To a noble Lord on his late poetical compofitions.

AYS one of the Mufes detach'd from the reft,

SAYS of

which they all lov'd the beft:

"With joy we have feen, on the countess, your wit,
With grief, have beheld your late flur upon P--tt:
Unenvy'd, let him, then, enjoy all his boxes;
Unrival'd, fing thou, all thy beautiful doxies :
Parnaffus's freedom rewardeth thy lays,

Which, fee! I have brought, in a basket of bays."

On a noble Laywer's addition to the above noble Lord's poem on a Lady.

Mufic! ever thought of power divine,

Own beauty's power still greater far than thine:
'Tis true, of thee thus once a poet spoke,
"Mufic has charms to bend the knotted oak;"
But beauty's charms in Egremonta's praife,
Law's knottier language turns to tuneful lays.

On the above Lord's reply, to the noble lawyer's addition, under the fiation of a dream.

W

HEN Homer nods, he only nods: it seems
Our modern Homer when he nods, he dreams.

Under a caft of the Venus de Medicis, at the Leaforves.

Verfes occafioned by an incident at the feat of William Shenstone, Efq; By

"H

Mr. R. Dodfley.

OW fhall I fix my wand'ring eye? where find

The fource of this inchantment? dwells it in

The woods? or moves there not a magic wand
O'er the translucent waters ? fure, unfeen,
Some favouring power directs the happy lines
That sketch thefe beauties; fwells the rifing hills,
And scoops the dales to nature's finest forms,
Vague, undetermin'd, infinite; untaught
By line or compafs, yet fupremely fair?"

So fpake Philenor, as with raptur'd gaze
He travers'd Damon's farm. From diftant plains
He fought his friend's abode: Nor had the fame
Of that new form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear

And

And thus the youth, as o'er each hill and dale,
Thro' lawn or thicket, he pursues his way:

"What is it gilds the verdure of these meads
With hues more bright, than fancy paints the flowers
Of paradife? What Naiad's guiding hand
Leads thro' the broider'd vale thefe lucid rills,
That, murmuring as they flow, bear melody
Along their banks; and, thro' the vocal fhades,
Improve the mufic of the warbling choir ?
What penfive Dryad rais'd yon folemn grove,
Where minds contemplative, at close of day
Retiring, mufe o'er Nature's various works,
Her wonders ven'rate, or her fweets enjoy ?-
What room for doubt? Some rural deity
Prefiding scatters o'er th' unequal lawns,
In beauteous wildness, yon fair spreading trees;
And, mixing woods and waters, hills and dales,
And herds and bleating flocks, domestic fowl,
And those that fwim the lake, fees rifing ground
More pleafing landscapes than in Tempe's vale
Penéus water'd. Yes, fome fylvan god
Spreads wide the varied profpect; waves the woods,
Lifts the proud hills, and clears the shining lakes;
While, from the congregated waters pour'd,
The bursting torrent tumbles down the steep
In foaming fury; wild, irregular,

Fierce, interrupted; crofs'd with rocks and roots
And interwoven trees; 'till now absorb'd
An opening cavern all its rage entombs,
So vanish human glories; fuch the pomp
Of fwelling warriors, of ambitious kings,
Who fret and frut their hour upon the flage
Of busy life, and then are heard no more!

'Tis fafcination all !And lo! the spells,
The powerful incantations, magic verse
Infcrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn!
Spells, incantations? ah, my tuneful friend!

Thine are the numbers! thine the wonderous works!
Yes, great magician, now I read thee right,
And lightly weigh all forcery, but thine.
Nor Naiad's leading ftep conducts the rill;
Nor fylvan god prefiding skirts the lawn,

In beauteous wildnefs, with fair-fpreading trees;
Nor magic wand has circumfcrib'd the scene.
"Tis thine own tafte, thy genius that prefide;
Nor needs there other deity, nor needs

More potent spell than they."No more the youth;

For lo! his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn
Advancing, leads him to the focial dome.
The Leafowes, 1755.

To William Shenfione, Efq; The production of half an hour's leifure.

August 30, 1761.
EALTH to the bard, in Leafowes happy groves,
Health and sweet converfe with the Mufe he loves!
The lowlieft vot'ry of the tuneful nine,

H

With trembling hand, attempts her artless line,
In numbers fuch as untaught nature brings,
As flow fpontaneous, like thy native fprings.
But ah! what airy forms around me rise,
The ruffet mountain glows with richer dyes!
In circling dance a pigmy crowd appear,
And hark! an infant voice falutes my ear.
"Mortal, thy aim we know, thy task 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 feat,
His falling ftreams, and flowing numbers fweet.
Didft thou not mark amid the winding dell,
What tuneful verfe adorns the root-wove cell?
There ev'ry Fairy of our fprightly train
Reforts, to blefs the woodland, and the plain;
There as we move unbidden fplendors glow,
The green turf brightens, and the flowrets blow.
There oft with thought fublime we bless the swain,
Nor we inspire, nor he attends in vain.

Go, fimple rhymer, bear this meffage true,
The truths that Fairies dictate none fhall rue.
Say to the bard, in Leafowes 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 treafures of thy polish'd Mufe ;
Collect the flowers that own thy valu'd name,
Unite the spoil, and give the wreath to Fame.
Ne'er can thy morals, tafte, or verse engage
More folid fame, than in this happier age;
When fense, when virtue's cherish'd by the throne,
And each illuftrious privilege their own.
Tho' modeft be thy gentle Mufe, I ween,
O, lead her, blushing, from the daify'd green,
A fit attendant on Britannia's queen !"

I

}

Ye

Ye fportive elves, as faithful I relate
Th' entrusted mandates of your fairy ftate,
Vifit thefe wilds again with nightly care,
So fhall my kine, of all the herd, repair,
In healthy plight, to fill the copious pail ;
My sheep be penn'd, with fafety, 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 tafte, and fame, and fortune thine!

COTSWOULDIA.

To Mr. S. upon his defiring her to paint his character. Dec. 30, 1760.

T

By Miss Loggin.

HO' you flatter my genius, and praise what I write,
Sure this whimsical task was impos'd out of fpite.
Because this poor head, with much scratching and thinking,
Made fome idle reflections on raking and drinking;

To clip my weak wings. with malicious intention-
You prefent me a theme that defies all invention.

Your picture! Lord blefs me! Where can one begin?

To fpeak truth, were infipid; to lie, were a fin.

You might think me in love, fhould I paint your perfections;
Should I sketch out your faults, you might make-worfe objections.
Should I blend in one piece of fuperlative merit,
Good-nature with wit, condefcenfion with spirit;
Should, with modefty, ease and politeness be join'd;
Unlimited freedom, with manners refin'd;
Courage, tenderness, honour, enthron'd in one heart;
With franknefs, referve; and with honesty, art:
With these glaring good qualities plac'd in full view,
Do you think any foul would believe it was you?

Why then turn t'other fide, fays Ill-nature, and find him,
In fome 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 fuch trifles be nam'd:
If his failings be fuch, time will certainly cure 'em,
And the ladies-till then-

will with pleasure endure 'em.

To a Lady.

IN difappointments not unfkill'd,
My mind in fearch of pleasure roves ;

R 4

With