Where, at the woodman's song, or barber's tale,
Full many a laugh went round, and much brown ale;
How well he sung, whose oaten pipe no more
Shall warble music to our list'ning shore:
That oaten pipe we well may break in twain,
For none will tune so well its notes again.

If, happy bard! a muse so mean as mine
May form one wreath to decorate thy shrine,
Accept the humble tribute that she pays,
If not in tuneful, yet in honest lays:

Bless'd task, when, sporting with the muse's lyre,
We sing what Truth and Gratitude inspire!

ON

THE DEATH OF DR. GOLDSMITH,

BY W. WOTY.

ADIEU, Sweet bard! to each fine feeling true, Thy virtues many, and thy foibles few;

Those form'd to charm e'en vicious minds-and these With harmless mirth the social soul to please. Another's woe thy heart could always melt; None gave more free-for none more deeply felt,

Sweet bard, adieu! thy own harmonious lays
Have sculptur'd out thy monument of praise:
Yes-these survive to Time's remotest day;
While drops the bust, and boastful tombs decay:
Reader, if number'd in the muse's train,
Go, tune the lyre, and imitate his strain;
But, if no poet thou, reverse the plan,
Depart in peace, and imitate the man.

A

MONODY

ON THE DEATH OF DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

DARK

ARK as the night, which now in dunnest robe Ascends her zenith o'er the silent globe, Sad Melancholy wakes, awhile to tread, With solemn step, the mansions of the dead: Led by her hand, o'er this yet recent shrine I sorrowing bend, and here essay to twine The tributary wreath of laureate bloom, With artless hands, to deck a poet's tomb;

The tomb where GOLDSMITH sleeps. Fond hopes, adieu !

No more your airy dreams shall mock my view;

Here will I learn ambition to controul,
And each aspiring passion of the soul:
Ev'n now, methinks, his well-known voice I hear,
When late he meditated flight from care;
When, as imagination fondly hied

To scenes of sweet retirement, thus he cried:
"Ye splendid fabrics, palaces, and towers,
"Where dissipation leads the giddy hours,

Where pomp, disease, and knavery reside, "And folly bends the knee to wealthy pride; "Where luxury's purveyors learn to rise, "And worth, to want a prey, unfriended dies; "Where warbling eunuchs glitter in brocade, "And hapless poets toil for scanty bread: "Farewell! to other scenes I turn my eyes, "Embosom'd in the vale where Auburn lies; "Deserted Auburn, those now ruin'd glades,

Forlorn, yet ever dear and honour'd shades.

"There, though the hamlet boasts no smiling train, "Nor sportive pastime circling on the plain, "No needy villains prowl around for prey, "No slanderers, no sycophants betray; "No gaudy foplings scornfully deride "The swain, whose humble pipe is all his pride, "There will I fly to seek that soft repose,

Which solitude contemplative bestows:

"Yet, oh fond hope! perchance there still re

mains

;

"One ling'ring friend behind, to bless the plains; "Some hermit of the dale, inshrin'd in ease, "Long lost companion of my youthful days, "With whose sweet converse in the social bow'r "I oft may chide away some vacant hour "To whose pure sympathy I may impart "Each latent grief that labours at my heart; "Whate'er I felt, and what I saw, relate, "The shoals of luxury, the wrecks of state; "Those busy scenes, where science wakes in vain, "In which I shar'd-ah! ne'er to share again. "But whence that pang? does nature now rebel? Why faulters out my tongue the word fare

well?

"Ye friends! who long have witness'd to my toil, "And seen me ploughing in a thankless soil; "Whose partial tenderness hush'd ev'ry pain, "Whose approbation made my bosom vain; ""Tis you to whom my soul divided hies "With fond regret, and half unwilling flies; "Sighs forth her parting wishes to the wind, "And ling'ring leaves her better half behind. Can I forget the intercourse I shar'd,

"What friendship cherish'd, and what zeal endear'd?

Alas! remembrance still must turn to you, "And to my latest hour protract the long adieu. "Amid the woodlands, wheresoe'er I rove,

"The plain, or secret covert of the grove,

66

Imagination shall supply her store

"Of painful bliss, and what she can restore; "Shall strew each lonely path with flow'rets gay, "And wide as is her boundless empire stray:

On eagle pinions traverse earth and skies,

"And bid the lost and distant objects rise.

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Here, where encircled o'er the sloping land "Woods rise on woods, shall Aristotle stand; "Lyceum round the godlike man rejoice, "And bow with reverence to wisdom's voice. "There, spreading oaks shall arch the vaulted dome, "The champion, there, of liberty, and Rome, "In attic eloquence shall thunder laws, "And uncorrupted senates shout applause. "Not more ecstatic visions rapt the soul "Of Numa, when to midnight grots he stole, "And learnt his lore, from virtue's mouth refin'd, "To fetter vice, and harmonize mankind. "Now stretch'd at ease beside some fav'rite stream, "Of beauty and enchantment will I dream;

'Elysium, feats of art, and laurels won,

"The Graces three, and *Japhet's fabled son:

* Prometheus.