Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins, 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: So fhall each hill, in purer green array'd, Labour Labour with thee forgets his pain, 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 O'er the long profpect wide ? In majefty of light, With laughter at her fide. Bright-eyed fancy, hovering near 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 ? Such are their natures, and their passions such, |