charmer be?
From morn to eve my search shall last,
But who can tell if thou wilt caft
One fingle thought on me?
In fancied scenes the happy spot,
Where thou and blifs were once my lot,
My cheated mind shall fee;
A thousand thoughts fhall wake my pain,
But who can tell if thou wilt deign
To fix one thought on me?
There fhall I fay, in yonder grove,
"To all my tender tales of love
"Difdainfull would fhe be;
"Yet foon her gentle hand I prest,
Again I hop'd,---but can her breast
"Retain one thought on me?"
Where'er thou gceft, in every land,
What num'rous flaves to thy command
Thy conquering eyes fhall fee,
Ye gods, who know, if fair and young,
Thy heart, mid'ft fuch a flatt'ring throng,
Will keep one thought for me?
Yet think thy lover's only aim
Was a pure, generous, mutual flame,
Ah! what his pains must be:
Think what he feels at this farewell,
Think, dearest maid,---ah! who can tell,
If e'er thoul't think on me?
To Mr. WARTON, on his POEMS.
FT had I heard, as if in fairy dream,
Thy melody's romantick murmurs glide
Down lonely Cherwell's flow'ry-fringed tide;
What time the western fun's bright quiv'ring beam,
Tiffu'd with radiant gold her dimply stream,
Or the penn'd flocks had left the grey hill's fide,
Then, as each mellow trill at distance dy'd,
In hafte, fweet bard, full fimply did I deem,
Such vifionary fhapes had swept the wire,
That in the purple mifts of ev'ning play,
Near haunted vale, and join in airy quire,
Chanting foft requiems to the parting day.---
O! then---once more awake thy golden lyre,
And charm wild Echo with thy magic lay!
RHAPSODY to TASTE,
On feeing the Dutchess of Devonshire in full Dress.. By Lord C
NOME, thou goddess fair and free,
Whom the meek nymph, Simplicity,
To the fon of Maia bore,
And nurs'd upon th' Athenian fhore,
Then to thy fire her charge refign'd,
Who to fuch elegance of mind
Added, whatever polish'd ease
Could give, and all the arts to please :
Whether on Reynolds (beauty's friend)
Thou biddeft every grace attend;
Or fmiling doft in fportive fong
Hail the great gueft of Kien-Long: *
Hither, various goddess, hafte,
Boundless, inimitable tafte,
And fave thofe charms from fashion's tawdry reign,
Which Nature gave to Dev'n, and gave in vain---
From her cumbrous forehead tear
The architecture of her hair,
But leave one fnow-white plume, to shew
It faintly mocks the neck below---
Snatch from her lips th' immodest guile
Of affectation's conftant smile,
And on her cheek replace the rofe,
Which, pale and wan, no longer glows
With all that beauty, youth, and love,
Could copy from fome faint above---
Would fhe promise real bliss,
Bid her feem but what fhe is:
Or, if lovelier ftill fhe'd be,
From Granby learn to worship thee.
Lincoln's-Inn New-Square.
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