If I must with at all-Desires are free,
High, as the Highest, I would wish to be !
Then might I, sole supreme, act, unconfind,
And with unbounded influence bless mankind.
Mean is that soul, whom its own good can fill'!
A prosperous world, alone, could feast

my

will. He 's poor, at best, who others misery fees, And wants the wish’d-for power to give them ease! A glory this, unreach'd, but on a throne ! All were enough-and, less than all, is none ! This my

first with :-But since 'tis wild, and vain, To grasp at glittering clouds, with fruitless pain, More fafely low, let my next prospect be, And life's mild evening this fair fun-set see. 'Far from a Lord's loath'd neighbourhood a State! Whose little greatness is a pride I hate! On some lone wild, should my large house be placid, Vastly surrounded by a healthful waste! Steril, and coarse, the untry'd foil should be, Till forc'd to flourish, and subdued by me. Seas, woods, meads, mountains, gardens, streams, and

skies, Should, with a changefül grandeur, charm my eyes.! Where-e’er I walk'd, effects of my past pains Should plume the mountain tops, and paint the plainse Greatly obscure, and thunning courts, or. name; Widely befriended, but escaping fame ; Peaceful, in studious quiet, would I live, Lie hid, for leisure, and grow rich, to give!

TO

a

TO MR. SA V A G E,

SON of the late EARL RIVER S.

SINK not, my friend, beneath misfortune’s weight,

Pleas'd to be found intrinsically great. Shame on the dull, who think the soul looks less, Because the body wants a glittering dress. It is the mind's for-ever bright attire, The mind's embroidery, that the wise admire! That which looks rich to the gross vulgar eyes, Is the fop's tinsel, which the grave despise. Wealth dims the eyes of crowds, and while they gaze, The coxcomb 's ne'er discover'd in the blaze! As few the vices of the wealthy see, So virtues are conceal'd by poverty.

Earl Rivers ! - In that nanie how would'st thou shine? Thy verse, how sweet ! thy fancy, how divine ! Critics and Bards would, by their worth, be aw'd, . And all would think it merit to applaud. But thou has nought to please the vulgar eye, No title haft, nor what might titles buy. Thou wilt small praise, but much ill-nature find, Clear to thy errors, to thy beauties blind; And if, though few, they any faults can fee, How meanly bitter will cold censure be! But, since we all, the wisest of us, err, Sure, 'tis the greatest fault to be severe.

A few,

A few, however, yet expect to find,
Among the misty millions of mankind,
Who proudly stoop to aid an injur'd cause,
And o’er the sneer of coxcombs force applause.
Who, with felt pleasure, see fair Virtue rise,
And lift her upwards to the beckoning prize!
Or mark her labouring in the modest breast,
And honour her the more, the more deprest.

Thee, Savage, these (the justly great) admire,
Thee, quick’ning Judgment's phlegm with Fancy's fire!
Thee, low to censure, earneft to commend,
An able critic, but a willing friend.

An EPISTLE to a FRIEND in TOWN *.
HAVE my friends in the town, in the gay busy

town,
Forgot such a man as John Dyer ?
Or heedless despise they, or pity the clown,

Whose bosom no pageantries fire ?
No matter, no matter content in the shades

(Contented ? - why every thing charms me)
Fall in tunes all adown the green steep, ye cascadesy

Till hence rigid virtue alarms me.
Till outrage arises, or misery needs

The swift, the intrepid avenger;
Till sacred religion or liberty bleeds,
Then mine be the deed, and the danger.

Alas! * Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, there is one to Mr. Dyer, in answer to his from the country.

Alas! what a folly, what wealth and domain

We heap up. in fin and in sorrow! Immense is the toil, yet the labour how vain !

Is not life to be over to-morrow?

Then glide on my moments, the few that I have

Smooth-fhaded, and quiet, and even ; While gently the body descends to the grave,

And the spirit arises to heaven.

TO MR. DYER. BY CLIO*,

I

VE done thy merit and my friendship wrong,

In holding back my gratitude fo long;
The soul is sure to equal transport rais'd,
That justly praises, or is justly prais'd :
The generous only can this pleasure know,
Who taste the god-like virtue-to bestow !
I ev'n grow rich, methinks, while I.commend;
And feel the very praises which I send.
Nor jealousy nor female

envy

find, Though all the Muses are to Dyer kind.

Sing on, nor let your modeft fears retard,
Whose verse and pencil join, to force reward :
Your claim demands the bays, in double wreath,
Your Poems lighten, and your pictures breathe.
I wish to praise you, but your

beauties

wrong ; „No theme looks green, in:Clio's artless song :

But * Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, is an Epistle, occasioned by Mr. Dyer's Picture of this Lady.

But
yours

will an eternal verdure wear,
For. Dyer's fruitful soul will flourish there.
My humbler lot was in low distance laid;
I was, oh, hated thought! a woman made;
For houshold cares, and empty trifies meant,
The Name does immortality prevent.
Yet let me stretch, beyond my sex, my mind,
And, rising, leave the fluttering train behind;
Nor art, nor learning, with’d affistance lends,
But nature, love, and music, are my friends.