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Others who hate, yet want the soul to dare, So ruin bards—as beaux deceive the fair: On the pleas'd ear their soft deceits employ; Smiling they wound, and praise but to destroy. ze These are th’ unhappy crimes of modern days, And can the best of poets hope for praise
How small a part of human blessings share
Attend, ye Britons, in so just a cause, 'Tis sure a scandal to with-hold applause; Nor let posterity reviling say, Thus unregarded Fenton pass'd away! Yet if the Muse may faith and merit claim _ (A Muse too just to bribe with venal fame), Soon shalt thou shine “in majesty avow’d; “As thy own goddess breaking through a cloud.” Fame, like a nation-debt, though long delay'd, With mighty interest must at last be paid. - 40
Like Vinci's strokes, thy verses we behold,
And the soft sorrow steals from every eye.
Muse ! at that name each thought of pride recall,
jAMES THOMSON, ESQ.
ON HIS SEASONS.
From sunless worlds, where Phoebus seldom smiles,
But with his evening wheels hangs o'er our isles;
Greets our rough rocks, and bleak Hibernian shore:
Thou, Thomson, bad'st my fingers wake the strings,
So the wing'd bees that idly rove along, (Renown'd alike for sweets as those for song) If the shrill brass invite them from the sky, In dusky clusters round the music fly.
c- And the wild waste in sable spots appear;
Blest Bard I with what new lustre dost thou rise,
So round Iulus' temples, blazing bright! –
Beneath thy touch, Description paints anew,
In various drapery see the rolling year,
a- lo'er the black heath the bittern stalks alone." -
Engulph'd in bogs behold his muddy beak, -
But chief the sweetest passion best you sing, g '4. The grove's soft theme, and symphony of Spring: ** How brindled lions roar with fierce desire,
And burns though circled round with all his waves.
A sudden flash of lightning turns my eye - a To thunder rumbling in the Summer skyl Beneath thy hand the flaming sheet is spread O'er heaven's wide face, and wraps it round with red; with the broad blaze the kindling lines grow bright, or And all the glowing page is fill'd with light; 42 Zoo o Through the rough verse the thunder hoarsly roars, c. TAnd on red wings the nimble lightning soars: " Here thy Amelia starts, and, chill'd with fears, At every flash her eye-lids swim in tears; What heart but beats for so divine a form, Pale as a lily sinking in the storm 1 : What maid so cold to take a lover's part, But pities Celadon with all her heart 1