Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd | Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care,or cross'd in hopeless love.
One morn I miss'd him on the custom❜d bill,

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree:
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:
The next with dirges duc, in sad array,

Slow thro' the church-yard path we saw him
borne :
[lay,
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted files.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd
dead,

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate.
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ;
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch,

And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,

DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

"TWAS on

WAS on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd
The azure flow'rs that blow j
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin'd,

Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws!

Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and em'rald eyes,

She saw, and purr'd applause.
Still had she gaz'd; but 'inidst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyriau hue,
Thro' richest purple, to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,

A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompence as largely send:
He gave to misery all he bad, a tear;

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd)
a friend.

Nor farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw :
A whisker first, and then a claw;
With many an ardent wish,

She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize:
What female heart can gold despise?

What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulph between :
(Malignant Fate sat by and smil'd);
The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd,

She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat`ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, nor Nereid stirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard:-
A fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriv'd,
And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes,
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glitters, gold.

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow'rs among Ah, shew them where in ambush stand,
Wanders the boary Thames along
His silver-winding way!

To seize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

THE BARD.-A PINDARIC ODE.

ODE ON THE SPRING.

THE PROGRESS OF POESY.-A PINDARIC ODE.

AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake,

Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. || He gives to range the dreary sky :
From Helicon's harmonious springs
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
A thousand rills their mazy progress take: Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring
The laughing flow'rs that round them blow,
shafts of war.
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.

Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the

roar.

O sovereign of the willing soul,

Parent of sweet and solemu-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sullen cares

And frantic passions hear thy soft controul.
On Thracia's bills the Lord of war

Has curb'd the fury of his car,

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.

declare:

Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay,
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her easy way:
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young desire, and purple light of
love.

Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and penury, the racks of pain,
Disease, and sorrow's weeping train;
And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!
The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he given in vain the heavenly muse?
Night and all her sickly dews,

In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains

roam.

The muse has broke the twilight gloom,
To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od'rous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,

She deigns to bear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers, wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep;
Isles, that crown th' Egean deep;
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
In ling'ring lab'rinths creep,

Thee the voice, the dance obey,

Temper'd to thy warbled lay.

O'er Idalia's velvet green

The rosy-crowned loves are seen
Ou Cytherea's day,

With antic sports, and blue-eyed pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures:
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops thy meet;
To brisk notes in cadence beating,
Glance their many-twinkling feet.

How do your tuneful echoes languish!
Mute but to the voice of anguish!
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath'd around ;
Ev'ry shade and hollow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains:
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r,
And coward vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach They sought, O Albion! next thy sea encircled

coast.

Joves.

Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursues, and gen'rous shame,
Th'unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy
flame.

Far from the sun and summer gale,

In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd.
To him the mighty mother, did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd.
This pencil take, (she said), whose colours
clear
Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror, that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic

tears.