And art thou dead thou much-lov'd youth ?
And didst thou die for me?

Then farewel home! for evermore
A pilgrim I will be.

But first upon my true-love's grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grafs turf
That wraps his breathless clay.

Yet ftay, fair Lady, reft a-while
Beneath this cloyfter wall:

See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall.

O ftay me not, thou holy Friar!
Q ftay me not I pray!

No drizzly rain that falls on me
Can wash my fault away.

Yet ftay, fair Lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For fee, beneath this gown of gray
Thy own true-love appears.

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,
Thefe holy weeds I fought;

And here amid thefe lonely walls
To end my days I thought.

But haply, for my year of grace
Is not yet pafs'd away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.

Now farewel grief, and welcome joy,
Once more unto my heart:
For fince I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more fhall part.

A TALE.

BY WILLIAM MELMOTH, ESQ.

ERE Saturn's fons were yet difgrac'd, And heathen gods were all the taste, Full oft (we read) 'twas Jove's high will To take an air on Ida's hill.

It chanc'd, as once with ferious ken He view'd from thence the ways of men, He faw (and pity touch'd his breaft) The world by three foul fiends poffeft: Pale Discord there, and Folly vain, With haggard Vice, upheld their reign. Then forth he fent his fummons high, And call'd a fenate of the sky. Round as the winged orders preft, Jove thus his facred mind expreft: "Say, which of all this fhining train "Will Virtue's conflict hard fuftain? "For fee, the drooping takes her flight, "While not a god fupports her right."

He paus'd-when from amidst the sky,
Wit, Innocence, and Harmony,
With one united zeal arose,

The triple tyrants to oppose.

That inftant from the realms of day,
With generous fpeed, they took their way}
To Britain's ifle direct their car,
And enter'd with the evening star.

Befide the road a manfion stood,
Defended by a circling wood:
Hither, disguis'd, their steps they bend,
In hopes, perchance, to find a friend :
Nor vain their hope, for records fay,
Worth ne'er from thence was turn'd away,
They urge the trav'ller's common chance,
And every piteous plea advance:
The artful tale that Wit had feign'd,
Admittance easy foon obtain'd.

The dame, who own'd, adorn'd the place;
Three blooming daughters added grace.
The firft, with gentleft manners bleft,
And temper fweet, each heart poffeft;
Who view'd her, catch'd the tender flame:
And foft Amafia was her name.

In fprightly fenfe and polifh'd air,
What maid with Mira might compare:
While Lucia's eyes and Lucia's lyre
Did unrefifted love inspire.

Imagine now the table clear,
And mirth in every face appear a

The fong, the tale, the jeft went round,
The riddle dark, the trick profound,
Thus each admiring and admir'd,
The hoft and guests at length retir'd;
When Wit thus fpake her fifter train :

1

"Faith, friends, our errand is but vain"Quick let us measure back the sky; "These nymphs alone may well supply, "Wit, Innocence, and Harmony."

AN INVITATION

TO

THE FEATHERED RACE.

BY THE REV. MR. GRAVES.

AGAIN the balmy Zephyr blows,

Fresh verdure decks the grove,

Each bird with vernal rapture glòws,
And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,

And fhun the noon-tide heat;

My fhrubs à cooling fhade supply,
My groves a fafe retreat,

Here freely hop from spray to spray,
Or weave the mossy neft;

Here rove and fing the live-long day
At night here fweetly reft.

Amidft this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill, And revel in the shade.

No school-boy rude, to mifchief prone,
E'er fhows his ruddy face,
Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this fequefter'd place.

Hither the vocal Thrush repairs,
Secure the Linnet fings,
The Goldfinch dreads no flimy fnares
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt,
Yon diftant woods among,
And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy fweetly plaintive fong.

Let not the harmless Redbreaft fear,
Domestic bird, to come

And feek a fure asylum here,

With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall ftore of fruit preferve;

Oh, let me thus your friendship bribe !
Come, feed without referve.

M