Thus wrapt all o'er with fondeft love,
Why heaves this broken figh?
For then my blood forgets to move,
I gaze, adore, and die.

Accept, my charming maid, the ftrain
Which you alone infpire;

To thee the dying ftrings complain

That quiver on my lyre.

O! give this bleeding bofom ease,
That knows no joy but thee;
Teach me thy happy art to please,
Or deign to love like me.

ROYAL-GEORGE,
August 2.

W. F.

W

An É LE GY.

To CELIA in the COUNTRY.

HILE nature's charms arife in grand array, And vernal beauties deck the fmiling year, Fair Cælia wifely takes the rural way, Where new delights in various drefs appear.

In the fweet groves and the delicious vales

Her richeft treafures lib'ral nature hides ;
There the cool riv'lets and the balmy gales,
And virtue there with folitude refides.

Not there ambition dwells, nor haughty pow'r,
Nor flatt'ring fortune, treacherously kind,
True pleasure grows, nor fades the lovely flow'r,
For virtue chears the felf-poffeffing mind.

From

From field to field with fresh delight we pas,
While pure affections raife the facred flame,
The wholesome herbage, and the pearly grafs,
Exalt the mind, and tell their MAKER's name.

The ruftic here no beauty can difcern,

Without a thought he turns the fertile clod;
But Oh would fuch of pious Cælia learn,
The rudeft peafant were a man of God!

The early lark would join the finging (wain !
With double blifs the thankful plough-boy feast!
Each heart a victim! every grove a fane!

Each clod an altar! and each boor a priest !

Such were the fcene, had Cælia drawn the lines,
For fuch the courfe her steady foul maintains,
Alike at friendship's board her virtue fhines,
And treads alike the folitary plains.

And Calia's walks an happy 'femblance tell
Of better realms in nobler worlds above,
Where kindred-fouls in countless myriads dwell,
Compos'd of peace, of innocence, and love.

O. H.

To the Rev. Mr. HANBURY, of Church-Langton, Leicestershire, on his PLANTATIONS.

W

HILE vain perfuits a trifling race engage,
And virtue flumbers in a thriftless age,

*

Thy glorious plan, on deep foundations laid,

Which aiding nature, nature's bound to aid,

* Ste Mr. Hanbury's Effay on Planting.

VOL. I.

The

The wife man's ftudy, tho' the blockhead's fcorn,
Shall speak for ages to a world unborn.

Though fools deride, for cenfure's still at hand
To damn the work fhe cannot understand,
Perfue thy project with an ardour fit;
Fools are but whetstones to a man of wit.

Like puling infants feem'd thy rifing plan,
Now knit in ftrength, it fpeaks an active man.
So the broad oak, which from thy grand defign
Shall spread aloft, and tell the world 'twas thine,
A ftrip'ling first, just peep'd above the ground,
Which, ages hence, fhall fling its fhade around.

L.

Sent to a LADY, with a SEAL.

H' impreffion which this feal fhall make,

TH

The rougher hand of force may break 5
Or jealous time, with flow delay,

May all its traces wear away;
But neither time nor force combin'd,
Shall tear thy image from my mind;

Nor fhall the fweet impreffion fade

Which CHLOE's thousand charms have made;

For fpite of time, or force, or art,

'Tis feal'd for ever on my heart.

The

t

The HARE and PARTRIDGE.

A

FABL E.

T

HE fun had now retir'd to reft,

The Sportsman's clam'rous Gun fuppreft,

A Partridge, on an heath alone,
Sat making melancholy moan.

Full-oft fhe heav'd the deep-fetch'd figh,
When Pufs by chance came limping by,
And kindly with'd her to impart
The grief that wrung her lab'ring heart;
Herfelf, no ftranger to distress,
Wou'd pity, cou'd she not redress;
Not fhe, like many an human elf,
That has no feeling but for self;
So mean a wretch to reason thus,
"Thank heav'n! 'tis not fo bad with Pufs."

Welcome, dear friend! the bird replies,

A friend in need

how rare a prize!

Thy tender breaft, full well I know,

For ever melts at other's woe,

And fain would heal thy neighbour's grief,

But mine fuperior, mocks relief.

Yet at thy inftance I will tell
What fad difafter late befell.
A tale it is that fure muft make
Any but human hearts to ache,
Much more thy feeling fenfe to yearn,
And fympathize with kind concern;
This very morn our covey lay
All basking in the sunny ray ;
I faw them all, transporting fight!
Full-fledg'd and plump, in happy plight,
Q 2

Their

Their number full, tho' quite a fcore,
What could a parent with for more!
But long before the fetting fun,
They all fell victims to the gun.
Oh vile unfeather'd two-legg'd kind,
In cruelty alone refin'd!

Oh! miferable feather'd folk,

Who groan beneath their iron yoke!
How long, how long fhall the creation
Be harrafs'd with their ufurpation!

She ceaft and wept the friendly hare
Mingled her unavailing tear,

Then thus

Thy forrow must be great,

For truly piteous is thy fate

But ftrive one moment to fufpend
Thy grief, and liften to thy friend,
Haply fome hint I may fuggeft
Will calm the tumult of thy breaft.
But left you fay, we're prone to teach,
But not to practife what we preach;

Your cafe is mine.

the fame our woes Partridge and Hare have common foes. Long fince, when Sportfmen thought it hard To be from Birds by Law debarr'd,

'Twas then my Mate and young ones fell,

And live

to run another day

Now what in fuch a fituation

(You'll afk) cou'd give me confolation?

I had no need, thank heav'n! to fly

For comfort to Philofophy,

Ranfack her moralizing lore,

And run her Grief-fpecificks o'er ;

For fample thus

I lov'd fo well.

"What can't be cur'd,"

"When

The proverb fays, "must be endur'd!"—