249

Time enough to make me wife, I can look at bright fixteen, With pleas'd, but undefiring eyes. March 4.

Mr. URBAN,

MR. URBAN,

S. J.

March 3. cannot but think that you have deviated a little from your ufual difcretion, in inferting among your last month's poetry a trifle of the freer kind, with the name at full length of its author, who certainly did not communicate it himself, and cannot be very well pleased to fee his juvenile follies thus rife up in judgment against him. By way of amends, I think you ought to make equally public the prefent fentiments concerning matters of that nature, of the fame person, Cujus octavum trepidavit ætas

Glaudere luftrum.

R. PRIESTLEY having obferved, in his book, intituled, "Experiments upon Air," that a rofe kept under a glafs jar had in a fhort time fo infected the air as to render it unfit for refpiration,' occafioned the following Poem.

THE ROSE TO DR. PRIESTLEY.
BY MRS. MOODY.

AH! once to pureft, unpolluted fame
I, fairest flower, with ardent hope afpir'd;
Once every Mufe rever'd my honour'd name,
And every eye my blushing charms defir'd.
My blooming race th' immortal Bard has fung,
That first in groves of Paradife we grew;
That there we,lovelierbloffom'd,fairer fprung,
Our verdant stems no thorny briars kuew *.
My fame the animated canvas speaks;
Defcriptive Beauty borrows charms from me;
Behold my hues difplay'd in Hebe's cheeks!
The radiant morn with rofy fingers fee!
Unblemish'd long my modest beauties glow'd,
Unblemish'd fweetsthofe beauties fhed around,
And wafted odours by the breeze bestow'd,
Were balmy treasures in my bofom found.
The nymphs and fwains, delighting to inhale
So pure a breath, oft woo'd the vernal air;
Prefumptious Science now defames that gale
Whose rich effluvia Gods might deign to share.
Detefted Sage! whofe penetrating eye
Surveys myfterious Nature's fecret powers,
Dare thy experiments my fame decry,
And rank my fcent with that of vileft flowers?
With Night-shade, Hellebore, and Aconite ?

By Dr. A-N.

ANNA! ceafe with envions care
Thus to veil thy beauteous face,
While beneath that fhade of hair

Buried lies full many a grace. Where's the brow as ivory clear, Where the cheek's delightful glow, Where the nicely rounded ear,

And the well-turn'd-neck of fnow? Yet thofe auburn locks of thine,

Down thy face that waving play,
And in wanton ringlets twine,
Who could bear to lop away!
Soon enough by Fashion's hand
Shall thofe flowing curls be drest,
And each feature marshal'd stand,
Fatal to the gazer's reft.

But let me, fecure from harm,

Draw the veil that checks my fight; Let me view each rifing charm With a Father's calm delight. GENT. MAO. MARCH, 1783.

Who lurk in deferts far from mortal fight, Nor blend with Flora's fweets their tainted breath.

Ah! fhould Perfuafion crown thy learned lore,
And Fame appland thy fcientific taite ;
An exile I from this luxuriant fhore,
On barren mountains may my odours waste.
No more of Summer's chofen bowers the pride,
My leaves expanding to the orient fun;
No more on Beauty's fhowy breaft refide;
Beauty fhall learn my baleful charms to fhun.
Nore'er tranfplaat me to th' embellish'droom,
In China's fplendid vates to appear,

Nor round her couch admit my dread perfume,
Nor dare to flumber if the Rofe he near.
No more fhall Luxury, to give me birth,
Raife the warm pile excluding Winter's cold;
Nor, mid the dreary fcenes of frozen carth,
Court my reluctant graces to uniold.

*And withoorn, the rofe

S

WEET is the balmy figh, when forrow grieves [of earth; For friendship torn from all the hopes ut doubly precious is the figh that heaves O'er the pale afhes of diftinguifh'd worth, Lamented SLEECH! Such excellence was thine, [play'd; Thro' many a path of varying life difWhether we view the dignified Divine, Ortrace thy virtues to the private fhade.

While kindredminds thy traits of youth engage, Its bright unfolding bloom bebers to paint; only knew thy venerable age, [Saint Where mildly beam'd the Patriarch in the Ah first I knew three, when thy liberal Charge*

With all the spirit ofthy CAMDEN † glow'd; And breathing a benevolence, too large

For narrow fouls, in fine expansion flow'd. Then, as thy open countenance effus'd

The friendly luftre, in its mental ray @erthadow'd by a peative thought that mud

Ou the dim profpect of thy fetting day;

5 At his Vifitation.

Land Cumbre a, his friend and patron.

Thy clergy liften'd to the ‡ long adieu,

Which yet to memory fond affection gives, And all the Father's reverend form withdrew Which in the duteous heart unfading lives. For who but hail'd the Father, as he faw

Thy gracious mien th' unthinking million Thy native dignity, commanding awe, [move? Thy condescending fimile, infpiring love! And O! let Piety repofe a while [owns Upon thy warning voice. where memory Fluent along the ftill Cathedral aifle

The fimple pathos in thy mellow tones; Where memory, as thy ftrong purfuafion Each unaffected accent on her ear, (pours Yet, in the Chriftian preacher, yet adores An energy that stamp'd thy faith fincere. If from the public fcene thy steps retire,

Where every fofter virtue loves to blefs Life's filent walk, the hufband and the fire Blend their dear influence,inthy calmrecef, There, often, shall thy genuine graces rife,

There, often, thy domefticworth be traced, By thof, who, closelier link'd in friendship's

ties,

Imbib'd thy feelings and thy cultur'd taste. I too have mark'd thee, musing with delight On the fair vifions of thy earlier youth, When fiction, in Athenian glory bright,

Led thy free fancy to the bower of truth And I have feen thee fnatch th' illufive charm

That gives to life's gay morn its vivid glow; And, with the flufhof long-loft feelings warm, Melt o'er th' ideal portraitures of woe, But many a brooding ill, that darkens life, To cloud thy vifionary views confpir'd, What time disease, amid thy dwelling rife. The wafting fons with fever'd venom fir'd Alas! it was thy doom to fee disease

Affailthy offspring-with no power to fave-Ab, thine-to follow with enfeebled knees

Thy laft-left fon, in forrow, to the grave! Yet-thine-the genial comforts of thejustYet to confirm the feeble knees," were

given

thereal balms!—And, from the funeral duft The parent rais'd his tearful eye-to heaven. Thence holy Hope difpers'd thy earthly pain;

Chas'd every human relic of thy tears; Andy fmiling, to her own empyreal train Refign'd thee, full of honors, full of years! Ev'n when decaying nature, at the laft,

As into quiet fleep funk weary down, With holy Hope thy placid moments past,

Thine eyes ftill fix'd upon thy heavenly

crown.

And, as the period of thy blifs drew nigh,

Pure angels opening all the blest abode, 'Twas but the pafting of one gentle figh That told, thy parted fpirit was with God! R. P.

The Archdeacon hath, feveral times, on his vifitations, taken leave of his Clergy. ΤΟ

TO THE CROCUS.

UPRIG

PRIGHT as are the thoughts of her I prize, Second of flowers, tho' little canft thou boaft May charm the fight or gratify the smell, I love thee; for of all this goodly fcene, Which we behold, nought earlier than thy self My foul remembers: in my boy ith years I've mark'd thy coming with inceffant watch; Oft have I vifited each morn the fpot [fee Wherein thou lay'it entomb'd; oft joy'd to Thy pointed tops juft peering o'er the ground: And ah! fond fool! how often haft thou bared Their tender fides, till thy too greedy love Has kill'd the flowers, its strange impatience To haften into bloom. So do not ye, [ftrove

Whom heaven has bleft with children; but beware

Left ye expofe your darling hopes too foon
To the world's fury, there to face thofe winds,
Whose bitter biting chills the weakly plant;
But fhield them with your kind and fofter-
ing aid,
[frofts
Till they have gather'd strength t' abide thofe
That nip life's opening bud; elfe ye perhaps
May find your hopes all blafted, ev'n as mine.
Ye much-lov'd Crocufes, while memory lafts
I'll hold ye dear, for ftill thall ye recall
My infant days; and, oh, how great's the blifs

To think on thofe oft does this foul inhale The sweet remembrance, till the ftrong perfume

Tortures the fenfe: for fay whate'er ye will,
And call to memory departed joys,
'Tis but a painful pleafure: in themselves
Our pureft joys are intermix'd with cares;
But, in the recollection of those joys,
The fordid dregs of intermingling care
Sink to the ground, while all the blifs, fub-
lim'd,

Is effence pure, too pungent to be borne.

TO THE COWSLI P. NOWSLIP, of all belov'd, of all admir'd,

C

Thee let me fing, the homely Shepherd's pride;

Fit emblem of the maid I love, a form Gladdening the fight of man, a fweet perfume Sending its balmy fragrance to the foul. Daughter of Spring, and Meffenger of May, Which shall I firft declare, whichi meft extol, Thy fovereign beauties, or thy fovereign use ? With thee the rural dame a draught prepares, A nectarous draught, more luscious to my taite Than all thy boafted trash, vine-nurturing France.

Maidens with dee their auburn treffes braid, Or, with the Daily, and the Primrose pale, Thy flowers entwining weave a Chaplet fair, To grace that pole, round which the village train

Lead on their dance, to greet the jocund May; Jocu ad I'll call it, for it lends a mile

To thee, who never fmil'ft but once a year. in methee not, thɔu poor, unpitie kwretch,

Of all defpis'd, fave him whofe liberal hear. Taught him to feel your wrongs, and plea

your caufe, Departed Hanway.

-Peace to his foul ! Great is that man, who quits the path of fame, Who, wealth forfaking, stoops his towering mind [his arra From Learning's heights, and ftretches out To raise from duft the meaneft of his kind. Now that the Mufe to thee her debt has paid, Friend of the poor, and guardian of the wrong'd,

Back let her pleas'd return, to view those fports,

Whofe rude fimplicity has charms for me,
Beyond the ball, or midnight masquerade.
Oft on that merry morn I've join'd their
throng

A glad fpectator, oft their uncouth dance
Ey'd moft attentive, where with tawdry fhew
Ill forted ribbons deck'd each maiden's cap,
And cowflip-gardens every ruftic hat.
Who that has eyes to fee, or heart to feel,
Would change this fimple wreath which
Ev'n for that golden circle which furrounds
Shepherds wear,
The temples of a King? Beneath thefe
flowers

Sits blooming health and ever-fmiling joy ; While that bright orb, which girds the Monarch's brow,

Is but a crown of thorns to vex the foul
Of him who wears it.-Happinefs, thou good,
Which all men pant for, and which few pof
fefs,

Thou art not found in palaces of Kings
If thou haft place on earth, 'tisfurethoubideft
Midst cets and villages and rural fcenes.
Let fools with ardor in that chace purfire,
Whofe game is empire, and whofe pleasure,

pain!

Mine be the lot to stray thro' nature's walks, But not in Gardens, where man's barbarous

fkill

Has ftarch'd thofe loofer folds I've oft admir'd,
In nature's robe, and turn'd to lifeless forth
Such artlefinefs, fuch elegance, fuch ease 1
Give me to wander in the fpacious fields,
Or 'long the margin of meandring stream,
Or down the vale, or upyon steep hill's fide,
Where thoufand Cowflips cover all the ground
In wide luxuriance. There within a copie,
Far from the fearch of every eye but mine,
I've mark'd one tall and flately o'er the reft,
In whole fair femblance Man's majestic
mien

Vied with the foftness of a Virgin's grace.--
Thus in fome village lone, midft trees obíčune,
Far from the notice of the bufy world,
I've spied fome maiden of more princely
tread,

Of shape more tine, more elegantly turn'd,
Of manners fweeter, and of hue more freth,
Thane'er was feen at modern RoutsorDrums,
In ancient Baron's hall, or courts of Kings.

P. H.

ΤΟ

A

TO THE VIOLE T.

deny,

Thou beft, tho' most diminutive of flowers;
For where can Nature thro' her wide domain
Boat other odours half fo fweet as thine ?
What, thall I Sophy scorn,'caufeSophy's small?
Though fall the be, is the not still a gem,
Which worlds of matfy go'd could never buy?
You too, ye Violets, might I ever wear,
Ev'n as I wear my Sophy in my heart!
Tho' the ftrip'd tulip, and the blufhing rose,
The polyanthus broad with golden eye,
The full carnation and the lily tall,
Difplay their beauties on the gay parterre
In coftly gardens, where th' unlicens'd feet
Of Pulics tread not; yet that lavish hand,
Which featters violets under every thorn,
Forbids that fweets like thefe fhould be con-
fin'd

Within the limits of the rich man's wall.
So fares it in the world: albeit we fee
Some gew gaws which the great alone poffefs,
Whate'er is folid good is free to all.

Let grandeur keep its own: this fragrant

flower

Was kindly given by nature to regale
The wearied ploughman, as he home returns
At dufk of evening to that dear abode
Where all his comfort, all his treasure's lodg'd,
Young rofy cherubs, and a fimiling wife.
If he may profit thefe, he'll jewels call
Those big round drops that stand upon his
brow,

The badges of his labour, and his love. [rive,
Thethought that thefe from him their good de-
And that that good hangs on his fingle arm,
Turns toil to luxury, to pleasure pain.
'Tis this that cools the Sun's meridian blaze,
Bears up his heart, re-braces every nerve,
And fends freth vigour to his fainting foul.
How far more bleft is industry like this,
Than fchemes of statesmen, who for private

THE

HE Mufes dread not Cupid's cruel dart, But fondly all his wand'ring fteps pursue; If woo'd themfelves by him of lovelefs heart, · With cold difguft they fhun his hated view. But, if by one whom fofter paffions move,

Whobreathes his raptures on the tuneful oat, How clofe they throng to bear the tile of love, With greedy ears to catch each pleafing note!

'Tis I can witness true whate'er be fings:

For when to others I would raise my strain, Each Bagging finger flumbers on the ftrings, Whole fault'ring founds declare my efforts Vain.

ATHENIA,

T. L.

An ELEGY, on the late J. STUART, Esq.

May long withstand the ruling crefcent's But nearer views this plaintive fong concern, For fame ne'er made Athenia proud or

vain, [fpurn, Not with contempt the unletter'd Mufe he'd But deign'd to listen to its humble strain : And to reward the Bard, to him unknown, In candid guife his honor'd name allow'd*; Nor thought beneath distinguish'd worth to

own

A flame aspiring from plebeian croud. But here, alas! is clos'd each hopeful view, That credit thence might to the Mule impart;

Yes, tyrant fell, each infant wifh you flew, When kind Athenia felt thy mortal dart And now, behold within the hallow'd aifle The mute proceffion fix the fable bier, May hope elated on thy reliques fmile,

And contemplation love to linger here! Am'ranths and laurels on their fhrines be laid, To whom the grateful tafk by heaven's affign'd,

By grateful toil to yield each focial aid,
Refine, exalt, or harmonize mankind.
W. HAMILTON REID,

*The Author's fubfcription, now on foot, was honoured with the name of the deceafed..

VERSES

Plymouth.

WHILE lofty Bards great deeds re

hearfe,

And try with wondrous lays to move; Trembling, I court in humble verse,

And fain would draw the maid I love.

What tho' but half her face be seen,
Half veil'd within her flowing hair,
Know that that half behind the fcreen
Muft, with its counter-part, be fair.
Her eyes too, tho' thus hid from fight,
Like moon-beams by the fleecy clouds,
Dart, like the golden orbs of night,

When the thofe lovely eyes unfhrouds. 'Tis then her face begins to bloom,

That bloom the rival of the rose, 'Tis then that all her charms illume, And Venus every grace beftows. Her pearly teeth in coral fet,

Like magnets, have the power to draw, If once within that power we get, Follow we must magnetic law.

Yet tho' the maid, to Virtue true,

Vice in each winning fhape can scorn, New to the world, to love yet new, Not for herself alone is born.

When raptur'd youths with wonder gaze,

The looks, the dance, confpire to move,

The fluttering spirits in amaze

The potent power of beauty prove;

Or if her fingers touch the lyre,

In motion are ten thousand strings, The throbbing heart is all on fire,

Fann'd by the bufy Cupid's wings. Forgive, dear girl, this vent'rous deed,

A hapless bard, not yet fixteen, Who, piping on an artless reed.

Would in your captive train be seen. Love led ev'n Jove himself aftray :

If Jove himielf could feel the fmart, Well may an arrow find its way,

To pierce your young admirer's heart.

C. P.

253

To upper realms-Oh, to this lay of mine, Would but thy fong fome happy fire infusel Then might I at thy flower-inwoven thrine Offer a garland of no fordid hues.

A N

Lo

EPITAPH

O! where a mother feeks repose,
And close by her dear infants lies,
Waiting the hour that fhall difclofe
Them once more to her ravish'd eyes.
Wretched, in all youth's gaudy bloom,
She faw thofe little babes expire;
Then quick purfued them to the tomb,
Dear objects of her foul's defire.
Bereav'd, fweet innocents, of you,

How low the droop'd!--how foon she dy'd!
Was e'er maternal love more true,
Or more, alas! feverely try`d?
Hence let the tributary tear,

Stream from each eye that reads this verfe: And oh ye tender mothers, here In fighs your fympathy rehearse. Effex, Halfted.

RELATIVE.

BEAUTIFUL CHILD2 NAMED ROSE, WHO DIED YOUNG. FRE lies a Rofe, a budding Rofe, Blafted before its bloom; Whofe innocence did fweets difclofe, Beyond that flower's perfume.

H

To thofe who for her lofs are griev'd
This confolation's given,

She's from a world of woe reliev'd,

And blooms a Rofe in Heaven. R. R. E.

Immitation of Verfes written by MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, on the Death of ber Husband, Francis II. King of France, 1561.

W

HAT was mypleafure's now my grief, My day obfcur'd is black as night, What's nice or rare brings no relief, [delight. Not e'en to raife a wifh, vain fynbol of I drag my load from place to place,

Oft-times the defart hides my woe, Vain all exertions, to efface [forrows flow. That ftrange dire caufe, whence all my From fan-rife o'er the lawns and woods, Till Vefper's murky gloom I ftray, My heavy heart unceasing bodes, [one away! How happy might I be, but that there's To heav'n I look in my defpair,

Some cloud affumes his lovely eyes, When faddenly diffolv'd in air, This prize. I fee theirghaftly hue, as when death itruck My wearied fenfe refign'd to rest,

His charming voice falutes mine ear, His touch with rapture fills my breast, [near. Perception never fleeps, his form is always No more let grief my fong infpire,

Yet this my doleful forrows teach; " Where true love fed a mutual fie, "There's nought can eafe the heart, when

death has made a breach." CANDIDE. *Not Francis I, as mentioned, p. 63.