No Crescent bere displays its baneful horns ;

No turban'd host the voice of Truth reproves; Learning's free source the sage's breast adorns,

And poets, not inglorious, chant their loves. Boast, favour'd Media ! boast thy flowery stores;

Thy thousand hues by chemic suns refin'd; 'T'is not the dress or mien my soul adores,

'Tis the rich beauties of Britannia's mind. WhileGrenville's a breast could virtue's stores afford,

What envied flota bore so fair a freight? The mine compar'd in vain its latent board,

The gem its lustre, and the gold its weight. Thee, Grenville! thee, with calmest courage fraught!

Thee, the lov'd image of thy native shore ! Thee, by the Virtues arm'd, the Graces taught!

When shall we cease to boast or to deplore! Presumptnous War, which could thy life destroy,

What shall it now in recompence decree? While friends that merit ev'ry earthly joy

Feel every anguish ; feel--the loss of thee ! Bid me no more a servile realm compare,

No more the Muse of partial praise arraign; Britannia sees po foreign breast so fair,

And if she glory, glories not in vain.

2 Written about the time of Captain Grenville's death,


FROM a lone tow'r with reverend ivy crown'd,

The pealing bell awak'd a tender sigh;
Still as the village caught the waving sound,

A swelling tear distream'd from ev'ry eye. So droop’d, I ween, each Briton's breast of old,

When the dull curfew spoke their freedom fled; For, sighing as the mournful accent rolld,

“Our hope,'they cry'd, our kind support, is dead !' 'Twas good Palemon !--Near a shaded pool,

A group of ancient elms umbrageous rose; The flocking rooks, by Instinct's native rule,

This peaceful scene for their asylum chose. A few small spires, to gothic fancy fair,

Amid the shades emerging struck the view; 'Twas here his youth respir'd its earliest air; • 'Twas here his age breath'd out its last adieu. One favour'd son engag'd his tenderest care;

One pious youth his whole affection crown'd; In his young breast the virtues sprung so fair,

Snch charms display'd, such sweets diffus'd around. But whilst gay transport in his face appears,

A noxious vapour clogs the poison'd sky, Blasts the fair crop—the sire is drown'd in tears,

And, scarce surviving, sees his Cynthio die!

1 The Penns of Harborough ; a place whose name in the Saxon langnage alludes to an army: and there is a tradition that there was a battle fought on the Downs adjoining, betwixt the Britons and the Romans.

O’er the pale corse we saw him gently bend; Heart-chill'd with grief— My thread,' he cry'd,

is spun! If Heav'n had meant I should my life extend,

Heav'n had preserv'd my life's support, my son. ' Snatch'd in thy prime! alas, the stroke were mild,

Had my frail form obey'd the Fates' decree! Bless'd were my lot, O Cynthio! O my child !

Had Heav'n so pleas'd, and I had died for thee.' Five sleepless nights he stemm'd this tide of woes;

Five irksome suns he saw, through tears, forlorn! On his pale corse the sixth sad morning rose;

From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne. 'Twas on those downs, by Roman hosts annoy'd,

Fought our bold fathers, rustic, unrefin'd! Freedom's plain sons, in martial cares employ'd!. They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their

mind. 'Twas there, in happier times, this virtuous race,

Of milder merit, tix'd their calm retreat ; War's deadly crimson had forsook the place,

And Freedom fondly lov'd the chosen seat. No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breast,

To swell with empty sounds a spotless name; If fostering skies, the sun, the show'r, were blest, Their bounty spread; their fields' extent the

sanie. Those fields, profuse of raiment, food, and fire,

They scorn'd to lessen, careless to extend; Bade Luxury to lavish courts aspire,

And Avarice to city breasts descend.

2 Harborough Dowus.

None to a virgin's mind preferr'd her dow'r,

To fire with vicious hopes a modest heir : The sire, in place of titles, wealth, or pow'r,

Assign'd him virtue; and his lot was fair. They spoke of Fortune as some doubtful dame,

That sway'd the natives of a distant sphere; From Lucre's vagrant sons had learn'd her fame,

But never wish'd to place her banners here. Here youth's free spirit, innocently gay,

Enjoy'd the most that Innocence can give ; Those wholesome sweets that border Virtue's way;

Those cooling fruits, that we may taste and live. Their board no strange ambiguous viand bore;

From their own streams their choicer fare they To lure the scaly glutton to the shore, [drew;

The sole deceit their artless bosom knew! Sincere themselves, ah! too secure to find

The common bosom, like their own, sincere! 'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous mind;

'Tis her own poison bids the viper fear., Sketch'd on the lattice of the adjacent fane,

Their suppliant busts implore the reader's pray'r: Ah! gentle souls! enjoy your blissful reign,

And let frail mortals claim your guardian care. For sure to blissful realms the souls are flown

That never flatter'd, injur'd, censur'd, strove ; The friends of Science! music all their own;

Music, the voice of Virtue and of Love! The journeying peasant, through the secret shade

Heard their soft lyres engage his listening ear, And haply deem'd some courteous angel play'd;

No angel play'd—but might with transport hear. For these the sounds that chase unholy Strife!

Solve Envy's charm, Ambition's wretch release! Raise him to spurn the radiant ills of life,

To pity pomp, to be content with peace. Farewell, pure spirits ! vain the praise we give,

The praise you sought from lips angelic flows; Farewell! the virtues which deserve to live

Deserve an ampler bliss than life bestows. Last of his race, Palemon, now no more

The modest merit of his line display'd; Then pious Hough Vigornia's mitre wore-

Soft sleep the dust of each deserving shade.



Wnen genius, grac'd with lineal splendour, glows,

When title shines, with ambient virtues crown'd, Like some fair almond's flowery pomp it shows

The pride, the perfume, of the regions round. Then learn, ye fair! to soften splendour's ray;

Endure the swain, the youth of low degree; Let meekness join'd its temperate beam display;

Tis the mild verdure that endears the tree.
Pity the sandald swain, the shepherd's boy;

He sighs to brighten a neglected name;
Foe to the dull appulse of vulgar joy,
He mourns his lot; he wishes, merits fapie.


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