84

ABSENCE.

A Song infcribed to Mifs R-ch-ds of
R-ds in N-th-mpt-n-fhire.
Ttend, ye fwains, whom beauty fires,
And all the god of love inspires,
Attend my plaintive lay;
Abfent, alas! from her I love,
Along fome lonely walk I rove,

And hate the fight of day.
Beneath fome willow's verdant fhade,
Amid the gloomy woodland glade,

I think upon my fair;"

In fancy view each charming grace,
Which paints that too enchanting face,
And forms that killing air.

In vain the fragrant hawthorn blows,
Or fweets exhale from yonder rofe,
Or riv'lets murmur near;
Thefe beauties now no pleasure give,
Nojoys from them can I receive,

Alas! no Cloe's here.

Ye ling'ring moment's hafte away,
O come thou long expected day!
And cafe me of my care;
Pour balmy comfort o'er my breaft,
Make me once more compleatly bleft,
And bring me to my tan.

I. S. ACADEMIUS.

ubfime of genius, and with science blefs'd,"

S of every brilliant excellence poffefs'd;

Beyond the common ftandard, learn'd, and wife,
Of conduct arilefs, and above difguife:
In whom, with equals, few; fuperiors, none,
The friend, the bufband, and the father, fhone,
Lov'd by the truly virtuous, and the great,
And honour'd with the flaming bigots hate.
A tutor, form'd t'implant in yielding youth,
And into fruit mature the feeds of truth.
A writer, elegant in manly charms,
Who, like the fun, enlightens while he warms.
A paftor, blending, with divineft skill,
A Serap's knowledge, with a Seraph's zeal,
Not only taught religion's paths, but trod,
And, like illuftrious Enoch, walk'd with God.
Doddridge! thefe rich embellishments combin'd
Were thine, but who can paint an angel-mind?
Heaven faw thee ripe for glory, and in love,
Remov'd thee hence, to grace the realms above.
Rotterdam,
Feb. 21, 1752,

In one and the same person,
Suftain'd the various characters
Of Preacher,

Lexicographer, and Aftronomer.
Whofe qualifications for the first
Made way for the errors of the fecond ;
While each contributed

To the extravagance of the third,
Zealous without knowledge,
Verbose without meaning;
And afpiring without means.
Who,

Pretending to unfold mysteries,
And clear up revelation,
Babel'd the law,

And Enigmatiz'd the gospel.
Wonder not he thus excell'd,

Who, in explaining words, abus'd their import,
And in perfecting aftronomy
Discarded Telescopes.

A GENIUS this!
Whofe altitude

Could ne'er be Almacantbariz'd,

And whole boundless ambition of popularity
Plainly demonftrated

It had neither Zenith, nor Nadir;
Which might occafion

His rejecting both.

A definition of him

Exceeds the power of realon;
And to defcribe him,..
Were to be abfurd.
That he was somewhat,
H mfelf ftill firnily thought;
And no one elfe could doubt
When not content to shine
By the lambent flame
Of ignorant applaufe,
A bigot's theme!

He boldly anticipitated a fate,
Like that which Horace of himself
Predicted: *

And run bis head against the ftars.
Stand off, then, Reader,
And, with the reverence of the ancients,
Admire the PLANET-STRUCK!
Sublimi feriam fydera vertice.

A REBUS propofed,
HE vafe, which holds all fat ning liquor,
For bishop, rector, or for vicar;
The letter often us'd to mark

T

The thief that filches in the dark,
The thing we may be faid to do,
When the wrong way we chance to go,
A part of veal I'd choose to eat,
'Fore all the reft (delicious meat!)
The letter namefake of a ftream,
Which Cambrians hold in high esteem ;
United all denote the name,
Of a large town of chriftian fame.

Mr

Mr URBAN,

SAPHO.

What, and why reafon of her arms, my And rufh upon my breaft My friend no longer I deplore, And filial forrow flows no more,

Yet, oh! I find no reft.

Oh! friendship, thou all tranquil gueft, Long fole infpirer of this breaft,

And end of my defire;
Once more thy lambent heat impart,
Which fcorches not, but warms the heart
With rays of heav'nly fire.

In vain, alas! I fue in vain,"
Far fiercer joy, and keener pain,qui an
By turns my foul poffefs.

And now tumultuous withes rife,

Now melting languors, breathing fighs, And I am all excefs.

Ah! mighty love, I yield, I yield,

Tho' long durft difpute the field;

But fince I mult obey,

Oh! fingly in my bofom reign,
From me be all thy fatal train

Far, far remov'd away.
But, ah! too late, alas! I fue,
I feel, I feel, the horrid crew,
Already enter'd here;
Now jealoufy, worft fiend below,
Now fell defpair, relentless foe,
My bleeding bofom tear.
Oh! fay, capricious godhead, fay,
Muft I alone confefs thy fway,

Alone thy bondage bear?

And not the youth for whom I burn? Shall he not feel thee in his turn,

Thy chains fhall he not wear?

Ah! yes thy chains too fure he proves, Too fure the dear Horatio loves,

He loves, but, ah! not me.-
In vain I weep, in vain I rave,
Nor tears, alas! nor rage can fave

From fate's too stern decree.
Mov'd by my tears the pitying nine
Once left their vocal feats divine,

To footh my plaintive woe;
Once more ye facred pow'rs defcend,
Your trembling vot'ry to defend,
And timely aid bestow.

In vain; no longer you infpire,
Suppreft by yet more potent fire,
Is your feraphic flame;

In vain I nature's charms would fing,
For love commands each trembling ftring,
And dictates all my theme.

Oh!

85

Then must 1 ever thus remain,
Doom'd ftill to love, but love in vain ?
aid religion, reafon aid,
Will no kind angel hear?
Oh! fave me, fave a wretched maid,
From love, and from despair.
Oh, let me ; on your Wions climb
To your immortal manfions

Where no vain fears can move;
There mingling in the facred choir,
I'll quench this low, this earth-born fire,
In pure feraphic love.

In vain, alas! in vain the boaft,
Dead is devotion, reason loft,

In love's tempeft'ous reign;
I think Horatio is not there,
For when to heav'n ‍I make [my pray'r,

And here my thoughts remain.
Then ever hopeless of reprieve,
Thus wretched muft I ever live,

And these fad chains endure ?
No; for my freedom yet I'll try
I cannot conquer, but I'll fly,

And ablence love fhall cure.

SAPHO

The OLD M. AI D's Salutation at Church. TUNE; Welcome, welcome, brother Debtor, &c.

WTo this unfrequented place,

Elcome, welcome, fifters ancient,

Where pert flirts, of love impatient,
Seldom fhew their blooming face.
We, from men, infulting creatures!
To this fanctuary fly;
They our antiquated features,

They our dress, and airs decry.

Would they ceafe to be thus fpiteful,
Gently footh our anxious cares,
They might make a church delightful,
Sweetly blending love and pray’rs.

Arts alluring, ever trying,

We invite them to our arms;

Arts, alas, but ill fupplying

Want of youth and blooming charms.
Priefts talk ftrangely of contentment,
And the hopes of joys above;
But, what wretch can help refentment,
Stranger to the joys of love?
Come then, firs, to our affiftance,

All who long to change your lives;
See old maids, without refiftance,
Who would gladly be your wives.
Tho' we can't our Phaons boast,
Wanting Sappbe's pleafing arts,
Make but each of us a toaft,

We'll find love to play our parts.

Hafte, and quickly change our fate,
Or, as ancient records tell,

Dying maids, fo hard our fate,
We must all lead apes in hell,

87

Whether 'tis beft to deck the poet's brow; With hands and hearts unanimous befriend him, Or take up arms, and by oppoting end him?But hold, before you give the fatal word, I beg that I, as counsel, may be heard, And, what few counfel ever yet have dene, I'll take no bribe, and yet plead pro and con. First from the town and us-I fee fome danger, Should you too kindly treat this rev'rend stranger; If fuch good folks, thefe wits of graver fort, Should here ufurp a right to fpoil your sport; And curb our stage fo wanton, bold and free! To the strict limits of their purity; Should dare in theatres reform abufes, And turn our actreffes to pious ufes! Farewell the joyous fpirit-ftirring scene! Farewell the-the-you guess the thing. I mean! If this wife fcheme, fo fober and fo new!

Should pafs with us, would it go down with you?
Should we fo often fee your well-known faces?
Or would the ladies fend fo faft for places ?-
Now for the author-his poetic brat
Throughout the town occafions various chat;
What! fay the fnarlers-Tis a French
tranflation.

That we deny, but plead an imitation,
Such as we hope will pleafe a free-born nation.
His mufe, tho' much too grave to dress or dance,
For fome materials took a trip to France;
She owns the debt, nor thinks fhe fhall appear,
Like our fpruce youths, the worfe for going there:
Tho' fhe has dealt before in fportive fong,
This is her firft ftage-flight, and 't'would

be wrong,

Nay poaching too, to kill your bards too young. Poets, like foxes, make beft fport, when old, The chace is good when both are hard and bold. Do you, like other sportsmen then, take heed, If you destroy the whelps, you fpoil the breed; Let him write on, acquire fome little fame, Then bunt him, critics, he'll be noble game.

EPILOGUE. Written by Colley Cibber, Efq; Spoken by Mrs Pritchard.

Fall the various wonders wit can do,

whether many or the few)

None charms an audience like a stroke that's

to call it

Let drums and trumpets clangor fwell the scene,
Till the gor'd battle bleed in ev'ry vein.
We love the mufes animating fpark,
"Till gods meet gods and jostle in the dark!
This now did fomething in the days of yore,
When lungs heroic made the gall'ries roar.

As for our bard, the fatal die is thrown,
Has he thrown in, or is the dupe undone ?
And now the question is-what fays the town,
Yet on your juftice boldly he relied,
No party form'd, no partial friendship tried.
Tho' love of praise his inmoft foul inflame,
All feign'd, or forc'd applause he dares disclaim,
Your candour--no--your judgment be his fame.
Haverford-Weft, Feb. 17.

By inferting the following Welch Hymn on the Nativity in your next monthly collection, you'll oblige many of your conftant readers in Yours, Wales, and particularly

1

Hymn Nadolig. 1751.

I. H.

Deffrowch o'ch bron Trigolion

boed unfryd eich lleferydd;
i roddi helaeth fawl I DDuw,
am: radol wiw Waredydd.

1 Daeth hwn y'r Cnawdmewn Dynol fodd,

dihattrodd oi Fawrhydi;

i'n dwyn ni'r lan i'r Nefol Fro,
o' droion o' Drueni..
Difcleiriodd ei Efengyl lo'n
mewn addewidion Sanctedd;
i roddi hawn y DDynol kiw,

y gymmod Duw am Gamwedd. 4 Aeth hwn i'r Groes fel Oen di-na'm, i oddef Am ein beiau;

cododd o'r Bedd i'n llwyr ryddheu, O' ingol Balfau'r Angeu. 5 Molianner efo'r Begwn poeth, hyd Ogledd noeth au therfyn; tanned eu glo'd o'r Dwyrain Dir. yn llawen i'r Gorllewin.

VELFFREY.