THOUSAND thanks to your lordfhip for your addition to my

"A write it is 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 sweet,
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 loft 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 fkies;
But now, to my forfaken track,
Fair EGREMONT has brought you back
Nor blufh, by her and Virtue led,
That foft, that pleafing path to tread;
For there, beneath to-morrow's ray,
Ev'n Wisdom'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 praise.
Enjoy that praife, nor envy PITT
His fame with burgefs or with cit;
For fure one line from fuch a bard,
Virtue would think her beft reward."

To

To a noble Lord, on his late poetical Compositions.

S

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

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;
Unrivall'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 Lawyer's Addition to the above noble Lord's Poem on a Lady.

MUSIC! 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 praife,

Law's knottier language turns to tuneful lays.

On the above Lord's Reply, to the noble Lawyer's Addition, under the Fiction of a Dream.

Wur modern Homer when he nods, he dreams.

THEN Homer nods, he only nods: it seems

Under a Cast of the Venus de Medicis, at the Leasowes.

Verses occasioned by an Incident at the Seat of William Shenstone, E. By Mr. R. Dodsley..

"HOW

fhall 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 tranflucent waters? fure, unfeen
Some favouring power directs the happy lines
That sketch thefe beauties; fwells the rifing hills,
And fcoops the dales to nature's finest forms,
Vague, undetermin'd, infinite; untaught
By line or compafs, yet fupremely fair?"
So fpake Phileno, 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 Acadia 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 these meads
With hues more bright than fancy paints the flowers
Of paradife? What Naiads guiding hand
Leads thro' the broider'd vale these lucid rills,
That, murmuring as they flow, bear melody
Among 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 wildnefs, yon fair fpreading trees;
And, mixing woods and waters, hills and dales,
And herds and bleating flocks, domestic fowl,
And thofe that fwim the lake, fees rifing round
More pleafing landscapes than in Tempe's vale
Pencus water 'd. Yes, fome fylvan god
Spreads wide the varied profpect; waves the woods,
Lifts the proud hills, and clears the thining lakes;
While, from the congregated water pour'd,
The burfting torrents tumbles down the fteep
In foaming fury; 'wild, irregular,

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

'Tis fafcination all!-And lo! the spells,
The powerful incantations, magic verse
Infcrib'd on ev'ry 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 taste, thy genius, that prefides;
Nor needs there other deity, nor needs

More potent spell than they."-No more the youth;

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

To William Shenstone, Esq. The production of half an hour's leisure.

August 30, 1761. EALTH to the bard, in Leafowe's happy groves

Hitealth and fiweet converfe with the Mule he love;

The lowlieft vot'ry of the tuneful nine,
With trembling hand, attempts her artless line,
In numbers fuch as untaught nature brings,
As flow fpontaneous, like the native springs.
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 talk 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 verse adorns the root-wove cell?
That ev'ry Fairy of our fprightly 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 fhail rue.
Say to the bard, in Leafowes' happy grove,
Whom Dryads honour, and whom Faires love-
Content thy felf no longer that thy lays
By others fofter'd, lend to others praife;
No longer to the fav'ring world refufe
The welcome treafures of thy polish'd Mufe;
Collect the flowers that own thy valu'd name,
Unite the fpoil, and give the wreath to fame.
Ne'er can thy morals, tafte, or verse engage
More folid fame, than in this happier age;
When fenfe, when virtue's, cherifh'd by the throne,
And each illuftrious privilege their own.
Tho' modeft be thy gentle Mufe, I ween,
O, lead her, blushing, from the daify'd green,
A fit attendant on Britannia's queen!"

}

Y