But who is he, whose brows exalted bear A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air? (So heav'n ordains it) on the deftin❜d wall. eyes. Thus, gen'rous Critic, as thy, Bard infpires, By thee difpos'd, no farther toil demand, But, just to Nature, own thy forming hand. So fpread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole unknown, Ev'n Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone. 1 Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's dialogue on the Odyssey. Their own Ulyffes scarce had wander'd more, When rais'd by Fate, fome former HANMER join'd A fond alliance with the Poet's name. A SONG FROM SHAKESPEAR's CYMBELINE. Sung by GUIDERUS and AR VIRAGUS Over FIDELE, fuppofed to be dead. By the Same. I. O fair Fidele's graffy tomb T° Soft maids and village hinds fhall bring Each op'ning fweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring. II. No II. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with fhrieks this quiet grove: And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch fhall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew ; The red-breaft oft at ev'ning hours With hoary mofs, and gather'd flow'rs, To deck the ground where thou art laid. V. When howling winds, and beating rain, In tempests shake the fylyan cell, Or 'midst the chace on every plain, The tender thought on thee fhall dwell. VI. Each lonely scene fhall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly fhed: Belov'd, 'till life could charm no more, VOL. IV. F ELE Say, thou dear poffeffor of my breast, Where now's my boasted liberty and rest! Where the gay moments which I once have known, O where that heart I fondly thought my own! From place to place I folitary roam, Abroad uneafy, nor content at home. I fcorn the beauties common eyes adore, The more I view them, feel thy worth the more; And only think on thee who art not there. I In In vain would books their formal fuccour lend, And wisdom fhews the ill without the cure. And could I fpeak with eloquence and ease, Own thou haft foften'd my obdurate mind, My humble fighs shall only reach thy ears, And now (for more I never must pretend) |