O'er the pale corse we saw him gently bend; Heart-chill'd with grief- My thread, (he cried) ' is spun !

If Heaven had meant I should my life extend,

Heaven had preserv'd my life's support, my son! 'Snatch'd in thy prime ! alas, the stroke were mild, Had my frail form obey'd the Fates' decree! Bless'd were my lot, O Cynthio! O my child!

Had Heaven so pleas'd, and I had died for thee.' Five sleepless nights he stem'd this tide of woes; Five irksome suns he saw, through tears, forlorn: On his pale corse the sixth sad morning rose ;

From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne, 'Twas on those downs*, by Roman host annoy'd, Fought our bold fathers, rustic, unrefin'd! Freedom's plain sons, in martial cares employ'd; They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their mind.

'Twas there in happier times, this virtuous race, Of milder merit, fix'd their calm retreat; War's deadly crimson had forsook the place, And Freedom fondly lov'd the chosen seat. No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breast,

To swell with empty sounds a spotless name; If fostering skies, the sun, the shower were bless'd, Their bounty spread; their fields' extent the

same.

Those fields, profuse of raiment, food, and fire,

They scorn'd to lessen, careless to extend; Bade Luxury to lavish courts aspire,

And Avarice to city breasts descend.

None to a virgin's mind prefer'd her dow'r,
To fire with vicious hopes a modest heir:
The sire in place of titles, wealth, or pow'r,
Assign'd him virtue; and his lot was fair.
They spoke of Fortune as some doubtful dame,
That sway'd the natives of a distant sphere;
From Lucre's vagrant sons had learn'd her fame,
But never wish'd to place her banners here.
Here youth's free spirit, innocently gay,

Enjoy'd the most that innocence can give;
Those wholesome sweets that border Virtue's way;
Those cooling fruits, that we may taste and live.
Their board no strange ambiguous viand bore;
From their own streams their choicer fare they
[drew,
To lure the scaly glutton to the shore,

The sole deceit their artless bosom knew.

Sincere themselves, ah! too secure to find The common bosom, like their own, sincere. 'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous mind; "Tis her own poison bids the viper fear. Sketch'd on the lattice of the' adjacent fane, Their suppliant busts implore the reader's pray'r: Ah! gentle souls! enjoy your blissful reign,

And let frail mortals claim your guardian care. For sure to blissful realms the souls are flown, That never flatter'd, injur'd, censur'd, strove; The friends of Science ! music all their own;

Music, the voice of Virtue and of Love! The journeying peasant, through the secret shade, Heard their soft lyres engage his listening ear, And haply deem'd some courteous angel play'd; No angel play'd-but might with transport hear.

For these the sounds that chase unholy Strife, Solve Envy's charm, Ambition's wretch release, Raise him to spurn the radiant ills of life,

To pity pomp, to be content with peace. Farewell, pure spirits! vain the praise we give, The praise you sought from lips angelic flows; Farewell! the virtues which deserve to live Deserve an ampler bliss than life bestows. Last of his race, Palemon, now no more The modest merit of his line display'd; Then pious Hough Vigornia's mitre woreSoft sleep the dust of each deserving shade.

HE SUGGESTS THE ADVANTAGES OF BIRTH TO A PERSON OF MERIT, AND THE FOLLY OF A SUPERCICLIOUSNESS THAT IS BUILT UPON THAT SOLE FOUNDATION.

WHEN genius, grac'd with lineal splendour, glows,
When title shines, with ambient virtues crown'd;
Like some fair almond's flowery pomp, it shows
The pride, the perfume, of the regions round.
Then learn, ye fair! to soften splendour's ray;
Endure the swain, the youth of low degree;
Let meekness join'd its temperate beam display;
'Tis the mild verdure that endears the tree.
Pity the sandal'd swain, the shepherd's boy;
He sighs to brighten a neglected name;
Foe to the dull appulse of vulgar joy,

He mourns his lot; he wishes, merits, fame,

In vain to groves and pathless vales we fly;

Ambition there the bowery haunt invades ; Fame's awful rays fatigue the courtier's eye, [shades. But gleams still lovely through the chequer'd Vainly to guard from Love's unequal chain, Has Fortune rear'd us in the rural grove; Should ****'s eyes illume the desert plain, E'vn I may wonder, and e'vn 1 must love. Nor unregarded sighs the lowly hind ;

Though you contemn, the gods respect his vow; Vindictive rage awaits the scornful mind,

And vengeance too severe! the gods allow. On Sarum's plain I met a wandering fair;

The look of sorrow, lovely still, she bore;
Loose flow'd the soft redundance of her hair,

And on her brow a flowery wreath she wore.
Oft stooping as she stray'd, she cull'd the pride
Of every plain; she pillag'd every grove:
The fading chaplet daily she supplied,

And still her hand some various garland wove.
Erroneous Fancy shap'd her wild attire;

From Bethlem's walls the poor lymphatic stray'd; Seem'd with her air her accent to conspire,

When as wild Fancy taught her, thus she said: 'Hear me, dear youth, oh! hear an hapless maid, Sprung from the sceptred line of ancient kings! Scorn'd by the world, I ask thy tender aid;

Thy gentle voice shall whisper kinder things. The world is frantic-fly the race profaneNor I nor you shall its compassion move; Come, friendly let us wander and complain,

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

My love is young-but other loves are young!
And other loves are fair, and so is mine;
An air divine discloses whence he sprung;
He is my love who boasts that air divine.
'No vulgar Damon robs me of my rest;
Ianthe listens to no vulgar vow;

A prince, from gods descended, fires her breast;
A brillant crown distinguishes his brow.

"What, shall I stain the glories of my race, [beam? More clear, more lovely bright, than Hesper's The porcelain pure with vulgar dirt debase? Or mix with puddle the pellucid stream? 'See through these veins the sapphire current shine! 'Twas Jove's own nectar gave the' ethereal hue: Can base plebeian forms contend with mine, Display the lovely white, or match the blue? The painter strove to trace its azure ray; He chang'd his colours, and in vain he strove : He frown'd-I, smiling, view'd the faint essay :-Poor youth! he little knew it flow'd from Jove. 'Pitying his toil, the wondrous truth I told,

How amorous Jove trepan'd a mortal fair; How through the race the generous current roll'd, And mocks the poet's art and painter's care. 'Yes, from the gods, from earliest Saturn sprung Our sacred race, through demigods convey'd; And he, allied to Phœbus, ever young,

My godlike boy! must wed their duteous maid. 'Oft, when a mortal vow profanes my ears, My sire's dread fury murmurs through the sky! And should I yield-his instant rage appears: He darts the' uplifted vengeance-and I die.