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Let the proud Soldan wound th' Arcadian groves,
Or with rude lips th' Aonian fount profane;
The mufe no more by flow'ry LADON roves,
She feeks her THOMSON, on the British plain.

Tell not of realms by ruthlefs war dismay'd;

As hapless realms that war's oppreffion feel! In vain may AUSTRIA boaft her Noric blade,

If AUSTRIA bleed beneath her boafted fteel.

Beneath her palm IDUME vents her moan;

Raptur'd fhe once beheld its friendly fhade!
And hoary MEMPHIS boafts her tombs alone,
The mournful types of mighty pow'r decay'd!

No crefcent here difplays its baneful horns;

No turban'd hoft the voice of truth reproves; Learning's free fource the fage's breast adorns,

And poets, not inglorious, chaunt their loves.

Boaft, favour'd MEDIA, boaft thy flow'ry ftores
Thy thousand hues by chymic funs refin'd;
'Tis not the drefs or mien my foul adores,

'Tis the rich beauties of BRITANNIA's mind.

While GREENVILLE's breast cou'dvirtue's ftores afford,
What envy'd flota bore fo fair a freight?
The mine compared in vain its latent hoard,
The gem its luftre, and the gold its weight.

* Written about the time of captain GREENVILLE's death.

VOL. I.

E

Thee

Thee GREENVILLE, thee with calmeft courage fraught,
Thee the lov'd image of thy native shore !
Thee by the virtues arm'd, the graces taught,
When fhall we cease to boast, or to deplore

Prefumptuous war, which could thy life destroy,
What fhall it now in recompence decree?
While friends that merit every earthly joy,
Feel every anguifh; feel-the lofs of thee!

Bid me no more a fervile realm compare,

No more the mufe of partial praise arraign;
BRITANNIA fees no foreign breast so fair,
And if the glory, glories not in vain.

+ The Penns a

family settled at Star=

- Sorough in Worcestershires : of this Fa= mily was Mr Shenstone's Mother

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In memory of a * private family in WORCESTERSHIRE.

ROM a lone tow'r with rev'rend ivy crown'd,

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The pealing bell awak'd a tender figh; Still, as the village caught the waving found, A fwelling tear diftream'd from ev'ry eye.

So droop'd, I ween, each BRITON's breast of old,
When the dull curfew spoke their freedom fled;
For fighing as the mournful accent roll'd,

Our hope, they cry'd, our kind fupport, is dead!

'Twas good PALEMON-near a shaded pool,
A groupe of ancient elms umbrageous rofe;
The flocking rooks, by inftinct's native rule,
This peaceful scene, for their asylum, chose.

A few small fpires, to Gothic fancy fair,

Amid the fhades emerging, ftruck the view; 'Twas here his youth refpir'd its earliest air; 'Twas here his age breath'd out its laft adieu.

The penns

A

of HARBOROUGH; a place whofe name in the SAXON language, alludes to an arm And there is a tradition mistake that there was a battle fought, on the Downs adjoining, betwixt the BRITONS and the ROMANS.

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One favour'd fon engag'd his tendereft care;
One pious youth his whole affection crown'd:
In his young breaft the virtues sprung so fair,
Such charms difplay'd, fuch fweets diffus'd around.

But whilft gay transport in his face appears,
A noxious vapour clogs the poifon'd sky;
Blafts the fair crop-the fire is drown'd in tears,
And, fcarce furviving, fees his CYNTHIO die!

O'er the pale corfe we faw him gently bend;
Heart-chill'd with grief-my thread, he cry'd, is fpun!
"If heav'n had meant I fhou'd my life extend,
Heav'n had preferv'd my life's fupport, my fon.

Snatch'd in thy prime! alas the ftroke were mild,
Had my frail form obey'd the fates' decree
Bleft were my lot, OCYNTHIO! O my child!
Had heav'n fo pleas'd, and I had dy'd for thee."

Five fleepless nights he ftem'd this tide of woes;
Five irkfome funs he faw, thro' tears, forlorn!
On his pale corfe the fixth fad morning rofe;

From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne.

"Twas on thofe * downs, by Roman hosts annoy'd, Fought our bold fathers; ruftic, unrefin'd! Freedom's plain fons, in martial cares employ'd! They ting'd their bodies, but unmafk'd their mind.

HARBOROUGH Downs.

'Twas

'Twas there, in happier times, this virtuous race, Of milder merit, fix'd their calm retreat;

War's deadly crimson had forfook the place,

And freedom fondly lov'd the chosen seat.

No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breaft,

To fwell with empty founds a spotless name; If foft'ring fkies, the fun, the fhow'r were bleft, Their bounty spread; their field's extent the fame.

Those fields, profuse of raiment, food, and fire,
They scorn'd to leffen, careless to extend;
Bade luxury, to lavish courts afpire,
And avarice, to city-breafts defcend.

None, to a virgin's mind, prefer'd her dow'r;
To fire with vicious hopes a modeft heir:
The fire, in place of titles, wealth, or pow'r,
Affign'd him virtue; and his lot was fair..

They spoke of fortune, as fome doubtful dame,
That fway'd the natives of a distant sphere;
From lucre's vagrant fons had learnt her fame,
But never wifh'd to place her banners here.

Here youth's free fpirit, innocently gay,

Enjoy'd the most that innocence can give;

Thofe wholesome sweets, that border virtue's way; Thofe cooling fruits, that we may tafte and live.

E 3

Their

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