The towering dome delights; and gardens fair,
And fruitful fields, with silvan honours crown'd,
Stretch'd out in wide extent; the gay machine
Dear to the female race, the gilded coach,
With liveried servants in retinue long,
Adorn'd with splendent robes, the pompous train
Of pageantry and pride. His neighbour sits
Immur'd at home, a miser dire! nor dares

To touch his store, through dread of fancied want:
Industrious of gain, he treasures up

Large heaps of wealth, to bless a spendthrift heir
That wastes in riot, luxury, and mis-rule,
The purchase of his want; nought shall he reck
His father's pine, when lavish he ordains
The feast in pillar'd hall, or sunny bow'r,
With lust-inflaming wine, and wicked mirth
Prolong'd to morning hour, and guilty deed.

Others again, the woods of Astery

Love to inhabit, or where down the mount
Sky-climbing Parnass', her sweet-sounding wave
Castalia pours, with potent virtues bless'd;
Powerfu! to charm the ear of furious wrath,
To close the eye of anguish, or to strike
The lifted dagger from despairing breast.
Such Addison; and such, with laurel crown'd,
Immortal Congreve; such the Muses' grace,
Mæonian Pope: nor do the Nine refuse
To rank with these, Fergusian nightingale,
Untaught with wood-notes wild, sweet Alan hight;
Whether on the flow'r-blushing bank of Tweed,
Or Clyde, or Tay's smooth-winding stream, his
Choose to reside; or o'er the snowy hills [Muse
Benlomon, or proud Mormount, all the day,
Clad in tartana, varied garb, she roves,
To hear of kings' and heroes' godlike deeds:
Or, if delighted on the knee she lies
Of lovely nymph, as happy lap-dog grac'd;
Intent to soothe the Scotish damsel's ear,
Cochrane or Hamilton; with pleasing song
Of him who sad beneath the wither'd branch
Sat of Traquair, complaining of his lass;
Or the fond maid, that o'er the wat'ry brink
Wept sleepless night and day; still wafting o'er
Her flying love, from Aberdour's fair coast.

Others again, by party rage inflam'd,
Blindfolded zeal, and superstition dire,
Offspring of ignorance, and cloister-born,
With undistinguish'd violence, assault
Both good and bad..

There is, who studious of his shape and mien
On dress alone employs his care to please,
Aspiring with his outward show; who, vain
Of flaxen hair perfam'd, and Indian cane,
Embroider'd vest, and stockings silver-clock'd,
Walks through th' admiring train of ladies bright;
Sole on himself intent; best liken'd to
The painted insect, that in summer's heat
Flutters the gardens round, with glossy wing,
Distinct with eyes; him oft the tender Miss,
Escap'd from sampler and the boarding-school,
Pursues with weary foot, from flow'r to flow'r,
Tulip, or lily bright, or ruby'd rose;
And often in the hollow of her hand
Retains him captive, sweet imprisonment!
But, ah! how vain the joys the beau can boast;
Awhile he shines in tavern, visit, dance,
Unrival'd, clad in rich refulgent garb
Laç'd or brocaded; till the merchant bold,
With messenger conspicing, mortal dire!

Of merciless heart, throw him in dungeon deep

Recluse from ladies; what avails him then
The love of women or the many balls
He made to please the fair? There must he lie
Remediless, if not by pity won

Fair Cytherea, sea-begotten dame,
By spousal gifts from sooty Vulcan earn
Fallacious key; as erst, by love o'ercome,
He forg'd celestial arms, to grace her son
Anchises-born; and in the borrow'd form
Of longing widow, or of maiden aunt,
(While sly Cyllenius, with opiate charm
Of Ceres, the still-watching Argus' eyes
Of ke per drench in sleep profound), release
The captive knight from the enchanted dome.
Thus others choose: their choice affects not me;
For each his own delight, with secret force
Magnetic, as with links of love, constrains.
Behoves me then to say what bias rules
My inclinations, since desire of fame
Provokes me not to win renown in arms,
Nor at Pieria's silver spring to slake
Th' insatiate thirst, to write on the coy nymph
Love-labour'd sounet; nor in well-dress'd beau
To please the lovely sex. For me at Keith's
Awaits a bowl, capacious for my cares;
There will I drown them all, no daring thought
Shall interrupt my mirth, while there I sit
Surrounded with my friends; and envy not
The pomp of needless grandeur, insolent,
Nor shall alone the bowl of punch delight,
Compounded fluid! rich with juicy spoil
Of fair Iberia's sunny coast, combin'd
With the auxiliar aid of rack or rum,
Barbade, or Suinatra, or Goan-born;
The luscious spirit of the cane, that in
Fermenting cups with native element
Of water mixt, pure limpid stream! Lote
Their social sweets. For us, her ruddy soul
The Latian grape shall bleed; nor will thy hills,
Far-flowing Rhine, withhold their clustering vine 3,
Haste then! to friendship sacred let us pour
Th' exhilarating flood, while, as our hands
In union knit, we plight our mutual hearts
Close as the loving pair, whom holy writ
Renowns to future times, great Jonathan,
And Jesse's son: now this delights my soul.

There was a time we would not have refus'd
Macdougal's lowly roof, the land of ale;
Flowing with ale, as erst in Canaan said
To flow with honey: there we often met,
And quaff'd away our spleen, while fits of mirth
Frequent were heard: nor wanted amorous song,
Nor jocund dance; loud as in Eden town,
Where the tir'd writer pens the livelong day,
Summons and horning, or the spousal band
Of Strephon, and of Chloe, lovely lass!
Spent with his toil when thirsty twilight falls,
He hies him gladsome to the well-known place,
Bull-cellar, or O Johnston's thine! where fond
Of drink, and knowledge, erst philosophers
Have met; or Couts's dark Cimmerian cell,
Full many a fathom deep: from far he hears
The social clamour through the dome resound;
He speeds amain to join the jovial throng.
So we delighted once: the bowl meanwhile
Walk'd ceaseless still the round, to some fair name
Devoted; thine, Maria, toa ted chief,
Duty obsequious! and thy looks benign
Miss'd not their due regard: Dundassea fair
Claim'd next the kindred lay; nor didst thou pass,

618

Constance, uncclebrated or unsung.
Hail, sacred three! hail, sister minds! may Heav'n
Pour down uncommon blessings on your heads.

Thus did our younger years in pleasing stream
Flow inoffensive; friendship grac'd our days,
And dream of loving mistress bless'd our night.
Now, from these joys convey'd, (so fate ordains)
Thou wander'st into foreign realms, from this
Far, far sejoin'd; no more with us to drain
The ample bowl; or, when in Heav'n sublime
The monthly Virgin from full gather'd globe
Pours down her amber streams of light, till wide
The ether flame, with choral symphony
Of voice, attemper'd to sweet hautboy's breath,
Mixt with the violin's silver sound, below
The window of some maid beiov'd, shall ply
The nightly serenade. To other joys

Thou now must turn, when on the pleasing shore
Of mild Hesperia, thou behold'st amaz'd
The venerable urns of ancient chiefs,
Who stern in arms, and resolute to dare

In freedom's cause, have died, or glorious liv'd:
Camillus; Brutus, great from tyrant's blood;
Coriolanus, famous in exile;

Laurel'd Zamean Scipio, the scourge
Of Punic race; or liberty's last hope,
Self-murder'd Cato; consecrate to fame
They live for ever in the hearts of men,
Far better monument, than costly tomb

Of Egypt's kings. Time, with destructive hand,
Shall moulder into dust the pil'd-up stone,
With all its praises; ah! how vain is fame!
With virtue then immortalize thy life.

But these, so potent Nature's will decrees,
Delight not me, on other thoughts intent;
Not studious at midnight lamp to pore
The medal, learned coin! where laurel wreathes
The sacred head of kings, or beauty bright
Of kings sweet paramour, the letter'd sage
Or prudent senator, by eating time
Defac'd injurious; the faithless trust
Of human greatness! Nor do I incline

To pass the Frith that parts from Gallia's reign
My native coast, solicitous to know
What other lands impart: all my delights
Are with my friends in merry hour, at Steel's
Assembled, while unrespited the glass
Swift circles round the board, charg'd with fair
Erskine, or, Pringle, thine; until the Sun [name,
That, setting, warn'd us to the friendly cups,
Awake, and view our revels uncomplete.
But if the Heavens, disposer of our fate,
Force me, unwilling, shift my native land;
O! in whatever soil my weary feet

Are doom'd to stray, O might I meet my friend!
Or if the rising Sun shall gild my steps
On fruitful fields of Ind, Bengala's shore,
Spice-bearing Tidor's isle, or where at eve,
Near western Califurn, beneath the main
He sinks in gold; or on vine-fostering hills
Of nearer Latium, nurse of kings and gods.
O! might I view thee on the flowery verge
Of Tyber, stream renown'd in poets' song;
Or in the Roman streets, with curious eye
Studying the polish'd stone, or trophied arch
Trajan, or Antonine; not long content
With toil unprofitable. Thee I'd lead

Well pleas'd to Horace' tomb, dear laughing bard!
Where the Falernian vintage should inspire
Sweet thoughts of past delight; the goblet rough

Should warm our hearts sacred to Pringle's cheek
With sculptur'd gold rosy from Chios' isle,
Still glowing, and to sweet Humeia's lip,
To Drummond's eye, Maria's snowy breast
Soft-heaving, or to lovely Erskine's smile;
While on the wounded glass the diamond's path
Faithful, shall show each favourite virgin's name;
Not without verse and various emblem grac'd
The Latian youth at merry reveis met,
In fancy shall admire the Scotish maid
Bright as the ruddy virgin Roman-born;
Nor with their native dames refuse to join
Impartial, their health belov'd: and would
The Nine inspire me equal to my choice,
In lays such as the Roman swan might sing,
Fair as Horatian Lydia should my Hume
For ever flourish, or Næera bright,
Of soft Tibullus' Muse the lovely theme.
Nor should alone in melancholy strains,
Of cruel nymph, and constant vows refus'd,
Gallus complain, when on the flinty rock,
Or wailing near earth-diving Arethuse,
Sicilian stream, he made to woods his moan,
Despairing of his loves: Maria's scorn,
Cloth'd in the style of Mantua, should shine
As thine, Lycoris! theme of future song
Surviving as itself. Maria's scorn

For ever I endure: ah! hard return

To warmth like mine: nathless the mourning Muse
Must praise the maid still beauteous in her eye,
Crown'd with each lovely grace, and warm in
Though, sullen to my suit, her ear be shut [bloom;
Against my vows, ungracious to my love.

But this as time directs; thy health demands
The present care, and joys within our pow'r;
Nor shall we not be mindful of thy love,
Met in our festivals of mirth: but when
Thou to thy native Albion shalt return,
From whate'er coast, or Russia's northern bear,
Inclement sky! or Italy the blest

Indulgent land, the Muses' best belov'd;
Over a wondrous bowl of flowing punch
We'll plight our hands anew, at Don's, or Steel's→
Who bears the double keys, of plenty sign;
Or at facetious Thom's, or Adamson,
Who rears alone (what needs she more?) the vine,
Suasive to drink, fills up the brimming glass,
Emblem of potent joys; herself, with looks
Well-pleas'd to see the sprightly healths go round.

Hail, and farewell! may Heav'n defend thee safe;
And to thy natal shore and longing friends
Restore thee, when thy destin'd toils are o'er,
Polish'd with manners, and enrich'd with arts.

THE RIIONE AND THE ARAR.
Two rivers in fam'd Gallia's bounds are known,
The gentle Arar and the rapid Rhone;
Through pleasing banks, where love-sick shepherds
[dream,
Mild Arar softly steals her lingering stream:
Her wave so still, th' exploring eye deceives,
That sees not if it comes, or if it leaves:
With silver graces ever dimpled o'er,
Reflects each flower, and smiles on every shore;
Each youth with joy th'enchanting scene surveys,
And thinks for him the amorous stream delays;
While the sly nymph above unseen to flow,
To her own purpose true, steals calm below.

More rapid rolls the Rhone, tumultuous flood,
All raging unwithheld, and unwithstood;
In vain or fertile fields invite its stay,
In vain or roughest rocks oppose its way;
It bounds o'er all, and, insolent of force,
Still hurries headlong on a downward course.
Sometimes, 'tis true, we snatch, with painful sight,
Across the working foam a moment's light;
The momentary vision snatch'd again,
The troubled river boils and froths amain.
To which of these, alas! shall I confide?
Say, shall I plunge in Rhone's impetuous tide,
And by the various eddies roll'd about,
Just as the whirlpools guide, suck'd in, cast out!
Till, through a thousand giddy circles tost,
In the broad ocean's boundless floods I'm lost?
Or, tell me, friends-less venturous, shall I lave
My glowing limbs in Arar's gentle wave?
In whose fair bosom beauteous prospects rise,
The earth in verdure, and in smiles the skies:
With thoughtless rapture every charm explore,
Heav'd by no breeze, or wafted to no shore:
Till trusting credulous to the false serene,
1 sink to ruin in the pleasing scene.

THE PARODY:

BY MR. W******.

Two toasts at every public place are seen,
God-like Elizabeth, and gentle Jean:
Mild Jeany smiles at every word you say,
Seems pleas'd herself, and sends you pleas'd away.
Her face so wondrous fair, so soft her hands,
We're tempted oft to think-she understands:
Each fop with joy the kind endeavour sees,
And thinks for him the anxious care to please:
But the sly nymph has motives of her own,
Her lips are open'd, and-her teeth are shown.
Bess blunders out with every thing aloud,
And rattles unwithheld and unwithstood:
In vain the sighing swain implores a truce,
Nor can his wit one moment's pause produce;
She bounds o'er all, and conscious of her force,
Still pours along the torrent of discourse.
Sometimes, 'tis true, just as her breath she draws,
With watchful eye we catch one moment's pause:
But when that instantaneous moment's o'er,
She rattles on incessant as before.

To which of these two wonders of the town,
Say, shall I trust to spend an afternoon?
If Betty's drawing-room should be my choice,
Intoxicate with wit, struck down with noise,
Pleas'd, and displeas'd, I quit the Bedlam scene,
Aud joyful hail my peace of mind again:
But if to gentle Jeany's I repair,
Regal'd on syllabub, and fed on air,
With studied rapture yawning I commend,
Mov'd by no cause, directed to no end,
Till hak asleep, though flatter'd, not content,
I come away as joyless as I went.

EPIGRAM

ON A LION ENRAGED AT SEEING A LAD IN THE
HIGHLAND DRESS.

CALM and serene th' imperial lion lay
Mildly indulging in the solar ray,

On vulgar morta's with indifference gaz'd,
All unconcern'd, nor angry, nor amaz'd:
But when the Caledonian lad appear'd,
Sudden alarm'd, his manly mane he rear'd,
Prepar'd in fierce encounter to engage
The only object worthy of his rage.

MISS AND THE BUTTERFLY,

A FABLE.

IN THE MANNER OF THE LATE MR. GAY.

A TENDER Miss, whom mother's care
Bred up in wholesome country air,
Far from the follies of the town,
Alike untaught to smile or frown;
Her ear unus'd to flattery's praise,
Unknown in woman's wicked ways:
Her tongue from modish tattle free,
Undipp'd in scandal and bohea;
Her genuine form and native grace
Were strangers to a looking-glass:
Nor cards she dealt, nor flirted fan,
And valued not quadrille or man;
But simple liv'd, just as you know
Miss Chloe did-some weeks ago.

As now the pretty innocent
Walk'd forth to taste the early scent,
She tripp'd about the murmuring stream,
That oft had lull'd her thoughtless dream.
The morning sweet, the air serene,
A thousand flowers adorn'd the scene;
The birds rejoicing round appear
To choose their consorts for the year;
Her heart was light, and full of play,
And, like herself, all nature gay.

On such a day, as sages sing,
A Butterfly was on the wing;
From bank to bank, from bloom to bloom,
He stretch'd the gold-bespangled plume:
Now skims along, and now alights,
As smell allures, or grace invites;
Now the violet's freshness sips;
Now kiss'd the rose's scarlet lips;
Becomes anon the daisy's guest;
Then press'd the lily's snowy breast;
Nor long to one vouchsafes a stay,
But just salutes, and flies away.

The virgin saw, with rapture fir'd;
She saw, and what she saw desir'd,
The shining wings, and starry eyes,
And burns to seize the living prize:
Her beating breast and glowing face
Betray her native love of dress,
And all the woman full exprest
First flutters in her little breast:
Ensnar'd by empty outward show,
She swift pursues the insect-beau;
O'er gay parterres she runs in haste,
Nor heeds the garden's flowery waste.

Long as the Sun, with genial pow's
Increasing, warm'd the sultry hour,
The nymph o'er every border flew,
And kept the shining game in view:
But when, soft breathing through the trees,
With coolness came the evening-breeze;

As hovering o'er the tulip's pride

He hung with wing diversified,