Methinks I see the jocund band
Of Loves and Graces hand in hand

Their artless symphony inspire;
The Muses catch the dulcet sound,
They waft the sportive echoes round,

And wake the sympathetic lyre.

The rose's aromatic bloom

Adorns their wild fantastic grove, And o'er the violet's perfume

Angelic forms delighted rove;
Fair Sappho in Elysian bowers
Beguiles the gently stealing hours,

And soothes entranced Despair to rest;
Her strains so feelingly express
The force of elegant distress,

Implanted in a female breast.

Careless tripping o'er the green

The sprightly Deshoulieres appears With winning air and brow serene,

Unclouded by the frown of years ; Around the Nymph in graceful state A thousand smiling Cupids wait,

And each performs his destined part; Some give the cheeks a livelier glow, Some tune the lyre, some twang the bow,

To pierce the most obdurate heart.

The plaintive Rowe, whose warbling breath

Dispersed the melancholy gloom Which at her dear Alexis' death

O’erhung the sickening vales of Frome, To the soft Cyprian lute recites The fears, the hopes, the fond delights,

The tender blandishments of love, Their mutual happiness completing, Where Innocence and Pleasure meeting,

Have fix'd them in the realms above. Beside them Cytherea stands

In Virtue's snowy garb array'd,
And reunites their social hands

Severed by Death's remorseless blade;
The Loves with elegiac verse
Meanwhile adorn the sable hearse

In which their mortal ashes lie,
And in due chaplet Phoebus weaves
The laurel's never fading leaves,

The pledge of immortality.
Yet not from these romantic shades,

Whene'er I wake the Teian string,
Will I invoke the' harmonious Maids

To' unlock Castalia's vaunted spring : The palms of Genius thinly spread Where cypress glooms o'erarch the dead

Let others glean :-My raptured ear Has caught the soul-enchanting strains That on Salopia's happy plains

The bright Sabrina joys to hear : She, blameless Nymph, whose piteous doom

Poetic annalists relate, Immersed in Severn's watery tomb

By Guendoline's remorseless hate,
O'er the smooth current still presides,
And bids the spring flowers on its sides

Diversify the broider'd green,
Vhere to the spheres' aerial sound
The light Fays trip their antic round,

By meditating shepherds seen.

If worn Tradition's specious tales,

In Fiction's gaudy mantle dress'd, Were wont to celebrate her vales

With Nature's bounteous treasures bless'd; Fame hiding more than half her blaze Reserved to crown these later days

Her greatest her most envied pride, That while her banks thy numbers grace, The Goddess sees thy fairer face

Reflected in her glassy tide. Ask we on what terrestrial plain

The Graces condescend to dwell,
When thou, the loveliest of their train,

So aptly strikest the chorded shell?
Whether from Bacchus' mighty race,
Or the dread Thunderer's stolen embrace,

Euphrosyne derived her birth,
Regards pot us :-

:-Our dazzled sight, Struck with ineffable delight, Has found her parallel on earth.

WODHULL.

ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY.

1747.

COME then, tell me, sage divine,
Is it an offence to own
That our bosoms e'er incline
Toward immortal Glory's throne ?
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure,
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,
So can Fancy's dream rejoice,

So conciliate Reason's choice,
As one approving word of her impartial voice.

If to spurn at noble praise
Be the passport to thy heaven,
Follow thou those gloomy ways,
No such law to me was given ;
Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me
Faring like my friends before me;
Nor a holier place desire

Than Timoleon's arms acquire,
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

AKENSIDE.

THE MAN OF TASTE.

HENCE! phantom! weak and vain,
Fashion ! of Indolence and Folly born!

Nursed by Conceit and Scorn!
And cradled in the wild distemper'd brain!

Go! Hoyden, as thou art
A full grown baby! skittish! prone to range!

Changed, evermore to change!
Find out some high tower's pinnacle! and watch

The shifting vane to catch,
That veers with every blast to every part !
But come! thou sober Influence,
Whom Genius bore of old to Sense!
Taste, thy name !-Beneath a shade,
By arched oaks embowering made,
Sense his stand, deep musing, took;
With fixed foot, and steadfast look,
Nature's handiwork surveying ;-
Where fruit and flower the meads arraying,
Lavish of hues that might outvie
The many-tinged rainbow's dye,

Show'd heavenly pencilling! What time
Genius, the wood nymph, in her prime
Of bloom and spirit, pass'd along;
Light of heart and frank of song;
Vagrant, on a sweet zephyr's wing,
Plundering the magazines of spring;
Vermil tints and perfumed air
Gathering here and scattering there!

Her the thought-wrapt being spied
Glancing comely by his side;
And, with sudden passion fired,
Follow'd still as she retired :
Soon won with ardent vows her mind,
And in meet espousal join'd,
In happiest hour the bride embraced !-
Hence the auspicious birth of Taste!

Come! decent nymph! in ample vest Of seemly suited colours dress’d!Come thou, Taste! and bring with thee The maiden, meek Simplicity !Come! and give mine eye to stray, Where thou deignest to display Thy dædal power, such grace to teach, As Nature loves, but cannot reach!

Let us oft our visit pay (In the pure matin prime of day, Ere the high sun hath drunk the dews) To where the poet courts the Muse! Him, I mean, who bows the knee, In homage still submits to thee! Whom thy steady rule hath taught To form the plan and point the thought ; To passion all its voice to give, And bid the warm description live!