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C O N T E N T S.

Fox 223


Fitzpatrick 217 Verses sent to a young Lady with the new edition of Shakespeare

Carlisle 221 Verfcs on Mrs. Crewe Rhapsody on Taste

Carlise 215 Elegy written in the Garden of a Friend Mason 227 Elegy written in a Country Church Yard

Gray 231 Elegy on Captain Cook

Seward 237 Death of Alico

Edwards 249 Monody to the Memory of Lady Lyttleton

Lyttletor 251 Verses making part of an Epitaph on the same Lady

ditto-751 Monody ! on Major Andre 1 i Bervard 363

. 263 Ode to John Howard, Esq;

Hayley 381 2


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H! who can tell how hard it is to climb

A The wheep where Fante's proud temple thinesafár !

Ah! who can tell how many a foul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant ftar,
And wag d with Fortune an eternal war!
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
And Poverty's unconquerable bar,

In life's low vale remote has pined alone,
Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!

II. And yet, the languor of inglorious days, Not equally oppressive is to all. Hini who ne'er liften'd to the voice of praise, The filence of neglect can ne'er appal. There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Wou'd shrink to hear th'obftreperous trump of Fame * Supremely blest if to their portion Call

Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had He, whose fimple tale these artless lines prom III. This sapient age disclaims all classic lore ; Else I thould here in cunning phrase display, How forth The Minstrel fared in days of yore,. Right glad of heart, though homely in array ; His waving locks and beard all hoary grey : And, from his bending shoulder, decent hung His harp, the fole companion of his way,

Which to the whilling wind responsive rung: And ever as he went fome merry lay lie sung.

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IV. Fret not yourselves, ye filken fons of pride, That a poor wanderer Mould inspire my train, The muses fortune's fickle smile deride, Nor ever bow the knee in Mammon's fane ; Tf their delights are with the village train, Whom nature's law's engage, and nature's charms : They hate the sensual, and (corn the vain ;

The parasite their influence never warms, Nor him whose sordid soul the love of wealth alarms.

Though. richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,
Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.
Rife, fons of harmony, and hail the morni,
While warbliog larks on rusiet pinions float ;
Or feck at noon the woodland scene remote,
Where the grey linnets carol from the hill.
o let them ne'er with artificial note,

To please a tyrant, Atrain the litue bill,
But fing what heaven inspires, and wander where they


Liberal, not lavish, is kind nature's hand;
Nor was perfection inade for man below.
Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd,
Good counteracting ill, and gladness wo.
With gold and.gems if Chilian mountains glowige

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