II."

For much it glads me to behold this place,
And houfe within this hofpitable shed;
It glads me more to see my Master's face,
And linger near the spot where I was bred.

For oh! to think of what we both enjoy'd,
In my life's prime, ere I was old and poor!
When from the jocund morn to eve employ'd,
My gracious Mafter on this back I bore!

IV.

Thrice told ten years, have danced on down along, Since first thefe way-worn limbs to him I gave; Sweet fmiling years! when both of us were young,The kindeft mafter, and the happiest slave.

V.

Ah, years fweet-fmiling, now for ever flown,

Ten years thrice told, alas, are as a day! Yet, as together we are aged grown,

Let us together wear our age away.

VI.

For ftill the times, long paft, are dear to thought,
And rapture mark'd each minute as it flew,
To youth, and joy, all change of feafons brought,
Pains that were foft, or pleasures that were new.

VII.

Ev'n when thy lovefick heart felt fond alarms,
Alternate throbbing with its hopes and fears;
Did I not bear thee to the fair one's arms,
Affure thy faith, and dry up all thy tears?

And

VIII.

And haft thou fix'd my death, fweet mafter, fay?
And wilt thou kill thy fervant, old and poor?
A little longer let me live, I pray,

A little longer hobble round thy door.

IX.

Ah, could't thou bear to fee thy fervant bleed?
Ev'n tho' thy pity has decreed his fate,
And yet, in vain thy heart for life fhall plead,
If Nature has deny'd a longer date.

X.

Alas! I feel, 'tis Nature dooms my death,
I feel, too fure, 'tis Pity deals the blow;
But ere it falls, oh Nature take my breath,
And my kind Mafter shall no bloodshed know,

XI.

Ere the last hour of my allotted life,

A fofter fate fhall end me, old and poor;
Timely fhall fave me from th' uplifted knife,
And gently ftretch me at my master's door.

Suffer me to connect with this, the poetical addrefs of my own old horfe, to the noble patroness who faved him from death.

THE

THE GLEANER's STEED

TO

THE COUNTESS OF STRATHMORE.

Who preferved her from Labour and Famine after One-and-twenty Years hard Work.

Written in Mr. Pope's Gardens.

AS late my maker, not to fame unknown,
Who, touch'd with pity," mark'd me for his own;"
Ev'n when-ah fate fevere!-difeas'd I lay,

To pain, to want, and fiercer MAN a prey:

Weak, old, and poor, when not a friend was nigh,

1

Till He was fent by fav'ring fympathy--

As late my mafter gently rode along,

In June's fair morning, meditating fong,

We faw, at length, fam'd Twick'nam's tuneful fhade,
Seat of the Mufe, and fervent thus I pray'd:
O foul of him, who once these scenes adorn'd,
Friend of the gentle Gay, who never scorn'd
Our hapless tribe, but taught us to rehearse
Our wants, our wishes, hopes and fears, in verfe;
Taught us to triumph o'er the reafoning brute,
And made us often umpire in difpute;
Do thou, on this bleft spot, thy lay impart,
That speaks the language of a grateful heart.
Ah,
grant the power in numbers to relate,
How much I owe the foother of my fate;
To her, whofe kind and hofpitable care
Preferv'd my being in the laft defpair.

I have obferved to you that the Mufe of Sympathy gleaned these lines in Mr. Pope's gardens at Twickenham; but the fame vifit, you remember, was productive of a few verses facred to the delightful bard, whose poetick scenes the Writer was then furveying. This is the place to preserve them, and you fay they were worthy of preferva. tion. They were written an hour after leaving the place; and here they are:

DEEM not, O fpirit of the bard divine,
I came a spoiler to thy tuneful fhrine,
Tho' from thy confecrated tree I bore

One weeping fpray, and robb'd thy mineral flore!
With more than pilgrim fervor to my breast,
The facred reliques were devoutly preft:

Full of the power that mark'd the hallow'd spot,
"Where nobly penfive, St. John fat and thought."
In every nerve I felt the kindling flame;

And warm from thee, the infpiration came,

From thee ALONE-untouch'd by "Stanhope's fcope";
The fcenes that charm'd me were the fcenes of Pork.

But as the day on which these lines were written, was wholly dedicated to the Mufe, so I beg may be this letter, which shall be closed by one more home-made copy of verfes, on a heart-felt pccafion, the alarming fickness of my beloved Mr.

Potter.

Potter.

This is a tribute which the world will

accept with fmiles for the fake of the fubject:

If magic fong, by every Muse inspir'd,
Enrich'd by fcience, and by genius fir'd;
If wit, by wisdom chaften'd and refin'd,
Learning's ftrong power, with fancy's glow combin'd;
If generous paffions, by the foul approv'd,
And gentleft feelings, never weakly mov'd;
If virtues, fuch as thefe, may claim thy care,
Giver of health! attend a fuppliant's prayer."
With healing on his wing, thy angel fend
To fave the bard, the father, and the friend!

The prayer was heard. My venerable friend yet lives, to the triumph of your friend, and the world.

LETTER XLVIII.

ΤΟ THE SAME.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Haarlem.

NOTWITHSTANDING my avowed

and inveterate quarrel with brick and mortar, I fhould be ftrongly tempted to woo the defcriptive Mufe, and make a long paufe in this charming

town,