Above, with burning blush the morning glows,
The waking world all fair before him lies ;
"Slow from the plain the melting dews,
"To kifs the fun-beams, climbing, rife," &c... Methinks the grove of Baal I fee,
In terrafs'd stages mount up high, And wave its fable beauties in the sky,
"From stage to stage, broad steps of half-hid stone, "With curling mofs and blady grafs o'ergrown, "Lead awful
"Where through thick walls, oblique, the broken light "From narrow loop holes quivers to the fight, "With swift and furious ftride,
"Close-folded arms, and short and fudden starts, "The fretful prince, in dumb and fullen pride, Revolves efcape
Here in red colours glowing bold,
A warlike figure ftrikes my eye!
The dreadful fudden fight his foes behold
Confounded fo, they lofe the power to fly ;
"Backening they gaze at diftance on his face,
"Admire his pofture, and confefs his grace;
"His right hand grafps his planted fpear," &c.
Alas! my Mufe, through much good-will, you err;
And we the mighty author greatly wrong;
To gather beauties here and there,
As but a fcatter'd few there were,
While every word 's a beauty in his fong!
[Thofe lines in this Poem marked thus" are taken out of the Poem called GIDEON.]
To Mr. DYER. By AARON HILL, ESQ.
WHILE, charm'd with Aberglafney's quiet plains,
The Muses, and their Emprefs, court your strains,
Tir'd of the noify town, fo lately try'd,
Methinks, I fee you fmile, on Towy's fide!
Penfive, her mazy wanderings you unwind,
And, on your river's margin, calm your mind.
Oh!-greatly blefs'd-whate'er your fate requires,
Your ductile wisdom tempers your desires!
Balanc'd within, you look abroad ferene,
And, marking both extremes, pass clear between.
Oh! could your lov'd example teach your skill,
And, as it moves my wonder, mend my will!
Calm would my paffions grow ;-my lot would please;
And my fick foul might think itself to ease!
But, to the future while I ftrain my eye,
Each prefent good flips, undiftinguish'd, by.
Still, what I would, contends with what I can,
And my wild withes leap the bounds of man.
If in my power it lies to limit hope,
And my unchain'd defires can fix a scope,
This were my Choice-Oh, Friend! pronounce me
For I have wants, which wealth can never cure!
Let others, with a narrow'd ftint of pride,
In felfish views, a bounded hope divide:
If I must wish at all-Defires are free,
High, as the Higheft, I would wish to be!
Then might I, fole fupreme, act, unconfin'd,
And with unbounded influence blefs mankind.
Mean is that foul, whom its own good can fill!
A profperous world, alone, could feast my will.
He's poor, at best, who others mifery fees,
And wants the wifh'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 firft with :-But fince 'tis wild, and vain,. To grafp at glittering clouds, with fruitless pain, More fafely low, let my next profpect be,
And life's mild evening this fair fun-fet fee.
Far from a Lord's loath'd neighbourhood-a State ! Whofe little greatnefs is a pride I hate!
On fome lone wild, fhould my large houfe be plac'd, Vaftly surrounded by a healthful waste!
Steril, and coarfe, the untry'd foil fhould be,
Till forc'd to flourish, and fubdued by me.
Seas, woods, meads, mountains, gardens, streams, and fkies,
Should, with a changeful grandeur, charm my eyes!
Where-e'er I walk'd, effects of my paft pains
Should plume the mountain tops, and paint the plains,
Greatly obfcure, and fhunning courts, or name;
Widely befriended, but efcaping fame;
Peaceful, in ftudious quiet, would I live,
Lie hid, for leifure, and grow rich, to give!
Alas! what a folly, what wealth and domain
We heap up in fin and in forrow!
Immenfe 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 defcends to the grave,
And the spirit arises to heaven.
'VE done thy merit and my friendship wrong,
In holding back my gratitude fo long;
The foul is fure to equal tranfport rais'd,
That justly praises, or is juftly prais'd :
The generous only can this pleasure know,
Who tafte 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 Mufes are to Dyer kind.
Sing on, nor let your modest 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 fong:
Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, is an Epiftle,
occafioned by Mr. Dyer's Picture of this Lady.
But
yours
For Dyer's fruitful foul will flourish there.
My humbler lot was in low distance laid;
I was, oh, hated thought! a woman made;
For houfhold cares, and empty trifles meant,
The Name does immortality prevent.
Yet let me stretch, beyond my sex, my mind,
And, rifing, leave the fluttering train behind;
Nor art, nor learning, with'd affistance lends,
But nature, love, and music, are my friends.
will an eternal verdure wear,
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