LEFT ON A SEAT. O EARTH! to his remains indulgent be, Who so much care and cost bestow'd on thee; Who crown'd thy barren hills with useful shade, And cheer'd with tinkling rills each silent glade ; Here taught the day to wear a thoughtful gloom, And there enliven’d Nature's vernal bloom. Propitious Earth! lie lightly on his head, And ever on his tomb thy vernal glories spread!



Come, shepherds ! we'll follow the herse,

And see our lov'd Corydon laid;
Though sorrow may blemish the verse,

Yet let the sad tribute be paid.
They call'd him the pride of the plain :

In sooth he was gentle and kind:
He mark'd in his elegant strain

The graces that glow'd in his mind.

On purpose he planted yon' trees,

That birds in the covert might dwell ; He cultur'd his thyme for the bees,

But never would rifle their cell,

Ye lambkins ! that play'd at his feet,

Go bleat--and your master bemoan : His music was artless and sweet,

His manners as mild as your own.

No verdure shall cover the vale,

No bloom on the blossoms appear ; The sweets of the forest shall fail,

And Winter discolour the year. No birds in our hedges shall sing,

(Our hedges, so vocal before) Since he that should welcome the Spring

Can greet the gay season no more.

His Phyllis was fond of his praise,

And poets came round in a throng; They listen'd, and envied his lays,

Bat which of them equall'd his song? Ye shepherds ! henceforward be mute,

For lost is the pastoral strain; So give me my Corydon's flute,

And thus-let me break it in twain.



LET vanquish'd Nature mourn Her lost simplicity o'er Shenstone's urn, With sympathetic sorrows on his tomb Let the pale primrose shed its wild perfume:

The cowslip droop its head; and all around
The with’ring violet strew the hallow'd ground;
For mute the swain, and cold the hand that wove
Their simple sweets to wreaths of artless love.
Simplicity with Shenstone died !


PRATT'S TEARS OF GENIUS. Full gentle and sweet was the note

That flow'd from his delicate heart; Simplicity smil'd as he wrote,

And Nature was polish'd by art.

Now unseen let the eglantine blow,

Unheeded the hyacinth lie; Unheard let the rivulets flow,

Let the primroses flourish and die

For the swain who should crop them is gone,

He sung, and all Nature admir'd;
He spoke—and all hearts were his own,

He fell—and all pity expir’d.


TO THE READER. To this edition is subjoined (for the sake of those readers to whom it may not prove unwelcome) an explanation, or rather, in most places, a liberal imitation, of all the Latin inscriptions und quotations throughout this work by Mr. Hull. That gentleman's well-known friendship for Mr. Shenstone, and willingness to oblige, being his sole inducements to this ( as he chooses to have it called) trifling addition, the editor thinks it no more than a just return of gratitude to let his purchasers know to whom they are beholden for it. Be it remembered, however, that it was executed in a country retirement, where our eminent translators of the classics were not at hand to be consulted.


BY ROBERT DODSLEY. The Leasowes is situate in the parish of Hales Owen, a small market town in the county of Salop, but surrounded by other counties, and thirty miles from Shrewsbury, as it is near ten to the borders of Shropshire. Though a paternal estate, it was never distinguished for any peculiar beauties till the time of its late owner. It was reserved for a person of his ingenuity both to discover and improve them, which he has done so effectually, that it is now considered as amongst the principal of those delightful scenes which persons of taste, in the present age, are desirous to see. Far from violating its natural beauties, Mr. Shenstone's only study was to give them their full effect; and although the form in which things now appear be indeed the consequence of much thought and labour, yet the band of Art is no way visible either in the shape of ground, the disposition of trees, or (which are here so numerous and striking) the romantic fall of his cascades.

But I will now proceed to a more particular description. About half a mile short of Hales Owen, in your way from Birmingham to Bewdley, you

1 This Description was intended to give a friend some idea of the Leasowes-wbich having been so justly admired by persons of the best taste, and celebrated by the Muse of such an original genius as Mr. Shenstone, it is hoped the public will not be displeased with this slight attempt to perpetuate tbose beauties, which time, or the different taste of some future possessor, may destroy.

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