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Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
E'en now the devastation is begun,
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade! Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride : Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me se; Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well. Parewell! and O! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side; Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of the inclement clime ;
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ;
(FIRST PRINTED IN THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, 1765.)
THE PRINTER OF THE ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE,
Appeared in that Paper in June, 1707.
As there is nothing I dislike so much as newspaper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concise as possible in informing a correspondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one; and I think so still. I said, I was told by the bookseller that it was then first published ; but in that, it seems, I was misinformed, and my reading was not extensive enough to set me right.
Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad, I published some time ago, from one by the ingenious Mr. Percy.t I do not
• The Friar of Orders Gray,' in Reliques of Anc, Poetry. + Since Dean of Carlisle and Bishop of Dromoro.
think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. read it to Mr. Percy, some years ago; and he (as we both considered these things as trifles at best) told me, with his usual good humour, the next time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakspeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing; and were it not for the busy disposition of some of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more important nature.
I am, sir,
' 'Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.
• For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.'
• Forbear, my son, (the hermit cries)
To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
"Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still ; And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.
• Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.