O DE TONIGHT. K

T

BY THE SAME.

HE bufy cares of day are done;

In

yonder western cloud the fun Now fets, in other worlds to rife,

And glad with light the nether skies.

With ling'ring pace the parting day retires,

And flowly leaves the mountain tops, and gilded spires.

Yon azure cloud, enrob'd with white,

:..

Still fhoots a gleam of fainter lighti
At length defcends a browner fhade:
At length the glimmʼring objects fade:
'Till all fubmit to NIGHT's impartial reign,
And undistinguish'd darkness covers all the plain.

No more the ivy-crowned oak

Refounds beneath the wood-man's stroke.
Now Silence holds her folemn fway;

Mute is each bufh, and every fpray;

Nought but the found of murm'ring rills is heard, Or, from the mould'ring tow'r, NIGHT's folitary bird,

VOL. IV.

X

Hail;

Hail, facred hour of peaceful rest!
Of pow'r to charm the troubled breaft!
By thee the captive flave obtains

Short refpite from his galling pains;
Nor fighs for liberty, nor native foil

But for a while forgets his chains, and fultry toil.

No horrors haft thou in thy train,

No scorpion lath, no clanking chain.d

When the pale murd'rer round him fpies

A thousand grilly forms arifë,

When shrieks and groans arouse his palfy'd fear, 'Tis guilt alarms his foul, and confcience wounds his ear.

The village fwain whom Phillis charms,
Whose breaft the tender paffion warms,
Wishes for thy all-fhadowing veil,
To tell the fair his love-fick tale":

Nor less impatient of the tedious day,
She longs to hear his tale, and figh her foul away.

Oft by the covert of thy shade

LEANDER WOO'd the THRACIAN maid;
Through foaming feas his paffion bore,
Nor fear'd the ocean's thund'ring roar.

The conscious virgin from the fea-girt tow'r

Hung out the faithful torch, to guide him to her bow'r.

Oft

Oft at thy filent hour the fage
Pores on the fair inftructive page;
Or, rapt in mufings deep, his foul
Mounts active to the starry pole:

There, pleas'd to range the realms of endless night, Numbers the stars, or marks the comet's devious light.

Thine is the hour of converfe fweet,
When fprightly wit and reafon meet;
Wit, the fair bloffom of the mind,
But fairer still with reafon join'd.

Such is the feaft thy focial hours afford,

When eloquence and GRANVILLE join the friendly board.

GRANVILLE, whofe polifh'd mind is fraught
With all that ROME OF GREECE e'er taught;
Who pleases and inftructs the ear,

When he affumes the critic's chair,'

Or from the STAGYRITE or PLATO draws The arts of Civil life, the spirit of the laws.

O let me often thus employ

The hour of mirth and focial joy !

And glean from GRANVILLE's learned ftore
Fair science and true wifdom's lore.

Then will I still implore thy longer stay,

Nor change thy festive hours for funshine and the day.

John Carteret Earl of Granville.
X 2

WRITTEN

WRITTEN UPON LEAVING A FRIEND'S HOUSE IN WALES.

By the Rev. Dr. MARKHAM, now Archbishop of YORK.

HE winds were loud, the clouds deep-hung,

THE

And dragg'd their sweepy trains along

The dreary mountain's fide;

When, from the hill, one look to throw
On Towy's rambling flood below,
I turn'd my horse-and figh'd.

But foon the gusts of fleet and hail
Flew thick across the darken'd vale,

And blurr'd the face of day:

Forlorn and fad, I jogg'd along;

And though Tom cry'd, "You're going wrong,"

Still wander'd from my way.

The scenes, which once my fancy took,
And my aw'd mind with wonder struck,
Pafs'd unregarded all!

Nor black Trecarris' fteepy height,
Nor waste Trecastle gave delight;
Nor clamorous Hondy's fall.

Did the bleak day then give me pain?
The driving fnow, or pelting rain,
Or fky with tempefts fraught?
No! these unheeded rag'd around;
Nought in them so much Mine I found,
As claim'd one wandering thought.

Far other cares engrofs'd my mind,
Cares for the joys I left behind.
In Newton's happy groves!

Yet not because its woods disclose

Or grots or lawns more fweet than those

Which Pan at noon-day loves;

But that, befide its focial hearth,

Dwells every joy, which youthful mirth
Or ferious age can claim;

soul first knew,'

The man too whom my
To virtue and to honour true;
And friendship's facred name.

O Newton, could these penfive lays
In worthy numbers fcan thy praise,
Much gratitude would fay;
But that the Mufe, ingenuous maid,
Of flattery feems so much afraid,
She'll scarce her duty pay.

BRICKNOCK, Oct. 16, 1749.

Newton is the name of a feat belonging to Sir John Price