The famed Leander could not more
Desire to land on Hero's shore.

But as the moat was smooth and clear,
And gilt with sun-beams here and there,
The shadow of his new got prize
Presents itself before his eyes,

Bless me, quoth he, here's noble luck!
Here's profit 1 Here's increase of stock!
Here's cent per cent. got in a trice;
This stock jobbing's a rare device!
He said, and at the shadow snaps;
And down the leg of mutton drops.
Too late he finds what he has done,
And sees at once his dinner gone.
Speechless awhile the puppy stood,
And lour'd on the deceitful flood:
But at the last, all drown'd in tears,
He curs'd his fate, and shook his ears.

MORAL.

Was ever senseless dog so bit;
Had ever whelp so little wit?
T'involve himself in so much trouble,

For a mere shadow, a mere bubble.

EVAN LLOYD.

1734-1776.

Oh! pleasing Poet, friend for ever dear,
Thy memory claims the tribute of a tear;
In thee were join'd, whate'er mankind admire,
Keen wit, strong sense, the Poet's, Patriot's fire,
Temper'd with gentleness such gifts were thine,→
Such gifts with heartfelt anguish we resign.

J. WILKES.

This Epitaph is inscribed upon the tomb of this Poet in Llanyhill church, on the banks of Bala Lake. It is some honour to have been praised by Wilkes, even in such verses as these.

Evan Lloyd was of Jesus College, Oxford; he published, 1. The Powers of the Pen. 2. The Curate. 3. The Methodist. 4. Conversation. 5. An Epistle to David Garrick. 6. An Ode on opening the new exhibition room of the Royal Incorporated Society of Artists of Great Britain; each seperately in quarto.

The Ode performed at the new Exhibition Room of the Royal Incorpora ed Society of Artists of Great Britain, written by E. Lloyd.

..Ingenuas didicisse fideliter Artes

Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.

'Twas where grim Mars with ruin strew'd the plain,

And wide displayed the terrors of his reign,
While discord wav'd her crimson wings,
Dripping with the blood of Kings,

Britannia wept forlorn to see,

Death revel 'midst her

progeny:

Then asked of Heav'n to temper, not debase, savage fierceness of her warlike race.

The

Ye powers! sooth a mother's care;
Propitious to a mother's prayer,
Vouchsafe a boon that may assuage
My martial island's burning rage!
The pen, the pencil, and the lyre,
Might gentler bravery inspire,
And manners mild infuse--

Then send, O Heaven! the muse,

Her pray'r prevail'd-from Heav'n the muse

descends,

And in her train each liberal art attends.

In softer murmurs let the hills
Pour down fresh heliconian rills;

Ye vales, with groves of laurel swell,

The muse now deigns with you to dwell.
Hark! thro' the enchanted isle

The choir of Phoebus sings!

They teach the warriors brow to smile, And tame the hearts of Kings! Tame, not enfeeble-firmer is the steel When made the polish of the file to feel.

The sister of the pencil came

With these, another and the same,

She came and lent her plastic hand

To humanize the

savage land:

Iris on her steps attended

And the mimic colours blended.

Hail! wond'rous art! whose pow'r is such

With mightiest magic fraught,

It gives with a promethean touch
To colour, life, and thought!

Not Egypt's skill so well can save,

And give the form to elude the grave;
When fate condemns, thy hand reprieves,

And after death the person lives!
Vain are the ravages of time;
Thy pencil gives eternal prime:
When Delia moulders in the tomb,
On canvas she retains her bloom.
From thee a new creation grew,
Adorn'd with every living hue
That Phoebus' orb illumes:

Each moral quality, no more
Abstracted notions, as before,

A person'd shape assumes.

Each passion by the pencil dress'd
Is better to the mind express'd
Than in the writer's page;
And virtues, which with langour pine
When pedant moralists define

In cherub forms engage.

Picture, music of the eye,

Might tempt a seraph from the sky
'Mid kindred forms on earth to roam,
And think it his celestial home.