Fortune, however poor, was kind. Supremely gracious Deity, Corrector of the mind! Thus Charles, with justice styl'd the great And from a throne to shades withdraws; His yoke the willing Persian bore: In vain the Saracen complied, And fierce Northumbrians stain'd with gore. One Gallic farm his cares confin'd; And all from thee, Supremely gracious Deity, Composer of the mind! Observant of th' almighty will, Prescient in faith, and pleas'd with toil, Abram Chaldea left, to till The moss-grown Haran's flinty soil: Supremely gracious Deity, ANONYMOUS. FROM THE ANNUAL REGISTER FOR 1774. VERSES. Copied from the window of an obscure lodging-house, in the neighbourhood of London. STRANGER! Whoe'er thou art, whose restless mind, From her white breast retreat all rude alarms, While souls exchanged alternate grace acquire, EDWARD LOVIBOND. BORN DIED 1775. EDWARD LOVIBOND was a gentleman of fortune, who lived at Hampton, in Middlesex, where he chiefly amused himself with the occupations of rural economy. According to the information of Mr. Chalmers, he was a director of the East India Company. He assisted Moore in his periodical paper called the “ World,” to which he contributed “ The Tears of Old May-Day," and four other papers, THE TEARS OF OLD MAY-DAY. WRITTEN ON THE REFORMATION OF THE CALENDAR. LED by the jocund train of vernal hours And vernal airs, up rose the gentle May; Blushing she rose, and blushing rose the flow'rs That sprung spontaneous in her genial ray. Her locks with heaven's ambrosial dews were bright, Imperial ensigns grac'd her smiling form, A golden key and golden wand she bore; This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm, And that unlocks the summer's copious store. Onward in conscious majesty she came, The grateful honours of mankind to taste: To gather fairest wreaths of future fame, And blend fresh triumphs with her glories past. Vain hope! no more in choral bands unite Brush the light dew-drops from the spangled lawn. To her no more Augusta's wealthy pride No more the Maypole's verdant height around Wake the loud carol, and the sportive dance, Sudden in pensive sadness droop'd her head, Faint on her cheeks the blushing crimson died"O! chaste victorious triumphs, whither fled? "My maiden honours, whither gone?" she cried. Ah! once to fame and bright dominion born, The first, the fairest daughter of the skies. Then, when at heav'n's prolific mandate sprung Hail'd the glad dawn, and angels call'd me May. Space in her empty regions heard the sound, And shouting planets in their courses sung. For ever then I led the constant year; Saw youth, and joy, and love's enchanting wiles; Saw the mild graces in my train appear, And infant beauty brighten in my smiles. No Winter frown'd. In sweet embrace allied, With Autumn's blush, and Summer's lofty mien. Too soon, when man profan'd the blessings giv'n, With bright Astrea to my native heav'n |