Let the proud Soldan wound th’ Arcadian groves,

Or with rude lips th’ Aonian fount profane ; The muse no more by flow'ry LADON roves,

She seeks her THOMSON, on the British plain,

Tell not of realms by ruthless war dismay'd;

As hapless realms that war's oppression feel ! In vain may Austria boast her Noric blade,

If AUSTRIA bleed beneath her boasted steel.

Beneath her palm Idume vents her moan;

Raptur'd she once beheld its friendly shade! And hoary Memphis boasts her tombs alone,

The mournful types of mighty pow'r decay'd !

No crescent here displays its baneful horns ;

No turband host the voice of truth reproves ; Learning's free source the fage's breast adorns,

And poets, not inglorious, chaunt their loves.

Boast, favour'd Media, boast thy flow'ry stores ;

Thy thousand hues by chymic suns refin'd; 'Tis not the dress or mien

my

soul adores,
'Tis the rich beauties of BRITANNIA's mind.

While*Greenville's breast cou'dvirtue's stores afford,

What envy'd flota bore so fair a freight ?
The mine compared in vain its latent hoard,
The
gem

its lustre, and the gold its weight.
* Written about the time of captain GREENVILLE's death.
Vol. I.

Thee

Thee GREENVILLE, thee with calmest courage fraught,

Thee the lov’d image of thy native shore ! Thee by the virtues arm’d, the graces taught,

When shall we cease to boast, or to deplore ?

Presumptuous war, which could thy life destroy,

What shall it now in recompence decree? While friends that merit every earthly joy,

Feel every anguilh ; feel—the loss of thee!

Bid me no more a fervile realm compare,

No more the muse of partial praise arraign; Britannia sees no foreign breast so fair,

And if the glory, glories not in vain.

& The Pinns л family vetera at far: - jeranga mi Worcestershire: of this For

بر رو دارم که از سه بار به بروز •

ELEGY

In memory of a * private family in WORCESTERSHIRE.

ROM a lone tow'r with revrend ivy crown'd,

The pealing bell awak'd a tender sigh; Still, as the village caught the waving sound,

A swelling tear distream'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 sighing as the mournful accent rolld,

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

'Twas good PALEMON-near a shaded pool,

A groupe of ancient elms umbrageous rose ; The flocking rooks, by instincts native rule,

This peaceful scene, for their afylum, chose.

A few small spires, to Gothic fancy fair,

Amid the shades emerging, struck the view; 'Twas here his youth respir'd its earliest air ;

'Twas here his age breath'd out its last adieu.

The penns of HARBOROUGH; a place whose name in the Saxon language, alludes to an arme. And there is a tradition tha miftake that there was a battle fought, on the Downs adjoining, betwixt the BRITONS and the ROMANS.

One favour'd son engag'd his tenderest care ;

One pious youth his whole affection crown’d: In his

young breast the virtues sprung so fair, Such charms display'd, such sweets diffus’d around

But whilst gay transport in his face appears,

A noxious vapour clogs the poison’d sky; Blasts the fair crop-the fire is drown’d in tears,

And, scarce surviving, sees his Cynthio die!

O'er the pale corse we saw him gently bend;

Heart-chill’d with grief-my thread, he cry’d, is spun! “ If heav'n had meant I shou'd my life extend, Heav'n had presery'd my life's support, my fon.

.

Snatch'd in thy prime! alas the stroke were mild,
Had

my frail form obey'd the fates' decree! Bleft were my lot, O Cynthio! O my child !

Had heav'n fo pleas’d, and I had dy'd for thee.”

Five Neepless nights he stem'd this tide of woes;

Five irksome suns he saw, thro' tears, forlorn! On his pale corse the sixth fad morning rose;

From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne.

'Twas on those * downs, by Roman hosts annoy'd,

Fought our bold fathers; rustic, unrefin'd! Freedom's plain fons, in martial cares employ'd ! They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their mind.

'Twas * HARBOROUGH Downs,

'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 loy'd the chosen feat.

No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breast,

To swell with empty sounds a spotless name ; If fostring skies, the sun, the show'r were blest,

Their bounty spread; their field's 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 fire, in place of titles, wealth, or pow'r,

Align’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 fons had learnt 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. E 3

Their