Pale, immature, the blighted verdure springs,
Nor mounting juices feed the fwelling flow'r;
Mute all the groves, nor Philomela fings

When Silence liftens at the midnight hour.

Nor wonder, man, that Nature's bafhful face,
And op'ning charms her rude embraces fear :
Is fhe not fprung of April's wayward race,
The fickly daughter of th' unripen'd year ?

With fhow'rs and funshine in her fickle eyes,
With hollow fmiles proclaiming treach'rous peace;
With blushes, harb'ring in their thin disguise
The blast that riots on the Spring's increase.

Is this the fair invested with my spoil

By Europe's laws, and Senates' stern command? Ungen'rous Europe, let me fly thy foil,

And waft my treasures to a grateful land :

Again revive on Afia's drooping fhore

My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain : Again to Afric's fultry fands reftore

Embow'ring fhades, and Lybian Ammon's fane:

·Or

Or hafte to northern Zembla's favage coast,
There hush to filence elemental ftrife;

Brood o'er the region of eternal Froft,

And fwell her barren womb with heat and life.

Then Britain

here fhe ceas'd. Indignant grief,

And parting pangs her fault'ring tongue fuppreft: Veil'd in an amber cloud, fhe fought relief,

And tears, and filent anguish told the rest.

SONG for RANELA GH.

YE

By Mr. W. WHITEHEAD.

I.

E belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolicfome round,

Pray tell me from whence this indecency fprings,

The fexes at once to confound:

What means the cock'd hat, and the mafculine air, With each motion defign'd to perplex?

Bright eyes were intended to languish, not ftare,

And foftnefs the teft of your fex.

II. The

II.

The girl who on beauty depends for support,
May call every art to her aid:

The bosom display'd, and the petticoat short,
Are famples fhe gives of her trade.

But you, on whom Fortune indulgently smiles,
And whom Pride has preserv'd from the snare;
Should flily attack us with coyness and wiles,
Not with open and infolent air.

III.

The Venus whose statue delights all mankind,
Shrinks modeftly back from the view,

And kindly should seem by the artist design'd
To ferve as a model for you.

Then learn with her beauties to copy her air,

Nor venture too much to reveal;

Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm you conceal.

IV.

The blushes of Morn, and the mildness of May,

Are charms which no art can procure;

O! be but yourselves, and our homage we pay,
And your empire is folid and fure.

But

But if Amazon-like you attack your gallants,

And put us in fear of our lives,

You may

do very well for fifters and aunts,

But believe me, you'll never be wives.

The BENEDICITE Paraphrafed.

By the Rev. Mr. MERRICK.

I.

E works of God, on him alone,

YE

In earth his footstool, heaven his throne,

Be all your praise bestow'd;

Whofe hand the beauteous fabric made,

Whose eye the finish'd work furvey'd,

And faw that all was good.

II.

Ye angels, that with loud acclaim

Admiring view'd the new-born frame,

And hail'd th' eternal King;

Again proclaim your Maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raife,

And touch the tuneful ftring.

III. Praife

III.

Praise him, ye bless'd ætherial plains,
Where, in full majefty, he deigns
To fix his aweful throne:

Ye waters, that above him roll,

From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
Oh! make his praises known!

IV.

Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful fongs with ours,
With us your voices raise;

From age to age extend the lay,

To heav'n's eternal Monarch

Hymns of eternal praise,

V.

pay

Cœleftial orb!-whose pow'rful ray
Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whose influence all things own;

Praise him, whose courts effulgent shine
With light, as far excelling thine,

As thine the paler moon.

VI.

Ye glitt❜ring planets of the sky,

Whofe lamps the abfent fun fupply,

With him the fong pursue;

VOL. IV.

N

And