Stupendous change! methinks th' effects appear;
In the dark region facred temples rear
Their lofty heads; fair cities ftrike my fight,
And heav'n-taught Science fpreads a dazzling light
O'er the rough scene, where error's court was found,
And red-ey'd flaughter crimson'd all the ground.
O hafte, bleft days! till ign'rance flee the ball,
And the bright rays of knowledge lighten all,
Till in yon wild new feats of Science rife,
And fuch as you the arts fhall patronize!
For this your names fhall fwell the trump of fame, And ages yet unborn your worth proclaim.
Who died March 22, 1765, and was buried in St. Catharine's Church, London.
HOU, who within thefe hallow'd walls
fhalt move,
Know that this stone was fix'd by gen'rous love;
A husband's fondest hopes beneath it reft,
A wife, in whom fair virtue stood confest;
In whom fweet love, and mild compaffion join'd,
With each soft grace that decks the female mind;
A wife who never gave her husband pain,
But when pale death had rank'd her with the flain !
What foothing joys her goodness did impart,
Ah! read them in her partner's broken heart!
Think, in his grief, thou feeft her virtues rise,
And pity's ftreams fhall foon o'erflow thine eyes!
SOFT breathing o'er the velvet green,
Is felt the heart-reviving gale;
Gay Spring unfolds the blooming scene,
The budding grove and fcented vale.
The orchard's sweets, the garden's flowers,
The brook that babbles thro' the plain,
The bladed lawns and bloffom'd bowers,
The wild notes of the feather'd train-
In vain their matchlefs charms unite,
Poetic rapture to diffuse;
I view them with a calm delight,
But uninfpir'd remains the muse,
Too dull I grow to sport in rhime,
No rapt'rous warmth elates my foul;
No more the mufe's hill I climb,
Nor in bright fancy's chariot roll.
The glories of the vernal year,
The luftre of the female form,
Could once awake the fprightly air,
And all my foul with transport warm.
But, now transform'd to hermit grave,
These radiant prospects languid feem,
I haunt no more the flow'ry cave,
Nor loll aside the plaintive stream.
Th' enchanting pow'r of verfe no more
In sweet Elyfium wraps my heart;
O'er heaps of mufty profe I pore,
Forgetful of the Mufe's art.
What then can re-illume my breast,
And light the long neglected fire,
When Nature's landscape gaily dreft,
Can fcarce a glowing thought inspire ?
When e'en CLARINDA's winning charms,
• But half excites the sprightly ftrain;
Tho' form'd to raise love's foft alarms,
And rank'd in beauty's lucid train.
Yet though these flatt'ring themes no more,
Allure the moral bard to ftray,
Still fhall the Mufe a theme explore,
Deferving of her choiceft lay.
Good-nature fhall new ftring the lyre,
Which marks CLARINDA for her own;
CLARINDA'S Beauty all admire,
I praise her for this charm alone.
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