Their board no ftrange ambiguous viand bore;
From their own streams their choicer fare they drew,
To lure the scaly glutton to the shore,

The fole deceit their artless bofom knew!

Sincere themselves, ah too fecure to find
The common bofom, like their own, fincere!
'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous mind;
'Tis her own poifon bids the viper fear.

Sketch'd on the lattice of th' adjacent fane,
Their fuppliant busts implore the reader's pray'r ;
Ah gentle fouls! enjoy your blissful reign,

And let frail mortals claim your guardian care.

For fure, to blissful realms the fouls are flown,
That never flatter'd, injur'd, cenfur'd, strove;
The friends of fcience! mufic, all their own;
Mufic, the voice of virtue and of love!

The journeying peasant, thro' the secret shade, Heard their foft lyres engage his list'ning ear; And haply deem'd fome courteous angel play'd; No angel play'd-but might with transport hear.

For these the founds that chafe unholy ftrife!
Solve envy's charm, ambition's wretch release!
Raife him to fpurn the radiant ills of life;
To pity pomp, to be content with peace.

Farewel,

Farewel, pure fpirits! vain the praise we give, The praise you fought from lips angelic flows; Farewel! the virtues which deferve to live,

Deserve an ampler bliss than life bestows.

Laft of his race, PALEMON, now no more
The modeft merit of his line display'd;
Then pious HOUGH VIGORNIA'S mitre wore→
Soft fleep the duft of each deferving fhade.

He fuggefts the advantages of birth to a person of merit, and the folly of a fupercilioufness that is built upon that fole foundation.

HEN genius grac'd with lineal fplendor glows,

WHE

When title fhines, with ambient virtues crown'd, Like fome fair almond's flow'ry pomp it shews; The pride, the perfume of the regions round.

Then learn, ye fair! to foften splendor's ray;
Endure the fwain, the youth of low degree;
Let meeknefs join'd its temperate beam difplay;
'Tis the mild verdure that endears the tree.

Pity the fandal'd swain, the fhepherd's boy;
He fighs to brighten a neglected name;
Foe to the dull appulfe of vulgar joy,

He mourns his lot; he wishes, merits fame.

In vain to groves and pathless vales we fly;
Ambition there the bow'ry haunt invades ;
Fame's aweful rays fatigue the courtier's eye,
But gleam still lovely thro' the checquer'd fhades.

Vainly, to guard from love's unequal chain,
Has fortune rear'd us in the rural grove;
Shou'd ****'s eyes illume the defart plain,
Ev'n I may wonder, and ev'n I must love.

Nor

Nor unregarded fighs the lowly hind;
Tho' you contemn, the gods refpect his vow;
Vindictive rage awaits the fcornful mind,

And vengeance, too fevere! the gods allow.

On SARUM's plain I met a wand'ring fair;
The look of forrow, lovely still she bore:
Loofe flow'd the soft redundance of her hair,
And, on her brow, a flow'ry wreath she wore.

Oft stooping as she stray'd, she cull'd the pride
Of ev'ry plain; the pillag'd ev'ry grove!
The fading chaplet daily fhe supply'd,

And still her hand fome various garland wove.

Erroneous fancy fhap'd her wild attire ;

From BETHLEM's walls the poor lympatic ftray'd; Seem'd with her air her accent to confpire, When, as wild fancy taught her, thus fhe faid.

"Hear me, dear youth! oh hear an hapless maid,
Sprung from the scepter'd line of ancient kings!
Scorn'd by the world, I ask thy tender aid;
Thy gentle voice fhall whisper kinder things.

The world is frantic-fly the race profane-
Nor I, nor you, fhall its compassion move;

Come friendly let us wander, and complain,

And tell me, shepherd! haft thou seen my love?

My

My love is young-but other loves are young
And other loves are fair, and fo is mine;
An air divine difclofes whence he sprung;

He is my love, who boasts that air divine.

No vulgar DAMON robs me of my rest,
IANTHE liftens to no vulgar vow;

A prince, from gods defcended, fires her breaft;
A brilliant crown diftinguishes his brow.

What, fhall I ftain the glories of my race?

More clear, more lovely bright than HESPER's beam? The porc❜lain pure with vulgar dirt debafe? Or mix with puddle the pellucid stream?

See thro' thefe veins the faphire current shine!
'Twas Jove's own nectar gave th' etherial hue:
Can base plebeian forms contend with mine!
Difplay the lovely white, or match the blue?

The painter ftrove to trace its azure ray;

He chang'd his colours, and in vain he strove';
He frown'd-I fmiling view'd the faint effay;
Poor youth! he little knew it flow'd from Jove.

Pitying his toil, the wond'rous truth I told;
How am'rous Jove trepann'd a mortal fair;
How thro' the race the generous current roll'd,
And mocks the poet's art, and painter's care.
3

Yes,