Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns;
Refentment of my country's fate"
Within my filial 'breaffs fhall beat';'
And, fpite of her infulting foe,
My fympathifing verfe fhall flow:
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn'
Thy banish'd' peace, thy laurels torn !

ODE TO MIRTH,

By Dr. SMOLLET.

PARENT of joy! heart-eafing mirth !

Whether of Venus or Aurora born!

Yet Goddefs fure of heavenly birth,

Vifit benign a fon of grief forlorn:
Thy glitt'ring colours gay
Around him, Mirth, difplay;
And o'er his raptur'd fenfe
Diffufe thy living influencé :

So fhall each hill, in purer green array'd,
And flower-adorn'd in new-born beauty glow;
The grove shall smooth the horrors of the fhade.
And ftreams in murmurs fhall forget to low.
Shine, Goddefs, fhine with unremitted ray,
And gild (a fecond fun) with brighter beam our day,

Labour

Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged poverty can fmile with thee;
If thou be nigh, grief's hate is vain,
And weak th'uplifted arm of tyranny.
The morning opes on high
His univerfal eye;

And on the world doth pour

His glories in a golden fhow'r.

Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hoftile ray, Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn :

The brood obfcene, that own her gloomy fway, Troop in her rear, aud fly th'approach of morn. Pale fhiv'ring ghofts, that dread th'all-cheering light Quick as the lightning's flafh glide to fepulchral night.

But whence the gladd'ning beam
That pours his purple ftream

O'er the long profpect wide ?
'Tis mirth. I fee her fit

In majefty of light,

With laughter at her fide.

Bright-eyed fancy, hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air
And young wit flings his pointed dart,
That guiltless ftrikes the willing heart.
Fear not now affliction's pow'r,
Fear not now wild passion's rage ;
Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour,

Save the tardy hand of age.

Now

Now mirth has heard the fuppliant poet's pray'r

No cloud that rides the blast shall vex the troubled air.

The REASON for defcribing the Vices of the VILLAGE' By Mr. CRABBE,

7ET why, you afk, thefe humble crimes relate,

YE

Why make the poor as guilty as the great ?
To fhew the great, thofe mightier fons of pride,
How near in vice the loweft are allied;

Such are their natures, and their passions such,
But these disguise too little, those too much :
So fhall the man of pow'r and pleasure fee
In his own flave as vile a wretch as he,
In his luxuriant lord the fervant find
His own low pleasures and degenerate mind;
And each in all the kindred vices trace
Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race;
Who, a fhort time in varied fortune past,
Die, and are equal in the dust at last.
And you, ye poor, who ftill lament your fate,
Forbear to envy thofe you reckon great;
And know, amid thofe bleflings they poffefs.
They are, like you, the victims of distress ;
While floth with many a pang torments her flave,
Fear waits on guilt, and danger shakes the brave.

To rocks, and seas Ifly from Phaon's hate,

And hope from seas and rocks

seas and rocks a milder fate).

"as the Act directs, by JRoach, oppofite the Pit door of new rury Theatre, March 1704.