Lyttelton my honour'd gueft, The fong should please mankind. VERSES written towards the Clofe of the HOW blithely pafs'd the fummer's day! While friends arriv'd, in circles gay, To vifit Damon's bower! But now, with filent ftep, I range And Damon's bower, alas the change! In queft of joy they steer; Ah let me not, with heavy eye, Hafte, Winter, hafte; ufurp the sky; Compleat my bower's decay. Ill can I bear the motly caft Yon fickening leaves retain; At home unbleft, I gaze around, Though Thomson, sweet descriptive bard! "Yet how fhould we the months regard, Ah luckless months, of all the reft, And fee, the fwallows now difown The wood-nymph eyes, with pale affright, While hounds and horns and yells unite To drown the Mufe's reed. Ye fields with blighted herbage brown, Ye skies no longer blue! Too much we feel from fortune's frown, To bear these frowns from you. Where Where is the mead's unfully'd green? The zephyr's balmy gale? And where sweet friendship's cordial mien, That brighten'd every vale ? What though the vine disclose her dyes, And boast her purple ftore;' Can foothe our forrows more. He! he is gone, whofe moral train Faft by the streams he deign'd to praife, To him a votive urn I raise; To him, and friendly love. Yes there, my friend! forlorn and fad, There shall my plaintive fong recount There leaves, in fpite of Autumn green, Shall fhade the hallow'd ground; And Spring will there again be feen, To call forth flowers around, But no kind funs will bid me share, LOVE AND MUSI C. Written at Oxford, when young. SHALL Love alone for ever claim An univerfal right to fame, An undifputed fway? Or has not Music equal charms, To fill the breast with strange alarms, The Thracian Bard, as Poets tell, Ev'n Pluto's nicer ear: His arts, no more than Love's, we find Drew brutes in crouds to hear. : Whatever favourite paffion reign'd, In milder lays the Bard began ; And And echoing charm'd the place: See! fawning lions gaze around, And, taught to quit their favage found, Affume a gentler grace. When Cymon view'd the fair-one's charms, Her ruby lips, and fnowy arms, And told her beauties o'er: When love reform'd his awkward tone, The Bard now tries a sprightlier sound, The foaring lark the note pursues ; An equal power of Love I 've seen And chace his barking foe. Sometimes has Love, with greater might, When Silvia treads the smiling plain, When Handel's folemn accents roll, In fweet confufion loft. If the her melting glances dart, Or he his dying airs impart, |