ANOTHER,

For a Stone erected on a similar occasion at the same place in the following year.

HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r,
In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants, made the publick care,

And taught to seek thy face!

Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day;

And grant us, we implore,

Never to waste in sinful play

Thy holy Sabbath more.

Thanks that we hear-but oh impart

To each desire sincere,

That we may listen with our heart,

And learn as well as hear

For if vain thoughts the minds engage

Of elder far than we,

What hope that at our heedless age
Our minds should e'er be free!

Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.

Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,
A sun that ne'er declines;

And be thy mercies show'r'd on those
Who plac'd us where it shines.*

STANZAS

On the late indecent Liberties taken with the Remains of the great Milton-Anno 1780.

[August, 1790

"ME too, perchance, in future days,
The sculptur'd stone shall show
With Paphian myrtle or with bays
Parnassian on my brow.

*Note by the Editor. This Hymn was written at the request of the Rev. James Bean, then Vicar of Olney, to be sung by the children of the Sunday Schools of that town, after a Charity Sermon, preached at the Parish Church for their benefit, on Sunday, July 31, 1790.

But I, or ere that season come,
Escaped from every care,
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb,
And sleep securely thero."*

So sang, in Roman tone and style,
The youthful bard, ere long
Ordain'd to grace his native islə
With her sublimest song.

Who then but must conceive disdain,
Hearing the deed unblest

Of wretches who have dar'd profane
His dread sepulchral rest?

Ill fare the hands that heav'd the stones
Where Milton's ashes lay,

That trembled not to grasp his bones,
And steal his dust away!

O ill-requited bard! neglect
Thy living worth repaid,
And blind idolatrous respect

As much affronts the dead.

* Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri Fronde comas...At ego secura pace quiescam. Milton in Maaso

TO MRS. KING

ON

Her kind Present to the Author, a Patch-work Coun terpane of her own making.

[August 14, 1790.]

THE Bard, if e'er he feel at all,
Must sure be quicken'd by a call
Both on his heart and head,

To pay with tuneful thanks the care
And kindness of a lady fair,

Who deigns to deck his bed.

A bed like this, in ancient time,
On Ida's barren top sublime,
(As Homer's Epick shows)
Compos'd of sweetest vernal flow'rs,
Without the aid of sun or show'rs,
For Jove and Juno rose.

Less beautiful, however gay,
Is that which in the scorching day
Receives the weary swain

Who, laying his long sithe aside,
Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied,
Till rous'd to toil again.

What labours of the loom I see '
Looms numberless have groan'd for me
Should ev'ry maiden come

To cramble for the patch that bears
The impress of the robe she wears,
The bell would toll for some.

And oh, what havock would ensuc'
This bright display of ev'ry hue
All in a moment fled!

As if a storm should strip the bow'rs
Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flow'rs--
Each pocketing a shred.

Thanks, then, to ev'ry gentle fair
Who will not come to peck me bare
As bird of borrow'd feather,

And thanks, to One, above them all,
The gentle Fair of Pertenhall,
Who put the whole together.

[October, 1790.]

* Certain Potters, while they were busied in baking their ware, seeing Homer at a small distance, and having heard much said of his wisdom, called to him, and promised him a present of their commodity, and of such other things as they could afford, if he would sing to them, when he sang as follows:

PAY me my price, Potters! and I will sing
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm
Protect their oven; let the cups and all
The sacred vessels blacken well, and baked

With good success, yield them both fair renown

*Note by the Editor. No title is prefixed to this piece: but it appears to be a translation of one of the Enуρаμμата of Homer, called 'O Kapivos, or the FurThe prefatory lines are from the Greek of Herodotus, or whoever was the Author of the Life of Homer ascribed to him

nace.