O let me often thus employ

The hour of mirth and focial joy!

And glean from GRANVILLE's learned ftore
Fair science and true wisdom's lore.

Then will I still implore thy longer stay,

Nor change thy feftive hours for funshine and the day.

Written upon leaving a FRIEND's House in

WALES.

By the Rev. Dr. M.

HE winds were loud, the clouds deep-hung;

THE

And dragg'd their sweepy trains along

The dreary mountain's fide;

When, from the hill, one look to throw
On Towy's rambling flood below,

I turn'd my horse and figh'd.

But foon the gufts of fleet and hail

Flew thick across the darken'd vale,

And blurr'd the face of day:

Forlorn and fad, I jogg'd along;

And though Tom cry'd, "You're going wrong,'

Still wander'd from my way.

The scenes, which once my fancy took,

And my aw'd mind with wonder struck,
Pafs'd unregarded, all!

Nor black Trecarris' steepy height,
Nor waste Trecastle gave delight;

Nor clamorous Hondy's fall.

Did the bleak day then give me pain?
The driving fnow, or pelting rain,
Or sky with tempefts fraught?
No! these unheeded rag'd around:
Nought in them so much Mine I found,
As claim'd one wandering thought.

Far other cares engrofs'd my mind,
Cares for the joys I left behind,

In Newton's happy groves!

Yet not because its woods difclofe

Or grots or lawns more fweet than those
Which Pan at noon-day loves;

But that, befide its focial hearth

Dwells every joy, which youthful mirth

Or ferious age can claim :

Newton is the name of a feat belonging to Sir John Price.

The

The man too whom my foul first knew,
To virtue and to honour true;

And friendship's facred name.

O Newton, could these penfive lays
In worthy numbers fcan thy praise,
Much gratitude would fay;

But that the Mufe, ingenuous maid,
Of flattery feems so much afraid,
She'll scarce her duty pay.

Brecknock, Oct. 16, 1749.

DENNIS to Mr. THOMSON,

RE

Who had procured him a Benefit Night.

Eflecting on thy worth, methinks I find

Thy various Seasons in their author's mind. Spring opes her bloffoms, various as thy Mufe, And, like thy foft compaffion, fheds her dews. Summer's hot drought in thy expreffion glows, And o'er each page a tawny ripeness throws. Autumn's rich fruits th' inftructed reader gains, Who tastes the meaning purpose of thy strains. VOL. IV.

Y

Winter

Winter-but that no femblance takes from thee:
That hoary season yields a type of me.

Shatter'd by time's bleak storms I withering lay,
Leaflefs, and whitening in a cold decay!
Yet fhall my propless ivy, pale and bent,
Bless the short funfhine which thy pity lent.

SON G. 1753.

I.

OW eafy was Colin, how blithe and how gay!

Ere he met the fair Chloris, how sprightly his lay! So graceful her form, fo accomplish'd her mind, Sure pity, he thought, with fuch charms must be join'd! II.

Whenever she danc'd, or whenever the fung,

How juft was her motion, how fweet was her tongue
And when the youth told her his paffionate flame,
She allow'd him to fancy her heart felt the fame.
III.

With ardour he prefs'd her to think him fincere,
But alas! she redoubled each hope and each fear;
She would not deny, nor fhe would not approve,
And she neither refus'd him, nor gave him her love.
IV. Now

IV.

Now cheer'd by complacence, now froze by difdain,
He languish'd for freedom, but languish'd in vain :
'Till Thyrfis, who pity'd fo helpless a slave,
Eas'd his heart of its pain by the counsel he gave.
V.

Forfake her, faid he, and reject her awhile;
If the love you, fhe foon will return with a smile:
You can judge of her passion by absence alone,
And by absence will conquer her heart or—your own.
VI.

This advice he purfu'd; but the remedy prov'd
Too fatal, alas! to the fair one he lov'd;

Which cur'd his own paffion, but left her in vain
To figh for a heart she could never regain.

I. S. H.

The BUL FINCH in Town.

H

By a Lady of Quality.

ARK to the blackbird's pleafing note:
Sweet usher of the vocal throng!

Nature directs his warbling throat,

And all that hear admire the fong.