O let me often thus employ The hour of mirth and focial joy! And glean from GRANVILLE's learned ftore 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 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, Nor black Trecarris' steepy height, Nor clamorous Hondy's fall. Did the bleak day then give me pain? Far other cares engrofs'd my mind, In Newton's happy groves! Yet not because its woods difclofe Or grots or lawns more fweet than those 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, And friendship's facred name. O Newton, could these penfive lays But that the Mufe, ingenuous maid, 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: Shatter'd by time's bleak storms I withering lay, 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 With ardour he prefs'd her to think him fincere, IV. Now cheer'd by complacence, now froze by difdain, Forfake her, faid he, and reject her awhile; This advice he purfu'd; but the remedy prov'd Which cur'd his own paffion, but left her in vain I. S. H. The BUL FINCH in Town. H By a Lady of Quality. ARK to the blackbird's pleafing note: Nature directs his warbling throat, And all that hear admire the fong. |