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HE morning's fair, the lusty fun
With ruddy cheek begins to run ; And early birds, that wing the skies, Sweetly sing to see him rise.
I am resolv'd, this charming day,
What a fair face does Nature Thow?
Happy twain, sure happier far
The fun now shows his noon-tide blaze;
Oh powerful Silence, how you reign
Some wildly to Parnassus wing,
But now and then a Navith hind
Some trace the pleasing paths of joy,
Some meditate ambition's brow,
I rouze me up, and on I rove.
Up * Grongar hill I labour now,
See, below, the pleasant dome,
See yonder hill, uprising steep,
* A hill in South Wales.
Look upon that flowery plain,
Till I found out my Clio, and ended my pain,
And made myself quiet, and happy again.
Α Ν E P I S T L E
F A M O U S PAIN T E R.
ELIGHTFUL partner of my heart, Kisses the streams, while now they run;
Master of the loveliest art! And yonder hill remoter grows,
How sweet our senses you deceive, Or dusky clouds do interpose.
When we, a gazing throng, believe! The fields are left, the labouring hind
Here flows the Po!-The Minis there, His weary oxen does unbind;
Winding about with sedgy hair! And vocal mountains, as they low,
And there the Tyber's yellow flood, Re-echo to the vales below;
Beneath a thick and gloomy wood! The jocund shepherds piping come,
And there Darius' broken ranks And drive the herd before them home;
Upon the Grannic's bloody banks j And now begin to light their fires,
Who bravely die, or basely run Which send up smoke in curling spires !
From Philip's all-fubduing son!" While with light hearts all homeward tend,
And there the wounded Porus brought To * Abergasney I descend.
(The bravest man that ever fought!) But, Oh! how bless'd would be the day,
To Alexander's tent, who eyes Did I with Clio pace my way,
His dauntless visage, as he lies And not alone and solitary stray.
In death's most painful agonies.
To me reveal thy heavenly art,
Seeming Nature's living glow!
The beauteous shapes of objects near!
The golden eve, thé blushing dawn,
Smiling on the lovely lawn!
And funny hills and pleasant plains !
Or some old building, hid with grass,
Rearing sad its ruin'd face ; Oh, Sun, did you see her ?--ah! surely you did : Whole-columns, frizes, statues, lie, 'Mong what willows, or woodbines, or reeds, is the
The grief and wonder of the eye! hid ?
Or swift adown a mountain tall: Ye tall, whistling pines, that on yonder hill grow,
A foaming cataract's sounding fall; And o'erlook the beautiful valley below,
Whose loud roaring funs the ear Did you see her a-roving in wood or in brake ?
Of the wondering traveller! See Or bathing her fair limbs in some filent lake?
Or a calm and quiet bay, Ye mountains, that look on the vigorous east,
And a level shining sea! And the north, and the south, and the wearisom
Or surges rough, that froth, and roar, west,
And, angry, dash the founding Thore ! Pray tell where she hides her, you surely do know, And vessels tost! and billows high! And let not her lover pine after her so.
And lightning flashing from the lky! Oh, had I the wings of an eagle, I'd fly
Or that which gives me most delight, Along with bright Phoebus all over the sky;
The fair idea (seeming fight!) Like an eagle, look down, with my wings wide dil- of warrior fierce, with shining blade! play'd,
Or orator, with arms display'd ! And dart in my eyes at each whispering shade :
Tully's engaging air and mien,
Declaiming against Cataline.
Above his foes, whọ round him die, * The name of a seat belonging to the Author's
Τ Η Σ
POEM CALLED GIDEON.
Or Hercules, with lion's hide,
In terrass'd stages mount up high, And knotty cudgel, thrown aside,
And wave its fable beauties in the sky, Lifting Antäus high in air !
“ From stage to stage, broad steps of half-hid Who, in his gripe, expires there! Or Sisyphus, with toil and sweat,
" With curling moss and blady grass o'ergrown, And muscles strain'd, striving to get
" Lead awful Up a steep hill a ponderous stone,
Down in a dungeon deep,
“ From narrow loop-holes quivers to the sight, With head reclin'd, and flowing hair ;
« With swift and furious stride, Or comely Paris, gay and young,
“ Close-folded arms, and thort and sudden starts, Moving with gallart grace along!
“ The fretful prince, in dumb and sullen pride, These you can do! I but advance
" Revolves escape In a florid ignorance ;
Here in red colours glowing bold And say to you, who better know,
A warlike figure itrikes my eye!
The dreadtul sudden sight his foes behold
And we the mighty author greatly wrong;
To gather beauties here and there,
As but a scatter'd few there were,
While every word's a beauty in his song!
taken out of the Poem called GIDEON.] Where did the heavenly spirit bear you,
When your fair soul reflected strong
Bright in the chambers of your mind!
Or gather'd bays beside Euphrates' stream, Or lonely sung with Jordan's water-falls,
While heavenly Gideon was your sacred theme.
BY AARON HILL, ESQ.
HILE, charm'd with Aberglasney's quiet
plains, Full of inípiring wonder and delight,
The Mures, and their Empress, court your strains, Slow read I Gideon with a greedy eye!
Tir'd of the roisy town, so lately try'd,
Methinks, I see you smile, on Towy's fide!
Pensive, her mazy wanderings you unwind,
And, on your river's margin, calm your mind. And glorious prospects all around him lie!
Oh!-greatly bless’d--whate'er your fate requires, On Gideon's pages beautifully line,
Your ductile wisdom tempers your desires! Surprizing pictures rising to my right,
Balanc'd within, you look abroad serene, With all the life of colours and of Ile,
And, marking both extremes, pass clear between. And all the force of rounding shade and light,
Oh! could your lov'd example teach your skill, And all the grace of something more divine !
And, as it moves my wonder, mend my will!
Calm would my passions grow ;-my lot would
And my fick soul might think itself to ease !
Each present good nips, undistinguish'd, by. " His right hand, with a milk-white wand, some Still
, what I would, contends with what i can, “ figure seems to draw !
And my wild wilhes leap the bounds of man. " A nameless grace is scatter'd through his air, " And o'er his moulders loosely flows his amber and my unchain'd defires can fix a scope,
If in my power it lies to limit hope, “colour'd hair"
This were my Choice-Oh, Friend! pronounce me Alove, with burning blush the morning glows,
poor ; The waking world all fair before him lies;
For I have wants, which wealth can never cure! “ Slow from the plain the melting dews,
Let others, with a narrow'd stint of pride, " To kiss the sun-beams, climbing, rise." &c.
In selfish vicevs, a bounded hope divide :
If I must wish at all-Desires are free,
с н о г с Е.
TO MR. DYER.
Then might I, sole supreme, act, unconfin’d,
But thou has nought to please the vulgar eye,
And if, though few, they any faults can see And wants the wish'd-for power to give them ease! | How meanly bitter will cold censure be! glory this, unreach'd, but on a'throne !
But, since we all, the wiseft of us, err,
Among the misty millions of mankind,
And o'er the fneer of coxcombs force applause,
Who, with felt pleasure, see fair Virtue rise, Far from a Lord's loath'd neighbourhood - And lift her upwards to the beckoning prize! State!
Or mark her tabouring in the modest breast, Whose little greatness is a pride I hate !
And honour her the more, the more deprest. On some lone wild, should my large house be Thee, Savage, these (the justly great) admire, plac'd,
Thee, quick’ning Judgment's phlegm with Fancy's Vaftly surrounded by a healthful waste !
fire! Steril, and coarse, the untry'd foil should be, Thee, now to censure, earnest to commend, Till-forc'd to flourish, and subdu'd by me.
An able critic, but a willing friend.
FRIEND IN TOWN*
Τ Ι Ε
AVE my friends in the town, in the gay burg
V hose bosom no pageantries fire ?
(Contented ?-why every thing charms me)
Till hence rigid virtue alarms me.
The swift, the intrepid avenger ;
Then mine be the deed, and the danger.
THE LATE EARL RIVERS.
INK not, my friend, beneath misfortune's
Alas! what a folly, that wealth and domain
We heap up in fin and in sorrow!
Is not life to be over to-morrow ?
Then glide on my moments, the few that I have
Smooth-Maded, and quiet, and even ;
And the spirit arises to heaven.
* Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, there is one to Mr. Dyer, in answer to his from the country.
Nor jealousy nor female envy find,
Though all the Muses are to Dyer kind.
Sing on, nor let your modest fears retard,
Whose verse and pencil join, to force reward : CLIO*.
Your claim demands the bays, in double wreath,
Your Poems lighten, and your pictures breathe. "VE done thy merit and my friendship wrong,
I wish to praise you, but your beauties wrong: In holding back my gratitude so long ;
No theme looks green, in Clio's artless song: The soul is sure to equal transport rais’d,
But yours will an eternal verdure wear, That justly praises, or is justly prais'd:
For Dyer's fruitful foul will flourish there. The generous only can this pleasure know
My humbler lot was in low distance laid ; Who taste the god-like virtue—to bestow !
I was, oh, hated thought! a woman made; I ev'n grow rich, methinks, while I commend;
For houshold cares, and empty trifes meant,
The Name does immortality prevent. And feel the very praises which I send.
Yet let me stretch, beyond my sex, my mind, Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, is an And, rising, leave the futtering train behind; Epistle, occasioned by Mr. Dyer's Picture of this Nor art, nor learning, with'd assistance lends, Lady.
But nature, love, and music, are my friends: