This Queen of sightless equity
Chances at any time to turn,
Is undeniably the best.

Haply your candour may incline
To bid me the faint notes prolong,
Since, scorning meanly to repine,
Tho' the coy nymphs of Pindus' hill
Their much-requested aid deny,
Self-soothed, with accents harsh and shrill,
I breathe an unambitious song.
Could my invention soar on high
With yours, together would we rove,
And gleaning each neglected sweet,
From that imaginary grove

Where Beauty and where Virtue meet,
With blooming myrtle, Gallia's pride,
Braid laurels from Ilyssus' side,
And strew the wreath at Plato's feet;
Or tread Leucate's haughty brow
Where, moved with energy divine,
In days of more heroic mold,
Hopeless, yet resolutely bold,
The Lover pour'd at Phœbus' shrine
A last irrevocable vow,

Nor fear'd to tempt the raging tide;
Thence, while the big tears down her cheek

Steals copiously, bid Nature speak,

And near the gulph where Sappho died,
O'er the huge cliffs exposed and bare,
Erect the trophies of Despair.

Such were the themes your voice approv❜d;
Nor should fastidious Fancy ask
A scope more large, a nobler task,
When, by each prejudice unmov'd;

She dares to snatch from public hate, d
From the high Vulgar's empty scorn,
Actions irregularly great,

Or sentiments that might adorn
Lyceum's archives, ere in dust,
With brutal shouts, an impious band
The towers of fam'd Erectheus laid1;
And where the Patriot's awful bust
Had dignified the palmy shade,
The Turkish crescent flam'd.-To close
My baffled soul's aspiring views,
See Boreas comes with frozen hand,
And while you altar of the Muse
With kindled incense blazes, throws,
To damp it, Winter's sickly dews.

Yet tho' unbraced, my torpid lyre
Denies to breathe one tuneful note,
Tho' in these leafless shades the throat
Of Philomel, with all the quire
Of feather'd harmonists, is mute,
And tempests rage, 'tis you alone,
I ask no other aid, can suit
My spirits to some livelier tone:
Come then, and, to induce you more,
Melissa will with smiles attend
To welcome her expected friend;
And haply from Italia's shore
Returning, virtu's choicest store
Will-

-import; or He, whose soul

With letter'd elegance refin'd
Brings Aristippus to our mind,
While the swift hours unheeded fly
Mix with the circulating bowl
His unconstrain'd festivity.

While thus to our obscure recess
The social Pleasures wing their way
In calm tranquillity, I bless
These howling blasts and fleecy snows,
Inclement Winter's dread array,
Convinc'd that all is for the best:
Since Friendship's stream unfrozen flows,
Unlike the giddy throngs we find,
Whose wishes float with every wind,
Gladly can I those pleasures spare
With which tumultuous cities ring,
And much prefer this chilling air
To all the vaunted flowers of Spring.

1767.

SONG.

WHEN forc'd from thee, my soul's delight,
What cares distract my throbbing breast!
My anxious day, my anxious night,
Strangers alike to rest:

For though I know thee still sincere,
Yet love is full of doubt and fear.

How vain the joys that tempt the eye,
And music melting on the ear!
Indifferent to each sight am I,

Aud every sound I hear:

A body only's left with me,
For still my soul attends on thee.
As, when the Sun withdraws his ray,
Clos'd is the snow-drop's lilied cup;
So shuts my heart, when thou'rt away,
And locks thy image up.

How long shall then this night remain,
Till thou unlock my heart again?

R. FENTON, ESQ.

ODE.

BY MR. SHAW.

Ask not why oft my charmed sight
I bend along that lawn and grove,
Ask not why thus my steps delight
Along that mountain side to rove,
Nor ask why by that wandering brook,
I linger long with earnest look.

That lawn and grove no scenes display,
That other lawns and groves surpass;
Dark pines that mountain side array,
And thinly shade its walks of grass;
Thro' whispering reeds that streamlet glides,
And humble osiers crown its sides.

But, ah! this is the well-known space,
Seen after tedious years are past,
Within whose bound which well I trace,
My part of sprightly youth was cast:
My infant steps have trod this green,
These banks my early sports have seen.

O! haunts, long from my sight withdrawn,
Oft to my mind by fancy brought,
How gladly now I trace each lawn,
Where jocund youth its pleasures sought,
Where I was wont in careless play
With Lycon oft to waste the day.

Can'st thou not tell, O limpid stream!
For far we stray'd not from thy side,
How oft to shun the summer beam,

We wont to plunge into thy tide,
How oft we swept thy ice-bound flood,
When winter stirr'd our youthful blood?

Together by the tinkling rill

We bent our sportive bows at morn, Together round the pine-clad hill

We urg'd the chace with sounding horn, Or to the hazeł bank retir'd,

We sung what oft the Muse inspir❜d.

But, ah! how happy was that day,
When love first taught me her soft law,
When in the shades in early May,

The blooming Myra first I saw:
How beauteous was she by that wood!
How gazing on the nymph I stood!

From yonder mead, to grace her hair,
I cull'd the lily and fresh rose,
In yonder bower, to soothe the fair,
Soft numbers for my reed I chose;
We sat beneath yon poplar shade,
These willows heard the vows we made.

.

But why these scenes should I retrace,
Nor seek to taste such joys again?

The lawn, the grove, each well-known place,

The hill and limpid stream remain ;

The poplars green their shadows spread,

And May with fresh flowers crowns the mead.