O DE XI.

TO A FRIEND APPREHENSIVE OF DECLINING

FRIENDSHIP.

OO much in Man's imperfect ftate

Mistake produces useless pain.-
Methinks, of Friendship's frequent fate

I hear my FROGLEY'S voice complain.

This heart, I hope, forgives its foes;

I know it ne'er forgets its friends;
Where'er may Chance my steps dispose,

The absent oft my thought attends.

Deem not that Time's oblivious hand

From Memory's page has ras'd the days,

By Lee's green verge we wont to stand,

And on his chrystal current gaze.

From Chadwell's cliffs, o'erhung with fhade,
From Widbury's profpect-yielding hill,

Sweet look'd the scenes we then survey'd,
While Fancy fought for sweeter ftill:

Then how did Learning's ftores delight! From books what pleasures then we drew! For then their charms first met our fight,

And then their faults we little knew.

Alas! Life's Summer swiftly flies,

And few its hours of bright and fair! Why bid Diftruft's chill east-wind rife, To blast the scanty blooms they bear?

O DE XII.

TO A FRIEND,

N°

COCKFIELD, no! I'll not disdain

Thy Upton's elm-divided plain;

Nor fcorn the varied views it yields,

O'er Bromley's creeks and ifles of reeds,
Or Ham's or Plaistow's level meads,

To Woolwich streets, or Charlton fields:
Thy hedge-row paths I'll pleasant call,

And praife the lonely lane that leads.

To that old tower upon the wall.

'Twas when Misfortune's ftroke fevere,

And Melancholy's prefence drear,

Had

Had made my Amwell's groves difplease,
That thine my weary steps receiv'd,

And much the change my mind reliev'd,
And much thy kindness gave me ease;
For o'er the past as thought would stray,
That thought thy voice as oft retriev'd,
To scenes which fair before us lay.

And there, in happier hours, the walk Has frequent pleas'd with friendly talk; From theme to theme that wander'd ftill

The long detail of where we had been,

And what we had heard, and what we had feen;

And what the Poet's tuneful skill,

And what the Painter's graphic art,

Or Antiquarian's fearches keen,
Of calm amufement could impart.

Then oft did Nature's works engage, And oft we fearch'd LINNAEUS' page;

The

O DE

XIV.

WRITTEN AFTER READING SOME MODERN

LOVE-VERSES.

AKE hence this tuneful Trifler's lays!

ΤΑ

I'll hear no more the unmeaning ftrain

Of Venus' doves, and Cupid's darts,
And killing eyes, and wounded hearts;
All Flattery's round of fulfome praise,

All Falfehood's cant of fabled pain.

Bring me the Mufe whofe tongue has told

Love's genuine plaintive tender tale;

Bring me the Mufe whofe founds of woe

'Midft Death's dread fcenes fo fweetly flow,

When Friendship's faithful breast lies cold,
When Beauty's blooming cheek is pale: