RONALD AND DORNA:

BY A HIGHLANDER, TO HIS MISTRESS. From a literal Tranflation of the Original. COME, let us climb Skorr-urran's fnowy top; Cold as it feems, it is lefs cold than you: Thin through its fnow these lambs its heath-twigs crop;

Your fnow, more hoftile, starves and freezes too. What though I lov'd of late in Skie's fair ifle; And blufh'd-and bow'd-and fhrunk from Kenza's eye;

All fhe had power to hurt with was her fmile;
But, 'tis a frown of your's for which I die.
Ak why thefe herds bencath us rush fo fast

On the brown fea-ware's ftranded heaps to feed? Winter, like you, with holds their with'd repaft, And, robb'd of genial grafs, they broufe on weed. Mark with what tuneful hafte Sheleila flows,

To mix its wid'ning ftream in Donnan's lake; Yet, fhould fome dam the current's courfe oppofe, It must, per force, a lefs lov'd paffage take. Born, like your body, for a fpirit's claim,

Trembling, I wait, unfoul'd, till you infpire: God has prepar'd the lamp, and bids it flame; But you, fair Dorna, have with-held the fire. High as yon pine; when you begin to speak, My light'ning heart leaps hopeful at the found; But fainting at the fenfe, falls, void and weak,

And finks and faddens like yon moffy ground. 'All that I tafte, or touch, or fee, or hear,

Nature's whole breadth reminds me but of you; Ev'n heav'n itfelf would your fweet likeness wear, If, with its power, you had its mercy too.

ABSTRACT FROM PSALM CXIV. WHEN from proud Egypt's hard and cruel hand, High-fummon'd Ifrael fought the promis'd land, The opening fea divided at her call, And refluent Jordan rofe, a wat'ry wall: Light as met lambs the ftarting hills leap'd wide, And the flow mountains roll'd themfelves afide. Why, O thou fea! cd thy vaft depth divide? And why, O Jordan! fled thy back'ning tide? Why leapt your lines, ye frighted hills, aftray? And what, O mountains! rent your roots away? Hark! I will tell-proud earth confefs'd her God, And mark'd his wond'rous footsteps as he trod. While bent to bleis, He cheer'd his thirty flock, And into floods of liquid length diffolv'd the loofening rock.

THE SINGING BIRD.

POPE, in abfence of his pain,

Eafy, negligent, and gay,

With the fair in am'rous vein,
Lively as the fmiling day,

Talk'd, and toy'd the hours away,

Tuneful, o'er Belinda's chair,
Finely cag'd, a linnet hung;
Breath'd its little foul in air,

Flutt'ring round its mansion sprung) And its carols sweetly fung. Winding, from the fair one's eye,

On her feather'd flave to gaze; Meant, cry'd Pope, to wing the íky, Yet, a captive all thy days,

How doft thou this mufic raise! Since a prisoner thou can'st sing, Sportive, airy, wanton, here, Hadft thou liberty of wing,

How thy melody would cheer! How tranfport the lift'ning car! No, reply'd the warbling fong.

Rais'd-articulate, and clear!
Now, to wifh me free were wrong;
Loftier in my native sphere,

But with fewer friends than here.
Though with grief my fate you see,
Many a poet's is the fame;
Aw'd, fecluded, and unfree,

Humble avarice of fame,
Keeps 'em fetter'd, own'd, and tame.
To our feeders, they and I

Lend our lives in narrow bound;
Perch'd within our owner's eye,

Gay we hop the gilded round, Changing neither note nor ground. For, fhould freedom break our chain,

Though the felf-dependent flight
Would to heav'n exalt our firain,

Yet unheard and out of fight,
All our praise were forfeit by't.

A SONG.
GENTLE love, this hour befriend me,
To my eyes refign thy dart;
Notes of melting mufic lend me,

To diffolve a frozen heart.
Chill as mountain fnow her bofom,
Though I tender language afe,
'Tis by cold indiff'rence frozen,

To my arms, and to my mufe.
See my dying eyes are pleading,

Where a breaking heart appears: For thy pity interceding,

With the eloquence of tears, While the lamp of life is fading,

And beneath thy coldnefs dies, Death my ebbing pulle invading, Take my foul into thy eyes.

MY SOUL'S LAST SIGHS,

TO THE DIVINE LOTHARIA.

LET plaintive thoughts in mournful numbers flow,
Profe is too dull for love, too calm for woe.
Has the not bid thee quit thy faithful flame;
Sell her and truth for equipage and name?
Nay, fhe has bid thee go-Whence this delay?
Whence this fond, fruitiets, ling'ring with to day?
Lotharia bids thee go-fhe, who alone
Makes all life's future bleflings, means thee none!

Begone then let thy ftruggling heart obey,
And in long distance figh fad life away.
Still, ftill, vain flatt'ring hope misleads defire,
Fed by faint glimm'ring fhoots of glow-worm fire.
What though the fweetly writes to cafe thy grief,
Or points kind comfort by the folded leaf:
Such pity must thy grateful rev'rence move,
But judge it right-nor think compaffion love.
What though each word the marks, like fpring's
foft fhow'rs,
[flow'rs,
Flows fweet as new-blown breath of op'ning
Such borrow'd founds the need not have apply'd,
Her own, more tuneful, thou too oft has try'd.
To speak in mufic ever was her claim,
And all grows harmony that bears that name.
Had't thou e'er touch'd her heart with one
foft pain,

And blefs'd in loving been belov'd again,
All her cold reafoning doubts had ceas'd to move,
And her whole gen'rous breast conceiv'd but love.
She who believes not, loves not-Feel thy fate:
Friendship from her pains more than other's hate.
All the kind paffions, wanting one, fhe'll own;
But, that one wanting, all the rest are none.
Would love and fhe difperfe the threat'ning form,
Let her believe, and truft, and break through form:
Let her command thy flay to know fuccefs,
Nor fear the god-like attribute to blefs:
Born to diftinguith her from womankind,
To court her converse and to take her mind;
Fram'd for her empire, with her image fill'd,
Charm'd by her form, and in her temper skill'd;
Piercing her tim'rous heart's moft fecret thought,
And knowing, and adoring each dear fault,
How art thou pain'd---to find her foft'ning will
Held against love by ev'ry guard of skill!
How art thou doom'd to lengths of op'ning woe,
Should the feel love-yet fear to tell thee fo?

If the diftrufts thy truth---all hope muft fall,
Doubting her pow'r, the difbelieves thee all.

And none who doubts her lover dares to love.
Go, then---to climes cold as her heart remove;
A diftant fate thy gloomy choice prefers,
Prefent thou can't not live and not live hers.

Farewell, kind, cautious, unrefolving fair!
To hear the blefs'd will charm amidst defpair.
'Tis death to go---'tis more than death to stay,
Reft will be fooneft reach'd the first dark way.
Ne'er may'st thou know a pain; ftill cheerful be,
Nor check life's comforts, with one thought of me.

TO MR. JAMES THOMSON,

On bis afking my advice to what Patron be should addrefs bis Poem, called Winter.

SOME peers have noble skill to judge, 'tis true,
Yet, no more profpect bounds the muie's view:
Firm, in your native strength, thus greatly fhewn,
Slight fuch delufive props, and ftand alone:
Fruitless dependance oft has prov'd too late,
That greatnefs dwells not always with the great.
Patrons are nature's nobles, not the ftate's,
And wit's a title no broad feal creates :
E'en kings, from whofe high fource all honours
Are poor in pow'r when they would fouls bestow.

[flow,

He who stoops fafe beneath a patron's fhade,
Shines, like the moon, but by a borrow'd aid:
Truth fhould, unbiafs'd, free and open steer,
Strong as heav'n's heat, and as its brightnefs clear;
Heedlefs of fortune, then, look down on state,
Balanc'd within by merit's confcious weight:
Divinely proud of independent will,
Prince of your wifhes live a fov'reign, ftill;
Oh! fwell not, then, the bofoms of the vain,
With false conceit you their protection gain,
Foets, like you, their own protectors stand,
Plac'd above aid from pride's inferior hand.
Time, that devours a lord's unlafling name,
Shail lend her foundness depth to float your fame :
On verfe like yours no fmiles from pow'r expect,
Born with a worth that doom'd you to neglect.
Yet, would your wit be prais'd-reflect no more,
Let the fmooth veil of flatt'ry filk you o'er,
Aptly attach'd, the court's foft climate try;
Learn your pen's duty from your patron's eye.
Ductile of foul each pliant purple wind,
And, following int'reft clofe, leave doubt behind :
Then fhall your name ftrike loud the public ear,
For through good fortune virtue's self shines clear.

But, in defiance of our tafte---to charm,
And fancy's force with judgment's caution arm,
Disturb with bufy thought fo luli'd an age,
And plant ftrong meanings o'er the peaceful page,
Impregnate found with sense, teach nature art,
And warm ev'n winter, 'till it thaws the heart:
How could you thus your country's rules tranf
grefs,

Yet think of patrons, and presume success!

A SONG. VAINLY now ye ftrive to charm me,

All ye fweets of blooming May; How can empty funfhine warm me,

While Lotharia keeps away? Go, ye warbling birds; go, leave me,

Shade, ye clouds, the fmiling fky: Sweeter notes her voice can give me, Softer funshine fills her eye.

VERSES,

Writ for and fent to a Widow Gentlewoman, on occafion of ber Son's melancholy, upon their loffes and difap pointments in life.

WELCOME, ah! welcome, life's last friend, decay!.
Faint on tir'd foul, and lapfe, unmourn'd, away;
Now I look back. afham'd at hope's falfe blaze,
That fhone, delightful, on my happier days;
In their true colours now, too late, I fee
What youth, and pride, and mirth, and praise,
must be!

Bring, then, great curer, death, thy dark relief,
And fave me from vain fenfe of hopeless grief.
Shut me for ever from the fuffering scene,
And leave long voids for filent reft between;
Thy hand can fnatch me from a weeping fon,
Heir to my woes, and born to be undone !
Place me where I no more his wrongs thall hear,
Ner his told forrows reach my fhelter'd car.

Thus while I mourn'd, retir'd from hated light, Sleep came, and hid affliction in the night; The night, inftructive to my bold complaint, In a long dream did that fad march repaint, That pomp of tears which did for Sheffield flow, Who lately blacken'd half our streets with woe. There, cry'd a pointing feraph, look! compare! And blush, forgetful of your light despair! What has this mother loft, as far diftrefs'd Beyond her fex, as late beyond 'em bleft. Son of her foul! her child, by mind and birth, Bright by her fires, and guardian of her worth; Promife of virtues to the rifing age. Yet, ah! how blafted is the lov'd prefage! Think of her lofs, her weight of woe bemoan, And, humbly conscious, figh not for your own.

ST. MATTHEW, CHAP. VI.
Part of the Sermon on the Mount.

LET fhining charity adorn your zeal,

The nobleft impulfe gen'rous minds can feel:
But have a care you take this virtue right,
And fhun the glare of the proud hypocrite.
Miftaken men! who, fond of public fame,
Difgrace the act, while they affect the name!
On earth, vain-glorious zeal may meet regard,
-But heav'n nor owns it, nor vouchfafes reward.
Thou, on the contrary, whofe pitying breaft
Wou'd, as it ought, give eafe to the diftreft;
Scarce tell thy right hand, what thy left will do,
But be at once refolv'd and filent too.
Secret, as night, thy pious alms convey;
For God, who fees by night, rewards by day.

So, when thy foul approaches God in pray'r,
Be not deceiv'd, as thofe falfe zealots are,
Who daily into crowded temples prefs,
And there, with feign'd devotion, heav'n addrefs;
But, when thou pray'ft, all public notice thun,
And, private, to thy inmoft closet run:
There, clofe and earnest, to thy duty fall,
And God will fhow thee that he hears thy call.
Swell not thy forms of pray'r with wild defires,
Excefs of fuel chokes the brightest fires;
The erring heathen fo miftake their way,
And think they beft are heard who moft can say.
But fhun thou this, and know God's piercing eye
Sees all thy wants before thy words come nigh.
From rifing malice guard thy yielding will,
Nor proudly dare to take revenge for ill:
Thou must forgive, that God may pardon thee;
For none who pities not fhall pitied be.

Mifled by av'rice, feek not wealth to gain, By hoarding treasures which are got in vain: Deceitful riches, which the moth deftroys, Which ruft confumes, or the bold thief enjoys! In heav'n's high florchoufe, let your heaps be laid, A wealth which no deftroyer can invade; No moth there enters, ruft corrupts not there, Nor plund'ring thief alarms the owner's care: Safe, therefore, in that place, your treasures lay; For where your riches are, your heart will flay.

Secure of heav'n's regard, live free from care, Nor toil, life's common comforts to prepare :_

Banish vain forecast for thy needful gain,
Nor let meat, drink, and clothing, give thee pain,
Obferve the fowls-they neither reap, nor fow,
Yet find their wants fupply'd, where'er they go.
Look on the lilies of the ripening field:
No toil of theirs does thofe fweet colours yield;
Yet was not Solomon, when dreft to please,
So gloriously adorn'd as one of thefe.
If, therefore, God fo feeds the feather'd train,
So clothes the grafs, which withers on the plai,
How much more careful will he be of you,
O, faithless man! who yet diftrufts him too?

TO THE LOVELY MRS. H—————E, On ber Defcent from the firft Saxon Kings of our Ifland. H- -E, fweet name! whofe princely meaning shows, (flows,

From what high fpring your blood's rich current
With needlefs awe, reminds us of your race,
Since heav'n has ftampt dominion on your face.
Still in your fov'reign form, distinctly live
All royal rights your father kings could give.
In your commanding air, we mark their state,
And, in your words, their wisdom and their
weight.

Warm in your noble breaft, their courage lies,
And all their pow'er and mercy in your eyes.

THE GARDEN WINDOW. HERE, Amanda, gently bending, Sweetly penfive, loves to lean O'er the groves, her fight extending Through the walks that shoot between, Plac'd, fays fhe, within this window

Screen'd, I diftant charms furvey, Taught by poor deceiv'd Olinde,

Nothing's fafe that looks too gay. Here, I view, in foften'd fhadings,

Am'rous flow'r to flow'r incline, Too remote to mourn their fadings, When with hanging heads they pine. Here I fmell the fragrant breezes,

Safe from ev'ning's chilly blaft; Here the noonday funfhine pleases, Fearless when 'twill overcaft. Hence I hear the tempeft rifing,

See the grovy greatness shake,
Ev'ry diftant ill defpifing,

While I every good partake.
So commanding life's gay garden,
Let me thornlefs wear the rofe;
Choice like mine let fashion pardon,
Tafting charms but fhunning woes.

AT SETTING DAY.-A SONG.
SINCE founding drums, and rising war,
Invite my love to danger,
I'll afk of every smiling star

To fhield my roving ranger.
While o'er the field, unfearing wounds
You prefs the foe retreating,

I'll trace the dear remember'd bounds
Of our more gentle meeting,
I'll pafs whole days in yon fweet grove,

Where first thy tongue deceiv'd me,
When, lift'ning dumb, I blush'd my love,
And no fear'd abfence griev'd me.
On ev'ry bank thy fide hath preft,

I'll fleep, and dream I'm near thee;
And each sweet bird, that ftrains its breast,
Shall wake my hopes to hear thee.
To all our haunts I will repair,

And cold on yon bleak mountain,
Trace all thy once- trod footsteps there,
And weep o'cr each fad fountain.
'There will I teach the trees to wear
Thy name, in foft impreffion,
And borrow fighs from ev'ning air,
To fwell my foul's confefsion.

EPILOGUE,

For a Lady who acted Eudocia, in the Siege of Damaf
cus, reprefented at the Duke of Bedford's at Wooburn.
I've heard of maids, who first resolve to fast,
And then weigh arguments, when facts are paft;
Young, though my reafon is not so, it firay'd;
But first found pleadings for the part I play'd.
Play'd, faid I,—fecond thought that word re-
tracts;

Fancies and follies play, but paffion acts:
Paffion! the spring that all life's wheels employs,
Winds up the working thought-and heightens
joys.
[blame;
Pallion the great man's guide, the poor man's
The foldier's laurel, and the figher's flame.
Paflion! that leads the grave, impels the gay,
Bids the wife tremble, and the fool betray.
Ev'n at this hour, what's here our patime made,
Gives the court bufine fs, and the kingdom trade;
When factions quarrel, or when flatesmen fall,
Each does but act his part at paffion's cell.
Like our's, to night, Lord Pallion fets their task;
Their fears, hopes, flatt'ries, all are paffion's
mafque.

The world's wide ftage, for this one practice, fill'd,
Sees fome act nobly, others play unskill'd.
Triflers and smarts, who toy time's dream away,
Sots, beaux, and hounds of party, thefe but play.
Sons of their country's hope, fublimely rack'd
For other's reft.-Thele do not play, but act.
Who play the poorest parts?the bought, the
vai,

The light believer, and the perjur'd fwain;
The dull dry joker, the coarse ill-bred bear,
The friends of folly, and the foes of care.

[just,

Who act their parts with praife-the firm, the Who fell no fentiments, and break no truft; The learn'd, the foft, the focial, and the kind, The faithful lover, and the plain good mind.

Such the best actors-form'd for honour's ftage! Who play no farces, and difgrace no age. But copying nature, with true taste, like ours, Pleafe, and are pleas'd, and wing the guiltless

hours.

APOLOGY FOR DEATH.

WHENCE this reluctance, when we cease to run
Life's flow fad race, and leaves its toy unwon?
Death's but our tide of ebb, to that dark sea,
Time's fhorclefs fwallower, void eternity!
'Tis reft from labour-'tis efcape from care;
'Tis fhunn'd oppreffion, and reliev'd despair.
'Tis but to rediffolve to formless flow,
And join the mingled mass, that feels no woc.
Fluid to fade, as all things round us do,
Or from old being launch, to find out new.
Emerging, or emerg'd, life rolls away,
Foams into note, or flattens to decay.
Round, with unceasing wheel, diftinction glides,
And through time's maze, in fhort fucceffion flides:
Flames its hot hour, like humbler household fires,
Shines but to leave us, and in ufe expires.

'Tis the flash'd fpark of thought, that bursts to fight,

Strains foon, and big, and rushes into night:
Breathes itself weary, and is heard no more.
So the proud florm, that frights us with its roar,
See that foft flow'r, whofe fighs perfume the gales,
Blooms into duft, and its fnuff'd life exhales!
All nature heaves, and fets, like human breath,
And life's loofe links but stretch the chain of death.

Why then does erring fancy fright the mind?
Why call that cruel, nature meant for kind?
Who knows but fates we tremble at may blefs,
And length of happiest life be found distress?
Murder! that blait of thought, that bane of law,
The good man's horror, and ev'n villain's awe!
Murder! that nature dreads, and confcience flies,
Perhaps but fpurs us to fome waiting prize!

Elfe, why should creature ftill with creature jar?
And clash'd existence wage eternal war?
Beaft bleeds by beat; filhes on fishes prey;
And birds act murder with more wafte than they;
Ev'n the sweet thrush, that bribes us with her fong,
To guard her dread of death from beaks more
ftrong,

Sav'd from the kite, ftrait bloodier grows than he,
And foaps the fhiv'ring infect from the tree.
Life ftarts but up, to anfwer death's due call,
And one myfterious darkness wraps us all!

PASSING A LADY,

IN THE PARK, WITHOUT SEEING HER.

So flide our comforts by, unmark'd, unknown,
While our ill-fate comes felt, and all our own!
Too cruel world! where things we wou'd refuse,
We ftart upon-and, what we with we lose!
And yet Lotharia would be hid in vain,

She cannot be conceal'd whom thoughts retain.
Air, and Lotharia, every where are found;
Held by our breath, and to our being bound!
Darkness itself wants pow'r to cover friends,
Whom the foul dwells with, and the fenfe attends.
TO THE LADY THAT LAUGHS,

AT DYING IN METAPHOR.

AND why, fair trifler, does that meaning eye Smile in contempt, when lovers swear they die ?

lies,

The foul, in both, from its left body flies:
In death 'tis gone, like smoke diffolv'd in air.
Loft in expanfe, the lofer knows not where :
In love we trace it with fuch willing pain,
'Twere to die twice to take it back again.

MODESTY.

As lamps burn filent, with unconscious light, So modeft eafe, in beauty, fhines most bright: Uuaiming charms, with edge refiftless fall, And he who means no mifchief does it all.

TO A LADY,

TO THE LADY,

Who fends me all ber good Wifkes.

SUPPOSE that the fun had a tongue, and shou'd fay,

May your journey be blefs'd with a very fine day : Then, withdrawing his face, flip afide with his light, [night; And furround me, at once, with the coldnels of

What would Florimel fay to this trick of the fun? I would fay, cry'd the charmer, 'twas cruelly done. Would you fo, anfwer'd I!—have a care what you own, [none. Who have wifh'd me all bleffings, yet granted me

Writ upon a Pane of Glass in Westminster House, under the names of bis four Children.

ALL happy, then while o'er their smiling air,
A living mother breath'd her guardian care;
But, joyless, fince their sweet fupporter dy'd,
They wander now through life with half a guide.
Auguß 25. 1731.

BELLARIA AT HER SPINET. SWEETLY confus'd, with scarce confenting will, Thoughtless of charms, and diffident of skill; See with what blufhful bend, the doubting fair Props the rais'd lid-then fits with fparkling air, Tries the touch'd notes-and, haft'ning light along, [wrong. Calls out a fhort complaint, that speaks their Now back'ning, awful, nerv'd, erect, ferene, Afferted mufic fwells her heighten'd mein. Fearless, with face oblique, her formful hand Flies o'er the ivery plain, with fretch'd command;

And fweeps the founding range with magic cafe.
Now, two contending fenfes-ear and eye,
In pride of feafted tafte, for transport vic;
But what avails two deftin'd flaves debate,
When both are fure to fall, and share one fate?
Whether the ged within, evolving round,
Strikes in her notes, and flows diffolv'd in found;
Or filent in her eyes, enthron'd in light,
Blazes, confefs'd to view, and wounds our fight.
This way, or that, alike his pow'r we try,
To fee, but kills us---and to hear, we die.

Oh! far-felt influence of the speaking fring, Prompt at thy call the mounting foul takes wing; Waves in the gale, fore-runs th' harmonious breeze,

And finks and rifes to the changeful keys.

But, hark! what length'ning softness, thrilling

new,

Steals, 'twixt the folemn fwells, and threads 'em through:

'Tis her tranfporting voice---the fings---be ftill, Sweet ftrings, forbear !---ye hurt her fweeter skill Yet, no---found on---the strong and fweet fhould join ;

With double pow'r, mix'd oppofites combine.
'Tis plain! my captive senses feel it true;
Ah, what dire mifchief may not union do!
Cou'd fhe not fave delight from half this firain?
Heard and beheld at once !---'tis hopeless pain.
Fly and efcape---let one prefs'd fenfe retire;
The rais'd hat fhades it from the darted fire.
Alas, vain fcreen--the foul's unclouded ray
Sees from within by a new blaze of day:
Sees the spread roof, with op'ning glories crown'd,
And radiant deities defcending round:

rong'd in bright lines, or wing'd in ambient air, Spirits, in fairy forms, enclose the fair.

Some, on the keys, in am'rous ambush lie, And kifs the tune tipt fingers dancing by. Some hov'ring wide, expiring fhakes prolong, And pour 'em back to fwell the rifing fong. Gods, in abridgment, crowd their needlefs aid, And pow'rs, and virtues, guard th' unconscious maid.

Pity, with tears of joy, stands weeping near; Kneeling devotion hangs her lift'ning ear; Candour and truth firm fix'd on either hand, Propping her chair, two sure supporters stand! Round her, while wrong'd belief imbibes new ftrength, [length, And hugs th' inftructive notes, and aids their Love, and his train of Cupids craftier cares, Scatter, with plumy fans, the dreaded airs. Pride, from a diftant corner, glooms a leer, And longs, yet hopes not, to be call'd more near : But charity fits close--a well known guest, Bold, and domestic---and demands her breast. High o'er her cheeks, to fhade their tempting glow, Shame and foft modefty their mantles throw. While, from her brow, majestic wisdom seen, Tempers her glory, and infpires her mein.

Such, and perhaps more fweet, thofe founds fhall

rife, Which wake rewarded faints, when nature dies: