To meet fair health upon the mountain's fide :
There, while blue mitts the lower vallies hide,
Health and her rofe-lipt zephyrs meet, to pay
Their balmy fragrance to the new-born day.
When Evening hovers, in her noifeless car,
Upon the fhadowy bofom of the air,
What time the ftar, that bids the dews arife,
Drinks the last radiance of the western fkies,
And Nature breathes refresh'd-quick let my feet,
Retirement! haften to thy lov'd retreat:
There, while each paffion calm'd, and wifh refin'd,
Expand the heart, and elevate the mind;
Let Fancy bear me to th' immortal clime,
Where POESY, above the moon fublime,
With Infpiration dwells-Or, let me hold
Converfe with fages of the years of old;
And gleaning ev'ry truth and moral art,
Treafure the living harvest in my heart.
H me! what countlefs myriads lie entomb'd,
To deep forgetfulness for ever doom'd,
Who once adorn'd life's active stage,
Who fhone the wonders, of their age,
And hop'd pofterity to charm,
By their atchievements to difarm
Time's ruthless all-oppofing force,
And give their fame an endless courfe!
No more, alas! are heard the high acclaims
That promis'd to tranfmit the glory of their names.
Thofe very names have long on earth been loft:
In folemn filence funk their loudest boast!
Soon were their gaudy enfigns torn;
Soon were their gilded fcutcheons worn;
Their marble monuments no more
Are feen to tell they liv'd before:
All, all is vanish'd like a dream.
Yet pride fill hopes to be the theme
Of praise unwearied to the wond'ring world;"
Nor fears to be forgot, when from its confines hurl'd!
While you are acting your allotted part,
Well-tim'd applaufe, no doubt, will chear the heart,
Your languid powers demand fuch aid;
Without it virtue foon would fade.
Virtue, alas! is weak at best,
And flight her hold upon the breast.
Self-love could ne'er content the mind:
She feeks the fanction of her kind.
But when Heav'n's awful verdict once is past,
What can avail to her Fame's fondeft, loudest blaft?
Or grant its notes could pierce the car of Death;
They could not yet reftore the vital breath,
Or call forth pleasure in the tomb,
Or change or fix your final doom.
The world's joint plaudit ftill were vain:
Each foul would in the place remain,
Align'd her by the Judge fupreme,
Whofe approbation, or whofe blame,
Muft ftamp the colour of her fate,
In that untry'd, unfeen, and dread eternal state.
VIRTUE and ORNAMENT: an ODE to the LADIES.
[From the fame Publication.]
HE diamond's and the ruby's rays
Shine with a milder, finer flame,
And more attract our love and praise
Than beauty's felf, if loft to fame.
But the fweet tear in pity's eye
Tranfcends the diamond's brightest beams;
And the foft blush of Modesty
More precious than the ruby seems.
The glowing gem, the sparkling stone,
May ftrike the fight with quick furprise;
But Truth and Innocence alone
Can ftill engage the good and wife.
No glitt❜ring ornament or show
Will aught ava 1 in grief or pain:
Only from inward worth can flow
Delight that ever shall remain.
Behold ye fair, your lovely queen!
'Tis not her, jewels, but her mind;
A meeker, purer, ne'er was feen;
It is her virtue charms mankind! .
PROLOGUE to the HEIRESS.
By the Right Hon. RICHARD FITZPATRICK.
S fprightly fun-beams gild the face of day,
When low'ring tempeits calmly glide away,
So when the poet's dark horizon clears,
Array'd in fmiles, the Epilogue appears.
She of that houfe the lively emblem ftill,
Whose brilliant fpeakers ftart what themes they will ;
Still varying topics for her fportive rhymes,
From all the follies of thefe fruitful times;
Uncheck'd by forms, with flippant hand may cull,
Prologues, like Peers, by privilege are dull.
In folemn ftrain address th' affembled pit,
The legal judges of dramatic wit,
Confining fill, with dignify'd decorum,
Their obfervations to the play before 'em.
Now when each bachelor a helpmate lacks,
(That fweet exemption from a double tax)
When laws are frain'd with a benignant plan
Of lightning burdens on the married man,
And Hymen adds one folid comfort more,
To all thofe comforts he conferr'd before;
To fmooth the rough laborious road to fame,
Our bard has chofen an alluring name.
As wealth in wedlock oft is known to hide
The imperfections of a homely bride,
This tempting title, he perhaps expects,
May heighten beauties-and conceal defects:
Thus Sixty's wrinkles view'd through Fortune's glass,
The rofy dimples of Sixteen furpafs:
The modern Suitor graps his fair one's hand,
O'erlooks her perfon, and adores—her land;
Leers on her houfes with an egling eye,
O'er her rich acres heaves an am'rous tigh,
His heart-felt pangs through groves of-timber vents,
And runs distracted for- her three per cents.
Will thus the poet's mimic Heirefs find,
The bridegroom critic to her failings blind,
Who claims, alas! his nicer tafte to hit,
The lady's portion paid in fierling wit?
On your decrees, to fix her future fate,
Depends our Heiress for her whole eftate:
Rich in your fimiles, the charms th' admiring town;
A very bankrupt, fhould you chance to frown:
O may a verdict given in your applaufe,-
Pronounce the profp'rous iffue of her caufe,
Confirm the name an ancient parent gave her,
And prove her HEIRESS of-the Public favour.
HE Comic Mufe, who here erects her fhrine,
To court your offerings, and accepts
of mine,
Sends me to state an anxious author's plea,
And wait with humble hope this court's decree.
By no prerogative will fhe decide,
She vows an English jury is her pride.
Then for our HIRESS-forc'd from finer air,
That lately fann'd her plumes in Berkeley-square;
Will the be helpless in her new refort,
And find no friends about the Inns of Court?
Sages, be candid, though you hate a knave,
Sure, for example, you'll a Rightly fave.
Be kind for once, ye clerks-ye fportive Sirs,
Who haunt our theatres in boots and fpurs,
So may you fafely prefs your nightly hobby,
Run the whole ring-and end it in the lobby.
Lovers of truth, be kind, and own that here,
That love is ftrain'd as far as it will bear.
Poets may write-Philofophers may drean-
But would the world bear truth in the extreme?
What, not one Blandish left behind! not one!
Poets are mute, and painters all undone :
Where are thofe charms that nature's term furvive,
The maiden bloom that glows at forty-five?
Truth takes the pencil-wrinkle-freckles-fquint,
The whole's transform'd-the devil's in't,
Dimples turn fcars, the fmile becomes a fcowl!
The hair the ivy-bufh, the face the owl.
But fhall an author mock the fl tterer's pow'r?
Oh, might you all be Blandishes this hour!
Then would the candid jurors of the pit,
Grant their mild paffport to the realms of wit;
Then would I mount the car where oft I ride,
And place the favour'd culprit by my fide.
To aid our flight-one fashionable hint-
See my authority- a Morning Print —
"We learn"- obferve it ladies-" France's Queen,
"Loves, like our own, a heart-directed fcene;
"And while each thought fhe weighs, each beauty fcans, "Breaks, in one night's applaufe, a fcore of fans!"
Beating her fan against her hand. Adopt the mode, ye belles-fo end my prattle, And fhew how you'll out-do a Bourbon rattle.
[From an ODE to SUPERSTITION, &c.]
EAR is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and warbles there;
Clofe by my cot fhe tells her tale
To ev'ry paffing villager.
The fquirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And fhells his nuts at liberty.
In orange groves and myrtle bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,
I charm the fairy-footed hours
With my lov'd lute's romantic found;
Or crowns of living laurel weave,
For thofe that win the race at eve.
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
'The ballet danc'd in twilight glade,
The canzonet and roundelay
Sung in the filent green-wood fhade;
Thefe fimple joys, that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.
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