THE

WISH.

BY MERRICK.

How fhort is life's uncertain space 1

Alas! how quickly done!

How fwift the wild precarious chafe !
And yet how difficult the race,
How very hard to run!

Youth ftops at first its wilful ears

To wifdom's prudent voice;

Till now arriv'd to riper years,

Experienced age, worn out with cares,

Repents its earlier choice.

What though its prospects now appear
So pleafing and refin'd;

Yet groundless hope, and anxious fear,
By turns the bufy moments share,
And pray upon the mind.

Since then falfe joys our fancy cheat
With hopes of real bliss;

Ye guardian pow'rs that rule my fate,

The only with that I create,

Is all compriz'd in this :

May I through life's uncertain tide,
Be ftill from pain exempt;

May all my wants be still supply'd,
My state too low t'admit of pride,
And yet above contempt.

But fhould your providence divine
A greater blifs intend;

May all those bleffings you defign,
(If e'er those bleffings shall be mine)
Be center'd in a Friend.

OD E.

WRITTEN IN THE WALKS AT BRECKNOCK

TO DR. SQUIRE, LD. BISHOP OF ST. DAVID'S,

RUDE

BY DR. DODD.

UDE romantic shades and woods, Hanging walks and falling floods! Now that gush with foaming pride Down the rough rock's steepy fide; Now that o'er the pebbles play, Winding round your filver way:

N

Mountains, that in dusky cloud

High your facred fummits fhroud;
Whofe variegated fides adorn

Fields, and flocks, and groves, and corn,
And whited cots, befide the steep,
Where health and labour fweetly fleep;
Hail pleafing fcenes! Amyntas cry'd,
As by old Hundy's gurgling fide,
In careless fort his limbs he laid,

*

The hoar hill hanging o'er his head.

His harp of ancient British sound lay by; He feiz'd it rapturous: o'er the strings

His fingers lightly fly,

While thus his voice refponfive fings.

II.

From that celestial orb, where, thron'd in light,
Thou dwell'ft, of powers angelic first and best;
Oh lovely gratitude! divinely bright,

Defcend, in all thy glowing beauties drest.
Goddess come, and oh! impart

All thy ardours to my heart;

Tune my harp, and touch my tongue,

Give me melody and fong:

Softeft notes and numbers bring,

'Tis Palemon that I fing:

Gratitude exalts my lays,
'Tis my benefactor's praife.

* A river which runs by Brecknock.

III.

But where can our numbers, or notes,
Sufficiently pleafing be found,

To exprefs the due fenfe of his worth,

Who my life with fuch comforts hath crown'd.
He mark'd the fmall flock which I fed,
And my diligence gave him delight;
Young fhepherd I'll help you, he faid,

And he plac'd me ftill nearer his fight.
Then he gave me fome sheep of my own,
Oh could I the charge but improve!
'Twould fhew how I honour'd his gift,
And would I could merit his love!
But fooner this brook at my feet

Shall ceafe in foft murmurs to flow;
Thefe mountains shall sooner fink down
To a plain with the vallies below;
Than mute to his praises, my tongue
Shall cease his lov'd name to refound,
Or my heart to his favours so priz❜d,
Be ever infenfible found.

Oh may the great Shepherd of all

His life with rich bleffings increase! And sweetly encompass him round

With plenty, with health, and with peace. On all that partake of his board

Be happiness largely bestow'd;

His wife be ftill loving and kind;
His children ftill lovely and good!
And-pafs'd his benevolent days
"Midft elegant labours of love!
Oh late, ye good angels, his foul

To the feats of the bleffed remove!
Thus Amyntas fung pleafs'd to his harp,
With Brecon's white walls in his view:
Many poets much sweeter you'll find;
No poet more honeft and true.

Bishop Squire, made him Prebend of Brecon, May 1764.

E LE GY.

WRITTEN IN A

COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.

BY GRAY.

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind flowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn ftillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowfy tinklings lull the diftant folds;