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Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark;

These lures I straight forget,-e'en ere I dine, Or thrice my palate moisten : but when I mark

Such charms with mild intelligences shine, My ear is open like a greedy shark,

To catch the tunings of a voice divine.

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Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being?

Who can forget her half retiring sweets ?

God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing, Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing,

Will never give him pinions, who intreats

Such innocence to ruin, who vilely cheats
A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing
One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear

A lay that once I saw her hand awake,
Her form seems floating palpable, and near ;

Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear,

And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.

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EPISTLES.

Among the rest a shepheard (though but young “Yet hartned to his pipe) with all the skill His few yeeres could, began to fit his quill.”

Britannia's Pastorals.- BROWNE.

EPISTLES.

TO

GEORGE FELTON MATHEW.

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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,
And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song ;
Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view
A fate more pleasing, a delight more true
Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd,
Who with combined powers, their wit employ'd
To raise a trophy to the drama's muses.
The thought of this great partnership diffuses
Over the genius loving heart, a feeling
Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing.

Too partial friend ! fain would I follow thee
Past each horizon of fine poesy ;
Fain would I echo back each pleasant note
As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float
'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted,
Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted:

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