But notes were wanting- -Can't thou find
A Muse to fing her face, her mind?

Believe me, I can name but one,
A friend of your's-

Lord L's letter to Earl H

MY LORD,

'tis LYTTELTON."

-, occafioned by the foregoing

verfes.

A Thousand thanks to your lordship for your addition to my verses. If you can write fuch extempore, it is well for other poets, that you chofe to be a lord chancellor, rather than a laureat. They explain to me a vifion I had the night before.

Methought I faw before my feet,
With countenance ferene and fweet,
The Mufe, who in my youthful days
Had oft infpir'd my careless lays.
She fmil'd, and faid, “ Once more I fee
My fugitive returns to me;

Long had I lost you from my bower,
You fcorn'd to own my gentle power;
With me no more your genius fported,
The grave hiftoric Mufe you

courted;

Or, rais'd from earth, with ftraining eyes,
Purfu'd Urania through the skies;
But now, to my forfaken track,

Fair EGREMONT has brought you back;
Nor blush, by her and Virtue led,
That foft, that pleafing path to tread;
For there, beneath to-morrow's ray,
Ev'n Wildom's felf fhall deign to play.
Lo! to my flow'ry groves and fprings
Her fav'rite fon the goddess brings,
The council's and the fenate's guide,
Law's oracle, the nation's pride:
He comes, he joys with thee to join,
In finging WYNDHAM's charms divine.
To thine he adds his nobler lays,
E'en thee, my friend, he deigns to praife,
Enjoy that praife, nor envy PITT
His fame with burgess or with cit;
For fure one line from fuch a bard,
Virtue would think her best reward,”!

T

To a noble Lord on his late po:tical compofitions.

AYS one of the Mufes detach'd from the reft,

SAYS

To one of their bards, which they all lov'd the best:
"With joy we have feen, on the countefs, your wit,
With grief, have beheld your late flur upon P-tt:
Unenvy'd, let him, then, enjoy all his boxes;
Unrival'd, fing thou, all thy beautiful doxies :
Parnaffus's freedom rewardeth thy lays,

Which, fee! I have brought, in a basket of bays."

On a noble Laywer's addition to the above noble Lord's poem on a Lady.

Mufic! ever thought of power divine,

Own beauty's power ftill greater far than thine:

'Tis true, of thee thus once a poet spoke,
"Mufic has charms to bend the knotted oak;"
But beauty's charms in Egremonta's praise,
Law's knottier language turns to tuneful lays.

On the above Lord's reply, to the noble lawyer's addition, under the fillion of a dream.

W

HEN Homer nods, he only nods: it feems
Our modern Homer when he nods, he dreams.

Under a caft of the Venus de Medicis, at the Leafowes.

III.

Verfes occafioned by an incident at the feat of William Shenftone, Efq; By

"Η

Mr. R. DodЛley.

OW shall I fix my wand'ring eye? where find
The fource of this inchantment? dwells it in
The woods or moves there not a magic wand
O'er the translucent waters? fure, unfeen,
Some favouring power directs the happy lines
That sketch thefe beauties; fwells the rifing hills,
And scoops the dales to nature's finest forms,
Vague, undetermin'd, infinite; untaught
By line or compafs, yet fupremely fair?"

So fpake Philenor, as with raptur'd gaze
He travers'd Damon's farm. From diftant plains
He fought his friend's abode: Nor had the fame
Of that new form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear

And

And thus, the youth, as o'er each hill and dale,
Thro' lawn or thicket, he purfues his way:

"What is it gilds the verdure of thefe meads
With hues more bright, than fancy paints the flowers
Of paradife? What Naiad's guiding hand
Leads thro' the broider'd vale thefe lucid rills,
That, murmuring as they flow, bear melody
Along their banks; and, thro' the vocal fhades,
Improve the mufic of the warbling choir ?
What penfive Dryad rais'd yon folemn grove,
Where minds contemplative, at close of day
Retiring, mufe o'er Nature's various works,
Her wonders ven'rate, or her fweets enjoy?
What room for doubt? Some rural deity
Prefiding scatters o'er th' unequal lawns,

In beauteous wildness, yon fair spreading trees;
And, mixing woods and waters, hills and dales,
And herds and bleating flocks, domeftic fowl,
And those that swim the lake, fees rifing ground
More pleafing landscapes than in Tempe's vale
Penéus water'd. Yes, fome fylvan god
Spreads wide the varied profpect; waves the woods,
Lifts the proud hills, and clears the shining lakes;
While, from the congregated waters pour'd,
The bursting torrent tumbles down the steep
In foaming fury; wild, irregular,

Fierce, interrupted; crofs'd with rocks and roots
And interwoven trees; 'till now abforb'd
An opening cavern all its rage entombs.
So vanish human glories; fuch the pomp
Of fwelling warriors, of ambitious kings,
Who fret and firut their hour upon the flage
Of busy life, and then are heard no more!

'Tis fafcination all! -And lo! the fpells,
The powerful incantations, magic verse
Infcrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn!
Spells, incantations? ah, my tuneful friend!
Thine are the numbers! thine the wonderous works!
Yes, great magician, now I read thee right,
And lightly weigh all forcery, but thine.
Nor Naiad's leading ftep conducts the rill;
Nor fylvan god prefiding fkirts the lawn,

In beauteous wildnefs, with fair-fpreading trees;
Nor magic wand has circumfcrib'd the scene.
'Tis thine own tafte, thy genius that prefide;
Nor needs there other deity, nor needs

More potent fpell than they."No more the youth;

For lo! his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn
Advancing, leads him to the focial dome.
The Leafowes, 1755.

To William Shenflone, Efq; The production of half an hour's leifure.

August 30, 1761.
EALTH to the bard, in Leafowes happy groves,
Health and sweet converfe with the Muse he loves!
The lowlieft vot'ry of the tuneful nine,

HE

With trembling hand, attempts her artless line,
In numbers fuch as untaught nature brings,
As flow fpontaneous, like thy native fprings.
But ah! what airy forms around me rife,
The ruffet mountain glows with richer dyes!
In circling dance a pigmy crowd appear,
And hark! an infant voice falutes my ear.
"Mortal, thy aim we know, thy task approve,
His merit honour, and his genius love ;
For Us what verdant carpets has he spread,
Where nightly we our myftic mazes tread !
For Us each fhady grove and rural feat,
His falling ftreams, and flowing numbers sweet.
Didft thou not mark amid the winding dell,
What tuneful verfe adorns the root-wove cell?
There ev'ry Fairy of our sprightly train
Reforts, to blefs the woodland, and the plain;
There as we move unbidden fplendors glow,
The green turf brightens, and the flowrets blow.
There oft with thought fublime we bless the swain,
Nor we infpire, nor he attends in vain.

Go, fimple rhymer, bear this message true,
The truths that Fairies dictate none fhall rue.
Say to the bard, in Leafowes happy grove,
Whom Dryads honour, and whom Fairies love-
Content thyself no longer that thy lays,
By others fofter'd, lend to others praise;
No longer to the fav'ring world refuse
The welcome treasures of thy polish'd Muse ;
Collect the flowers that own thy valu'd name,
Unite the fpoil, and give the wreath to Fame.
Ne'er can thy morals, taste, or verse engage
More folid fame, than in this happier age;
When fenfe, when virtue's cherish'd by the throne,
And each illuftrious privilege their own.
Tho' modest be thy gentle Mufe, I ween,
O, lead her, blufhing, from the daify'd green,
A fit attendant on Britannia's queen !"

Ye