For lo! his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn
Advancing, leads him to the social dome,

The Leasowes, 1755.


To William Shenfione, Esq; The production of half an bour's leifure.

August 30, 1761.
JEALTH to the bard, in Leasowes happy groves,

Health and sweet converse with the Muse he loves !
The lowliest vot'ry of the tuneful nine,
With trembling hand, attempts her artless line,
In numbers such as untaught nature brings,
As flow spontaneous, like thy native springs.

But ah! what airy forms around me rise,
The russet mountain glows with richer dyes !
In circling dance a pigmy crowd appear,
And hark! an infant voice salutes my ear.

“ Mortal, thy aim we know, thy tak approve,
His merit honour, and his genius love ;
For Us what verdant carpets has he spread,
Where nightly we our myftic mazes tread !
For Us each fhady grove and rural seat,
His falling streams, and Aowing numbers sweet.
Didit thou not mark amid the winding dell,
What tuneful verse adorns the root-wove cell ?
There ev'ry Fairy of our sprightly train
Resorts, to bless the woodland, and the plain ;
There as we move unbidden {plendors glow,
The green turf brightens, and the flowrets blow.
There oft with thought sublime we bless the swain,
Nor we inspire, nor he attends in vain.

Go, fimple rhymer, bear this message true,
'The truths that Fairies dictate none shall rue.

Say to the bard, in Leasowes happy grove,
Whom Dryads honour, and whom Fairies love
Content thyself no longer that thy lays,
By others fofter'd, lend to others praise ;
No longer to the fav’ring world refuse
The welcome treasures of thy polith'd Muse
Collect the flowers that own thy valu'd name,
Unite the spoil, and give the wreath to Fame.
Ne'er, can thy morals, taste, or verse engage
More folid fame, than in this happier age;
When sense, when virtue's cherish'd by the throne,
And each illustrious privilege their own.
Tho' modest be thy gentle Muse, I ween,
O, lead her, blushing, from the daify'd green,
A fit attendant on Britannia's queen!"



Ye sportive elves, as faithful I relate
"Th' entrusted mandates of your fairy state,
Visit these wilds again with nightly care,
So thall my kine, of all the herd, repair,
In healthy plight, to fill the copious pail ;
My sheep be pennd, with safety, in the dale ;
My poultry fear no robber in the rooft;
My linen more than common whiteness boast;
Let order, peace, and housewif'ry be mine:
Shenstone ! be taste, and fame, and fortune thine !


To Mr. 6. upon his defiring her to paint his chara&ter. Dec. 30, 1760.

By Miss Loggin.

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HOyou flatter my genius, and praise what I write,

Sure this whimsical task was imposid out of spite.
Because this poor head, with much scratching and thinking,
Made some idle reflections on raking and drinking ;
To clip my weak wings with malicious intention
You present me a theme that defies all invention.

Your picture ! Lord bless me! Where can one begin?
To speak truth, were insipid ; to lie, were a fin.
You might think me in love, should I paint your perfections ;
Should I sketch out your faults, you might make-worse objections.
Should I blend in one piece of superlative merit,
Good-nature with' wit, condescension with spirit;
Should, with modesty, ease and politeness be join'd ;
Unlimited freedom, with manners refin'd ;
Courage, tenderness, honour, enthron'd in one heart;
With frankness, reserve; and with honesty, art:
With these glaring good qualities plac'd in full view,


soul would believe it was you?
Why then turn t'other side, says Ill-nature, and find him,
In some few modifh faults, leave his fex all behind him.
For levity, flattery, and so forth, he's fam'd-
Pr'ythee, peace, fool; and let no such trifles be nam'd:
If his failings be such, time will certainly cure 'em,
And the ladies-till then—will with pleasure endure 'em.

To a Lady.

I N disappointments not unkill'd,

My mind in search of pleasure roves;

R 4


With hopes of happiness beguild,
Tow'rds ev'ry fond amusement moves.
But fond amusements all are vain,
The withd-for happiness to gain.

Free from ambition's restless fire,
My humble soul could dwell at ease;
Nor can the thirst of gold inspire
A wish injurious to my peace.
Honour and wealth in vain allure

A heart contented to be poor.
Not the whole world with all its charms,
Could my regardless mind entice;
Beauty alone my heart difarms,
Proof to the other baits of vice.
Yet here, a lovely Myra's name
Inspires me with the purest flame.

Pleasures in these soft colours drest,
Attract my unexperienc'd eyes ;
Until within my youthful breast
Warm expectations quickly rise,
And with delusive hopes controul

Each with of my unwary soul.
Thus, while on earthly bliss, my mind
Is fix'd with fancied joy elate ;
Soon all my hopes I ladly find
Dash'd by some sudden turn of fate.
Thus all my hopes, I find are vain ;
I only rise to fall again.

No more, fond youth, direct thy aim
At what thou ne'er must truly know.
A love so pure, heav'n only claims,
Unrival'd by the joys below.
There thou wilt find—what here thou'lt miss,
A lasting portion and substantial bliss.

The Answer. By a Lady.

HE tender friendship still has charms,

The foothing tear and plaintive figh;
Grateful and generous those alarms
That swell my heart when thou art nigh.

Then cease, Vill'roy, such gentle care,
Nor seek thy Myra's life to save ;
Rather send forth thy pious pray's,
To take her peaceful to the grave.

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Wrote to an admirable Lady under misfirtunes and undeferu'd confinement.

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O meet affliction with a scorn divine,

Befits, oh! P-1, a soul like thine ;
Calm to encounter calumny and pain,
While fix'd in conscious virtue you remain.
So much in sentiments your mind transcends,
That few have sentiments to be your friends.
Amidst that few —oh let the Muse be plac'd,
In fortune humble, but refin'd in taste.
I see your worth, your merit I adore,
And court your smile—when fortune smiles no more.

Can there be anguish where such sweetness dwells,
Where Phæbus visits our sequefter'd cells ;
Where sense, and worth, and elegance can chuse,
To kill one moment with the fuff

'ring Muse.
Let this to reptiles be the scourge of vice,
While you enrich it, 'tis a paradise.
Permit this tribute, when the hand of fate
Shall waft my spirit to its wish'd-for state :
When persecution with an iron rod,
Frees me from man, and gives me to my God.
Let this convince th' abject of human race,
I honour dignity, and scorn the base.
Not all the glitt'ring mammon of Peru
Could force these lays that Nature gives to you.
And when your bard, unbidden, I commence,
I raise one monument to prove my sense.

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An Ode to Solitude.


Wrap me in thy sequefter'd shade,

And all my soul employ !
From folly, ignorance, and strife,
From all the giddy whirls of life!

And loud unmeaning joy!
While in the statesman's glowing dream,
Fancy pourtrays the high-wrought scheme,

And plans a future fame;
What, is the phantom he pursues !
What the advantage that accrues !

Alas! an empty name!
To him, the grove no pleasure yields,
Nor mofly bank, nor verdant fields,

Nor daisy-painted lawns;
In vain the ambrosial gale invites,
In vain all Nature sheds delights,

Her genuine charms he scorns !
Pleasure allures the giddy throng,
The gay, the vain, the fair, and young,

All bend before her shrine !
She spreads around delufive snares,
The borrow'd gạrb of bliss she wears,

And tempts in form divine !
Fashion with wild tyrannic sway,
Directs the business of the day,

And reigns without controul;
The beaus, and sparkling belles confess,
She annimates the modes of dress,

And chains the willing soul!
Can these, the slaves of fashion's pow'r,
Enjoy the filent, tranquil hour,

And bloom with nature's glow ?
Or, to the votaries of sense
Can Solitude her sweets dispense,

And happiness bestow?
How wretched that unfurnish'd mind,
Which to each yain pursuit inclin'd,

Is ever bent to roam !
Oh! be that restless state abhor'd,
Seek not for happiness abroad,

She's only found at home!


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