THE CHANGE;

TO THE LOVELY CAUSE OF IT.

SWEET enflaver can you tell,
Ere I learnt to love fo well,
How my hours had wings to move,
All unbufied by my love!

'Tis amazement now to me,
What could then a pleasure be!
But you, like God, new fenfe can give,
And now, indeed, I feel live.

Oh! what pangs his breaft alarm, Whom foul and body join to charm! Endless tranfports dance along, Sweetly foft! or nobly strong! Ilaming fancy! cool reflection! Fierce defire! and aw'd subjection Aching hope! and fear encreafing! Struggling paffions, never ceasing! Wishing trembling! foul adering! Ever bleft, and fill imploring.

Let the dull, the cold, and tame, All thofe dear diforders blame; Tell 'em that in honour's race, Charm'd by fome fuch heav'nly face, Lovers always foremost ran; Love's a fecond foul to man. Eafe is languid, low, and base; Love excites a generous chafe: Glory! wealth ambition! wit! Thoughts for boundless empire fit! All at love's approach are fir'd, Bent more strong, and never tir'd, He who feels not love's fweet pain Lives at eafe-but lives in vain!

Little dream you what is due,
Angel form! to love and you:
'Tis from you I joy poffefs;
'Tis by you my grief grows lefs:
Sadly penfive, when alone,
I the fhades of life bemoan;
If fome voice your name impart,
Care lies lighten'd at my heart;
Ev'ry woe difarms its fting,
And I look down on Britain's king.
When my fancy brings to view
Works which wealth and pow'r can do;
All my fpurr'd excitements wake,
And fortune charms me for your fake.
Oh! I cry-'twere heaven poffeft,
To make her great who made me bleft.

In the morning when I rife,
If the fun-fhine ftrikes my eyes,
All that pleafes in his view,
Is my hope to look on you.

When the fable fweep of night
Drowns diftinction from my fight,
I no inward darknefs find;
You are day-light to my mind.

All my dreams are lives of joy,
Which, in waking, I deftroy:
You, a flave to custom made,
Are of forms and rules afraid :
But your happier image, free
From fantastic tyranny g

Independent, kind, and wife,
Scorns restraint, and knows no ties.
Oh! the dear, the racking pain;
Who that fleeps thus would wake again.

A SONG.

OH! forbear to bid me flight her,
Soul and fenfes take her part;
Could my death itself delight her,

Life fhould leap to leave my heart.
Strong, though foft, a lover's chain,
Charm'd with woe, and pleas'd with pain.
Though the tender flame were dying,
Love would light it at her eyes;
Or, her tuneful voice applying,

Through my ear my foul furprife.
Deaf, I fee the fate I fhun;
Blind, I hear I am undone.

A SONG.

Now ponder well, ye husbands dear,
The fate of wives, too bright;
A woeful cause you have to fear,
Their day will turn to night.

At first all gay, and rais'd with joy,

They charm the poor man's heart; With imiling eyes they sport and toy, And gild the nuptial dart.

But ah! too foon they quench their fire; (Alas! good hearer, weep)

Then gape, and ftretch, and yawn, and tire, And hum their fouls to sleep.

HINT FROM SOME OLD VERSES,
On a Stone in Stepney Churchwall.

Two thousand years, ere Stepney had a name,
In Carthage walls I fhar'd the punic fame;
There to the strongeft, added strength I lent,
And proudly propp'd the world's beft ornament
Now to cold Britain a tern tranfport thrown,
I piece a church-yard pile unmark'd, unknown:
Stain'd, and half funk in dirt, my fculpture lies,
And moulders, like the graves which round
rife.
[claim,

Oh think, blind mortals! what frail duft you And laugh at wealth, wit, beauty, pow'r, and fame;

Short praife, can fleeting hopes like yours fupply, Since times, and tongues, and tow'rs, and empu die.

Oh my rapt foul fits trembling in my eyes,
Starting, impatient, at her pow'rful name:
Dearer than life, to that sweet found it flies,
And health rides rofy on the living flame.
Wak'd into fudden ftrength, I blaze again,

Love, the restorer, drefs'd in Clio's fmile,
Triumph'd o'er nature, gave delight to pain,

Sweeten'd affliction, and could death beguile. May joys unnumber'd, as the charmer's sweets,

Blefs this revolving day's eternal round; Till the proud world its dawn with rapture greets, Confcious of her who made it first renown'd. Long-let 'em fay-long ere our father's days,

Three thousand years ago, on this sweet day, That Clio, whom contending nations praife, Embloom'd, by her sweet birth, the firft of May. Britain, illustrious by the starry lot,

Far in the north, diftinguish'd island, lies, Now known by later names-oh, envy'd spot! Why did the not in our warm climates rife? jure fhe was heav'nly grac'd; for to this hour, After fuch length of ages roll'd away, Tame of her charms, augments her fexed pow'r, And her thought's luftre gives our wits their fway.

TO A LADY,

DESIRING HER LETTERS MIGHT NOT BE EXPOSED.

No! thou beft foul that e'er this body knew,
Jnhappy I may be, but not untrue.
Bleft, or unbleft, my love can ne'er decay,
Nor could I, where I could not love, betray.
Cold, and unjust, the fhocking caution kills,
And, in one meaning, spots me o'er with ills.
Silent, as facred lamps, in bury'd urns,
The confcious flame of lovers inward burns:
Life fhould be torn, and racks be ftretch'd in vain,
And vary'd tortures tire their fruitless pain,
Ere but a thought of mine fhould do thee wrong,
Or fpread thy beauties on the public tongue.

Yet thou canst fear me-oh! be loft the fhame,
Nor heap difhonour on my future name!
Have I been never lov'd?-yet, cruel, tell,
Whom I betray'd to thee, though lov'd fo well?
Take thy fweet mifchief back, their charms erafe,
Oh! leave me poor, but never think me bafe.
Not e'en when death fhall veil thy flarry eyes,
Shall thy dear letters from my afhes rife;
Fix'd to my heart, the grave fhall give 'em room
To charm my waking foul in worlds to come.
While in my verfe, with far more faint effay,
Thy wonders I to after times convey;
Tell thy vaft heav'n of sweets, and fing thy name,
Till, fir'd by thee, whole kingdoms catch thy flame.

EPITAPH ON SIR ISAAC NEWTON. MORE than his name were lefs.-'Twould feem to fear, [here. He who increas'd heav'n's fame could want it Yet when the funs he lighted up fhall fade, And all the worlds he found are first decay'd;

Then void and waste eternity fhall lie,
And time and Newton's name together die.

TO MR. DYER, ON HIS ATTEMPTING CLIO's PICTURE.

SOUL of your honour'd art! what man can do
In copying nature may be reach'd by you:
Your peopling pencil a new world can give,
And, like Deucalion, teach the stones to live.
From your creating hand a war may flow,
And your warm strokes with breathing action
glow:

But, from that angel form to catch the grace
And kindle up your ivory with her face;
All unconfum'd to fnatch the living fire,
And limn th' ideas which thofe eyes infpire;
Strong to your burning circle to confine
That awe-mix'd sweetness, and that air divine;
That sparkling foul, which lightens from within,
And breaks in unípoke meanings through her skin.
This, if you can-hard task, and yet unprov'd!
Then fhall you be adorn'd, as now belov'd.
Then shall your high-aspiring colours find
The art to picture thought and paint the wind:
Then fhall you give air shape, imprison space,
And mount the painter to the maker's place.

WHITEHALL STAIRS.

FROM Whitehall Stairs, whence oft, with diftant view,

I've gaz'd whole moon-shine hours on hours away, Bleft but to fee thofe roofs which cover'd you, And watch'd beneath what star you fleeping lay.

Launch'd on the smiling stream, which felt my hope,

And danc'd and quiver'd round my gliding boat, I came this day to give my tongue free scope, And vent the paffion which my looks denote.

To tell my dear, my foul-disturbing muse, (But that's a name can speak but half her charms) How my full heart does my pen's aid refuse, And bids my voice defcribe my foul's alarms.

To tell what tranfports your last letter gave, What heav'ns were open'd in your foft complaint; To tell what pride I take, to be your flave, And how triumphant love difdains restraint.

But when I mifs'd you, and took boat again, The fympathetic fun condol'd my woe; Drew in his beams, to mourn my pity'd pain And bid the fhadow'd ftream benighted flow.

Sudden, the weeping fkies unfluic'd their store,
And torrents of big tears unceasing shed;
Sad I drove downward to a flooded fhore,
And, difappointed, hung my dripping head.

Landed at length, 1 fable coffee drink,
And ill furrounded by a noify tribe,
Scornful of what they do, or fay, or think,
I, rapt in your dear heav'n, my lofs defcribe.

TO THE SAME. YES---now 'tis time to die---defpair comes on; Who keeps the body when the soul is gone?

She fets---fair light, that show'd me all my joy, And, like the fun's, her abfence must deftroy. She, who once wept my fancy'd lofs of breath, Now, crimeless murd'rer! gives me real death.

Yet have a care, touch'd heart, nor figh one thought,

That stains fuch goodness with a purpos'd fault.
Soft as ker tears, her gentle meanings move;
Her foul sheds sweetness though her look is love.
Her voice is mufic, tun'd to heav'n's low note;
Her touch bids transport, through each art'ry,
float;

Her step is dignity, by pity check'd;
At once the fans defire and plants respect.
Unconscious of her charms, the dreams of none,
And doubling other's praises fhuns her own.
Modeft in pow'r, as kneeling angels pray,
Noifelefs as night's foft fhade, though bright as
day.

Wife unaffumingly; ferenely deep,
Eafy as air, and innocent as fleep:
Blooming like beauty, when adorn'd for fin;
Yet like the bud unblown all blufh within.

O! 'tis impoffible, to quit fuch blifs, Yet live fuperior to a lofs like this! Where will the next her thousand conquefts make? On what new climate will her fun-fhine break? Where will the next (fweet tafker of my care :) Teach our charm'd fex, to hope, to wifh, to dare? Far from her fruitlefs guardian's watchful eye, What may the hear! what answer: oh! I'll die. Blefs'd by her fight-time's race were one short stage;

She gone---one widow'd moment were an age.

A SONG.

CLIO fmiling, foul-invader!
Soft amufer of my days,
Be my filent paffion's aider,

Teach my tongue to speak thy praise.
Thou, like heroes, scarr'd all over,
Wanting room to fuffer more;
Pil'd with praife, can't hear no lover
Tell thee ought, untold before.
Truth, with modeft bounds contented,

Rightly praifing thee, must say, More than falfehood e'er invented, When the wideft went aftray.

WRIT ON A BLANK LEAF OF AN OBSCENE POEM.

THE facred nine, firft spread their golden wings,
In praise of virtue, heroes, and of kings:
Chafte were their lays, and ev'ry verfe defign'd
To foften nature, and exalt the mind.
Loosely the moderns live, and loosely write,
And woo their mufe, as miftrefs, for delight.
Thick in their lays obfcenities abound,
As weeds fpring plenteous in the rankeft ground;
All who write verfe, to taint a guiltlefs heart,
Are vile profaners of the facred art,

Cloy'd the fick reader from the work retires, And e'er the writer dies his fame expires.

TO MRS. T———T.

WHERE in this land (Alzira cry'd)
Shall Indian virtues rest?
Who will be here the ftranger's guide,
And lead her to be bleft?

Seek, faid the whispering mufe, fome fair
Who does herself those virtues share
Of England's beauteous race;.
Which moft Alzira grace.

One who has taste as nobly ftrong,
And charms as foftly sweet,
Will guard her fifter foul from wrong,
While graces graces meet.

I took the mufe's kind advice,
Look'd round the fair and bright,
And found Alzira, in a trice,
Was matchlefs T- ——t's right.

A SONG.

O CELIA! be wary when Celadon fuel, These wits are the bane of your charms: Beauty play'd against reafon will certainly lake, Warring naked with robbers in arms. Young Damon, defpis'd for his plainness of parts,

Has worth that a woman fhould prize; He'll run the race out, though he heavily farts

And distance the fhort-winded wife.

The fool is a faint in the temple of love,

And kneels all his life there to pray: The wit but looks in, and makes hafte to remor 'Tis a ftage he but takes in his way.

THE RECONCILIATION.

Sick of the worthlefs world, and courting ref,
My fullen foul, with penfive weight oppreit,
Disturb'd and mournful fought the filent shade,
And fed reflection in the breezy glade :
Stretch'd on the graffy margent of a brook,
Whofe murm'ring fellowship my mind partook,
Actively idle I repining lay,

Gaz'd on the flood and figh'd the stream away.
Who knows, I cry'd, what course thou haft t
pafs,
[grals
Sweet ftream, that thou creep't foftly through
How wilt thou flow!--Anon, perhaps, flid hence,
Thy deep'ning channel fills fome moated fence,
Hems in fome farm, where homely ruftics meet,
And their fweet bread, prize of hard labour, ea::
Thence, through some lord's delightful garden, led,
Thou may'ft thy vegetative influence fpread;
Where, as through fragrant beds, thy purlings flat,
The grateful flow'rs fhall kifs 'em as they glie:
There, charm'd and ling'ring, thou may'it with to
stay,

And, hoarfely murm'ring, roll displeas'd away.

But while, with careless pace, thou journey'

flow,

Oft halting to look back at this fair show,

Some precipice, that in close ambush lies,
Thy virgin current fhall at once forprise,
Crofs whofe broad fhoulders thrown, and tum-
bling o'er,

[roar.

Thy frighted ftream fhall rush with unavailing
Next may thy filver current's brightness die,
And muddily fome ftagnate fen fupply;
Where fhadow'd reeds in thy flow ftream fhall
shake,
[make:

And floods fly trembling from the gloom they
Frighted, are glad to 'fcape this horrid place,
Thou may'ft wind fhort, and new-direct thy race,
Through verdant meads, o'erjoy'd, may'st dan-
cing go,

Till cattle fip thy whirpools, as they flow:
Thence, for protection of thy ruffled charms,
Thou may'ft rush fwift to fome great lover's arms;
Some stately stream by keely courtship preft,
And mark'd with wealth's proud furrows on his
breast:
[brace,
Grave Thames may next receive thy mix'd em-
And fam'd Augufta fee thy fully'd face;
from her wash'd foot thy scatter'd flood may ftray,
And to the swallowing ocean roll away:
There, wafted fiream, in wind-driv'n billows toft,
Thy oft-chang'd being fhall be wholly loft.

So, gentle brook, I cry'd, does human life, Midft endless changes, and in endless strife, lide, with impatience, through unknown events, Till nature afks repofe and death confents.

Why then is fuch a life so much defir'd? By what purfuits is vain ambition fir'd? riendship is loft on earth; love goes aftray; And men, like beafts, each on the other prey: Iv'n the soft sex their downy bosoms hide With inward artifice or outward pride. Beauty's fpoil'd fhafts no more the foul can hit, Dull'd by grofs folly or misguided wit. Nothing is now worth wifhing for on earth, and death is grown a much less woe than birth. While thus I mourn'd---back roll'd th' aftonish'd brook, [fhook;

The trees bow'd down, the earth beneath me All heav'n defcended to the glowing ground, And radiant terror dazzling fhone around: lind with the ftrong refulgence, fix'd I lay Buy'd in brightnefs and o'erwhelm'd with day. iften, a found broke out---impatient youth, Liften and mark the voice of facred truth, tous'd at that name, I would have blefs'd my fight, But ftrove in vain to ftem the tide of light; till as I rais'd my eyes, their balls ftruck fire, And wat'ry gufhings wept the rafh defire: The unfeen phantom's voice, fudden and loud, Startled the ear as thunder rends a cloud; But foft'ning more and more, grew sweet and kind,

And dy'd away like music in the wind:

come, continues fhe, to bring thee peace, To bid thy diffidence in friendship cease; Again to reconcile thee to mankind, New-wing thy transports, and unclog thy mind; To guide thy wand'ring choice, to find that joy Distrust of which does thy fad hours employ:

There lives a charmer, whom divinely fir'd
E'en her whole fex's virtues have infpir'd;
Where all that's manly joins with all that's fweet,
And in whofe breath engrofs'd perfections meet;
Her mind no conscious pride of merit stains;
O'er her wide foul unfully'd reafon reigns:
Blind to her worth, the feels not her own flame,
Enriches merit, yet defpifes fame.
Her unaffected charms what words can paint?
She looks an angel, and the fpeaks a faint:
While fparkling gaynefs wantons in her eye,
In her wife foul the laughing Cupids die.
A thousand graces round her person play,
And all the mufes mark her fancy's way:
To hear her fpeak, the foul with rapture fills,
Her looks alarm-but when the writes the kills
Rife, then, and meet her, as the this way ftrays,
And thy own wonder shall outspeak my praife.

The goddefs vanish'd to her native skies,
And the recover'd shade unbarr'd my eyes;
I look'd, and lo! within the honour'd wood,
Lovely Cleora hid in bay leaves stood;
Cleora-but her wonders to reveal,
Were to defcribe what I can only feel!
Now reconcil'd to the fhunn'd world I'll live:
Her friendship-joys worth living for can give.