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The changing year's successive pain
Proclaims mortality to man ;
Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sovereign ray;
Then summer finks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again ;
Her lofses soon the moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies,
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will toss us in a morning more?
What with your friend you nobly share
At least you rescue from your heir. .
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd

your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly Nain,
Dinna calls to life in vain;
Nor can the might of Theseus rend
The chains of Hell that hold his friend.

Nov. 1784.

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* The following TRANSLATION, PARODIES, and BUR

LESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, lately published by Mrs. Piozzi.

ANACREON, ODE IX.

L'Whence and whither doft thou fly?
OVELY sky,

?
Scatt'ring, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way :
Is it bufiness? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair ;
Grac'd with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode;
On the bard her dove bestow'd :
Vested with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge, consign'd to me:
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless task without reward ;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits;
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's guest without a home;

1.

C.

Under

Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter d, coarsely fed :
Now my better lot bestows
Sweet repast, and soft repose ;
Now the generous bowl I lip
As it leaves Anacreon's lip :
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread;
Then, with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play;
Or from wine as courage springs,
O’er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolick tire,
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go,
More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply,
I have chatter'd like a pye,

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LINES written in ridicule of certain Poems

published in 1777.
HERESOE'ER I turn my view,

All is ftrange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong;
Phrase that time has Aung away,
Uncouth words in disarray,
Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet,
Ode, and elegy, and fonnet.

PARODY PARODY of a TRANSLATION from the

MEDEA of EURIPIDES.

E
RR shall they not, who resolute explore

Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes ; And, scanning right the practices of yore,

Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise.
They to the dome where Smoke with curling play

Announc'd the dinner to the regions round,
Summon'd the finger blythe, and harper gay,

And aided wine with dulcet-îtreaming found. The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,

By quiv'ring string or modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre-to their harsh bosoms chill

Admission ne'er had fought, or could nor find. Oh! send them to the fullen manfions dun,

Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the

wound. When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,

And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish,

Can yield no room to musick's soothing pow'r.

Vol. I.

M

TRANS

TRANSLATION of the Two First Stanzas of

the Song “ Rio verde, Rio verde," printed in Bishop Percy's Reliques of ancient English Poetry. An IMPROMPTU.

G

LASSY water, glasfy water,

Down whose current clear and strong, Chiefs confus’d in mutual Naughter,

Moor and Christian roll along.

IMITATION of the Style of ****

H

ERMIT hoar, in folemn cell

Wearing out life's evening grey Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell

What is bliss, and which the way. Thus I spoke, and speaking figh’d,

Scarce repress’d the starting tear, When the hoary sage reply'd,

Come, my lad, and drink some beer,

BUR

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