FROM do y volumes and your Audy fteal, On Cicero's lore how lift'ning fenates hung, To hear agam what Friendship can't conceal; And caught the flowing accents from his And, while the Mafe her just presentment
Frown not levere, exulting as the fings;
Bar till permut her tributary loys
To weave their ivy with your civic hays;
With no fine phrenzy" darting from her eye,
Or mae'c pow's like COWPER OF like PYE.
Who drain from Gothic manufcripts the ftore,
Or warms his brealt with philofophic lore?
Whether of critic or historic fame,
Holding the mirror up to Folly's thame;
With inborn freedom, and a gen'rous rage,
Soft'ning for innocence the moral page,
TO URBAN'S Dame the joyful ftrains belong, You bribe the partial reader into praife, Suellow the verf, and his renown prolong: And throw a glory roued the fofter'd lays. For not confir'd to Europe was his n. me, Pleas'd to be led to intellectual day, Remeren quarters, ev'ry clime proclim:
URBAN'S the guide who points the nearest way, A Sage advanc'd in years, yet floth as youth, This tafte for letters while they keep in figtet, Wote blanteleis page reports but moral truth; B. imitation reach fublimeft height;
Wi ere no polem c metaph; fic ftrain
From Wifdont's shrine, their offerings to the
Refin'd by truth, in grateful incense rise.
How happy they whom joys like thine await,
Above the vulgar less, or vulgar great;
Dave theke calm Setence in her antient reign
Renote fion crowds he reads the vale of life;
Nor macty plunges in pernicious fefe;
But digs the ore from Name's deepest mine,
And pours her fecret ftores a: Freedom'sthrine; Who lib'ral arts as well as minds pofiefs,
Freedom, which equal bounds at once divide To dignity themfelves, their country blefs!
From fervile meanteefs, and licentious pride. For thers is worth fublime, to them are due
Is here a youth, whose breast ambition fires, Our grateful thanks for what they here purfue.
Blett beyond measure is the man, who feels
Th' attendant bleffings Literature yields;
Him thall Philofophy's bright garland crown,
And luftre-giving Wildom call her own;
Hs mind big-fwelling then small rise elate,
Height'ning the comforts of this mortal state;
Disdaming servile, rich, illiterate pride,
Who feeks for truth, to ne blest heiglits afpires?
Of Learning's mysteries or the flated laws,
That give to every confequence their caufe?
Jom'd to thy learned train, his lafting name
Shines in thy Monthly Register of Fame.
Still, to divert or foothe the anxious mind,
Rare flowers of Poefy we scatter'd find;
Culi'd near those streamswhich Helicon infuse, While Wisdom, Genius, Science, are his guide;
With thength of thought, and f..ncy to the Muse. Delighting where brisk Fancy can explore,
Is there who feeks what lofty Homer thought, And strike out Heav'n from what was
How Virgil flow'd, what Plato's wisdom taught?)
H. LEMOINE.
CHRISTENINGS and BURIALS from December 9, 1800, to December 15, 1801.
clomorin the Wombo Suffocated
*There have been executed in Middlesex and Surrey, 23; of which number I only have
been reported to be buried (as such) within the Bills of Mortality.
(NICHOLS and Sox, Printers, Red-Lion-Pallage, Flect-Street]
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