Et dives æqua mente-charus omnibus,
Unius* auctus munere.

Ite tituli! meritis beatioribus

Aptate laudes debitas!

Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens
Fortuna plus arriserat.

Placide senex! levi quiescas cespite,
Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi

Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo
Lapis notatus nomine.

THE SAME IN ENGLISH.

OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was, itself, a feast.
O ye of riper age, who recollect

How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect.
Both in the firmness of his better day,
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when, impair'd by time, and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks in mild complacence dress'd,
He took his annual seat, and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours-now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,

He knew no wish that he might blush to speak,
But, happy in whatever state below,

And richer than the rich in being so,

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed

At length from One,t as made him rich indeed.

* He was usher and under-master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near se venty, with a handsome pension from the king.

See the note in the Latin copy.

Hence then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here
Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere,
The brows of those whose more exalted lot
He could congratulate, but envied not.

Light lie the turf, good Senior! on thy breast,
And, tranquil as thy mind was, be thy rest!
Tho' living, thou hadst more desert than fame,
And not a stone, now, chronicles thy name.

TO MRS. THROCKMORTON,

ON

HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT of horace'S ODE,

AD LIBRUM SUUM.

[February, 1790.]

MARIA, Could Horace have guess'd
What honour awaited his odo,
To his own little volume address'd,

The honour which you have bestow'd,
Who have traced it in characters hicre

So elegant, even, and neat,

He had laugh'd at the critical sneer

Which he seems to have trembled to meet.

And sneer,

if you please, he had said,

A nymph shall hereafter arise,

Who shall give me, when you are all dead,

The glory your malice denies.

Shall dignity give to my lay,

Although but a mere bagatelle;

And even a poet shall say,

Nothing ever was written so well.

INSCRIPTION

For a Stone erected at the Sowing of a Grove of Oaks at Chillington, the seat of T. Gifford, Esq.

1790.

[June, 1790.]

OTHER stones the era teil,
When some feeble mortal fell ;
I stand here to date the birth
Of these hardy sons of Earth.

Which shall longest brave the sky,
Storm and frost-these oaks or I?
Pass an age or two away,

1 must moulder and decay,

But the years that crumble me
Shall invigorate the tree,
Spread its branch, dilate its size,
Lift its summit to the skies.

Cherish honour, virtue, truth,
So shalt thou prolong thy youth.
Wanting these, however fast
Man be fix'd and form'd to last
He is lifeless even now,
Stone at heart, and cannot grow.

12*

ANOTHER,

For a Stone erected on a similar occasion at the same place in the following year.

[June, 1790.]

READER! Behold a monument
That asks no sigh or tear,
Though it perpetuate the event
Of a great burial here.

Anno 1791.

HYMN,

FOR THE USE OF THE

SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.

[July, 1790.]

HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r,
In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants, made the publick care,
And taught to seek thy face!

Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day;

And grant us, we implore,

Never to waste in sinful play

Thy holy Sabbath more.

Thanks that we hear-but oh impart

To each desire sincere,

That we may listen with our heart,

And learn as well as hear

For if vain thoughts the minds engage

Of elder far than we,

What hope that at our heedless age
Our minds should e'er be free!

Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.

Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,
A sun that ne'er declines;

And be thy mercies show'r'd on those
Who plac'd us where it shines.*

STANZAS

On the late indecent Liberties taken with the Remains of the great Milton—Anno 1780.

[August, 1790

"ME too, perchance, in future days,
The sculptur'd stone shall show
With Paphian myrtle or with bays
Parnassian on my brow.

*Note by the Editor. This Hymn was written at the request of the Rev. James Bean, then Vicar of Olney, to be sung by the children of the Sunday Schools of that town, after a Charity Sermon, preached at the Parish Church for their benefit, on Sunday, July 31, 1790.