4

By his marks the God you'll know:

O'er his fhoulders hangs a bow,

And a quiver fraught with darts,
Poifon fure to human hearts:
Tho' he's naked, little, blind,
He can triumph o'er the mind.

Tell me, laffes, have ye feen'
Such a one trip o'er the green?

Subtle as the lightning's wound,
Is his piercing arrow found;
While the bofor'd heart it pains,
No external mark remains;
iReafon's fhaft itfelf is broke
By the unfufpefted ftroke.

Tell me, laffes, have ye feen Such a one trip o'er the green? (Gent. Mag. Asgut 1756)

Oft the urchin's feen to lie,
Bafking in the funny eye;
Or his deftin'd préy he feeks
On the maiden's rofy cheeks:
Snowy breafts, or curling hair,
Oft conceal the pleafing fnare.

Tell me, laffes, have ye feen
Such a one trip o'er the green.
3he that the recefs reveals,
Where the God himself conceals,
Shall a kifs receive this night
From her heart's fupreme delight.
To Venus let her bring the boy,
She fhall tafte love's fweeteft joy.
Tell me, laffes, have ye feen
Such a one trip o'er the green.

La

400 Torrington's Ghost

T-R-N'S GHOST,

OW the pale moon with filver beams Afcends the fable skies;

NOW

The world is hush'd, on ocean's ftreams,
Each gentle zephir dies..

O'ci the smooth surface of the deep
A fhade majeffic glides;
Darts through the caverns of the ship,
Where Britain's coward rides.

His eyes that fafh'd with fiery beams

His angry foul betray'd;
Whilft from his hand, uplifted, gleams
The vifionary blade.
Awake, inglorious wretch! he cries,
Thy injured father fee;
Who left his grave, where honour lies,
His peaceful grave, for thee!

If not quite funk in abject fear,
If not quite loft to fame,
Reflect on what thou'lt fuffer here,
Reflect on endless shame.

Could not my honours fire thy heart,

Nor glory's pow'rtul charms? But must thou act the coward's part,

And fly from Gallic arms?

Could not thy prince, thy country's caufe,
Infpire thy languid breaft;
But muft thou fpurn at honour's caufe?
The hero's fcorn and jeft.

O! by the first explosion there

Had death preferv'd thy fame,
Britons had grac'd with generous tears,
Nor Blakeney curs'd thy name.
O view that honour'd, injur'd chief!
That fecond Marlborough fee!
His country's glory, and its grief;
O how reverfe to thee!

Ye mighty Henry's! Edward's! rife;
His Godlike actions view!
His virtues, fure, must reach the skies,
So near ally'd to you.

But hark! what founds falute my foul?
Britons for vengeance call:
Nought can their gen'rous rage controul,
But thy inglorious fall.

Ye Godlike Britons, I invoke,

O! give to justice fpeed;
King, country, father, urge the ftroke,
And heav'n approves the deed.

To FLORINDA, on her Recovery from a dangerous
Fit of Sickness.

A

from the furnace glows the golden ore, Refin'd by fire, and brighter than before; Thus fair Florinda, from the verge of heaven, All stains wip'd off, and ev'ry fin forgiven, In brighter beauty from affliction blooms, And ev ry charm a thoufand charms refumes. As Arictly virtuous, as divinely fair, A fpotless emblem of what angels are. Judulge me then, dear argel, to adore, And let me worship what I low'd before.

FLORIO,

ODE, by a young Lady.

S poor Britannia penfive stood,

Asorrying from afar the main,

Behold, fays he, yon azure flood, Where Britons once were wont to reign; When liberty unfold had charms,

That taught the gen'rous heart to beat; When honour rous'd my fons to arms,

And valour mann'd the British fleet; Albion was then my boaft, my pride;

But ah! how fall'n, how chang'd the scene See! France my baffled pow're deride,

While England's genius fighs unféen.” She ceas'd: A fybil near her drew, And thus the plaintive dame addrefs'd: Britannia! hail! thy hopes renew, Prophetic hear thy woes redreffed: "When Cæfar fhall unloofe for flight, "A bird, which he himself has rear'd, "Victory fhall on his wings alight,

"And Britons fhail again be fear'd." She faid: Britannia rais'd her head, And faw fome well-known enfigns nigh; With joy the cries, See Gallia's dread! Great George impow'rs his Hawke to fly.

N

ASON G.

O more of war and war's alarms,
Of Briton's lofs, and Blakeney's arms,
·Galiffonniere and Byng;

This hour let ev'ry noily name.
Be hufh'd as night, while I to fame,
A lofs fuperior fing.

See yonder arbor's kindly fhade,
Where e'rft I met the lovely maid,
Who equall'd all my care;
The tender kifs, the melting eye,
Who equall'd ev'ry tender figh,
Lo! Patty is not there.

How oft we round the woodland ftray'd,
Or on the flow'ry meadow play'd,

While zephyrs fann'd the air!
Thefe painted plains can never fhow,
The boundlefs blifs I must forego,

When Patty is not there.
In vain you talk of Gallia's boaft,
Of hoftile fleets to fweep our coaft,
And drive us to defpair;
Nor ills I dread, nor hope relief,
They cannot now enhance my grief,
Since Patty is not there.

"Tis nought to me who rules the ball,
Who turns great nations into fmall,

Who public treasures fhare; The fate of worlds, or fall of kings, To me are empty trifling things,

When Patty is not there.
But let the maid return age'n
I'll rouze my native ardor then,

Nor Frame nor Spain will fpare;
I'll guard this facred tree from harm,
And for my king and miftrefs arm,
When Patty thall be there.
'Sorry, August 23.

H.

WH

Hen Venus to Idalia's blissful fhade Afcanius bore, and on foft violets laid All round the flumb'ring boy the goddess fhed Celestial fweers, and filky roles fpread. Straight the recall'd Adonis, hapless flame! The fame his beauty, and his youth the fame. With eyes infatiate ranging o'er his charms, She burns to fold him in her eager arms: She burns to clafp him to her love-lorn breast, But fearful to disturb his golden reft. Lo! on the neighb'ring rofes the bestow'd A thousand kiffes.-At her touch they glow'd, Spread their glad leaves, as confcious of the bliss, Hung to her lips, and kifs return'd for kifs. The raptur'd goddefs faw, with fond surprize, From humid rofes balmy kiffes rife ; Then foftly, fmiling, bade th' attendant loves Prepare her car, and yoke her milk-white doves, As round the world the joyful birds career, Of rofeate kifles plenteous crops appear: Straight the rich harvest fickly mortals fhare; Just recompence for all their toil and care.

All hail, fair offspring of the humid rofe I Friends to my joys, fole foothers to my woes! By you infpir'd, lo! I, your grateful bard, Your praifes fing, and hope the due reward; By you infpir'd, thefe lays fhall live as long, "As the Maonian or the Mantuan fong; Rude fwains from them shall catch the genial fire, And melting virgins ficken with defire The foft infection foon their hearts invade, And love grow stronger by our mutual aid. Everingham, August 21. HORATIO,

GHtor's Anfwer to a Gentleman, who in a rhyming Epistle offered to ferve ber in the Capacity of a Surgeon, Phyfician, Man-midwife, Politician, Taylor, or Friend.

I

N doggrel rhyme for once I'll anfwer-
Your odd epiftle, if I can, Sir.-
You think it fure prodigious pretty,
And very fmart, and very witty;
But I, who am fincere and rough,
Pronounce it whimfical enough;
The product of a flighty skull,
And very frange and pityful.
For first, you come with a petition,
To be my furgeon or phyfician
Hold, Sir, I'm in a found condition.
You next would be man-midwife, pat:
I, who can fometimes fmell a rat,
Conceive you are not fit for that.

You'd aid me with your politics,
But I fufpect you of bad tricks,
To ferve a lady, and not fail her,
You're willing to become my taylor.
Your modefty is fomewhat friking,
But I've a taylor to my liking.
Pray, Mr Stitch, where are your gears?
Your yard, your measure, and your shears
I greatly fear you've worn them out,
And yet you bear your goofe about.
At last you humbly recommend
Yourfeli to ferve me as a friend.
Poet and friend's a contradiction,
For poets always deal in fiction.
I thank you for your kind affiftance,

And own like you- at a diftance. CHLOS.

401

To FLORA,
HEN you commend, my lovely fair,

W Young Damon's charms, his grace, b

And on his pleafing beauties dwell,
(Which proves, alas! you love too well,)
Then all my joy to anguish turns,
My heart with grief and anger burns;
From my warm cheeks the colour flies,
My bolom fwells with rifing fighs;
With fecret jealoufies and fears,
And foftly iteal the filent tears.
Thefe, thefe, alas! too plain betray
The fires that on my vitals prey,
And melt my very foul away:
Whene'er an am'rous wound's imprest,
Upon your lips, or on your breaft,
I grieve, I figh, I feel the fmart,
And cruel torment rends my heart.
Beware, my fair one, whom you truft,
For man is faithlefs and unjust.
Think not he always will admire,
For ever burn with fond defire,
Whofe kiffes wound you, as he fips
The dewy fragrance of your lips;
Lips, that the fweeteft balm difpenfe,
Ambrofia, nectar, quinteffence !

O! happy they as gods above,
Whom Hymen binds with links of love:
Nor age nor illness can divide
The Knot by fond affection ty'd.
Love's facred flame itself endcars,
And brightens by a length of years.
Love fooths our cares, compofes ftrife,
And never ceases, but with life.
Love tunes the penfive foul to glee,
To rapture, and to harmony.
Thefe joys extatic let us prove,
Bleft as the gods that reign above,
And bind our fouls in links of love.

ويندا

FLORIO.

The SPARROW; from Catullus,
LL ye gentle pow'rs above,

AVenus, and thou god of love,

All ye gentle fouls below,
That can melt at others woe;
Indulge your tears, the lofs deplore,
My Laura's fparrow is no more;
Her fav'rite bird, her dearest prize;
She lov'd it as the lov'd her eyes.
For (weet it was, and comely too,
And well its lovely lady knew.
Round her oft in amorous play,
Pertly blithe, and brifk, and gay,
It would wanton in the air,
Chirping only to the fair.
Oft it lull'd its head to reft,
On the pillow of her breaft.
Now, alas! it chirps no more;
All its gayeties are o'er :
Death has fummon'd it to go,
Pentive, to the shades below:
Difmal regions, Mom whose borne
No wand'ring travellers return.
O Death! relentless to destroy
All that's form'd for love or joy!
Joy is vanish'd, love is fled,
For my Laura's (parrow's dead.

And now the beauteous nymph appears,
Languishingly drown d in tears. FLORIO

402

A

mind?

A raging flame that will for ever burn,
Unless Florinda makes a kind return,
It is not fnow, my ever lovely fair,
Bright cbject of my love, and of my care,
That can the fervor of my breast controul,
But equal love and sympathy of foul,

The POET'S RHAPSODY,

W

Here, ye

FLORIO.

facred mufes, fay,

Shall your raptur'd poet stray? Thro' what fair fcenes of blooming nature rove, Born on the wings of fancy and of love?

Clofe by chryftal rivers feat me,
Where ambrofial flow'rs arife;
There let gentle zephyrs meet me,
And to Laura waft my fighs,
Hafie, my Laura, heav'nly fair!
Nature's pride, and beauty's care!
Where love fhall lead the rofy-breathing hours,
In golden vales and amaranthine bow'is.

Gay for thee thefe funny mountains,
All their flow'ry pride difplay;
Hark! the falls of mourning fountains
Chide Amanda's long delay.
Love, fufpend thy pleafing pain,

Let me hear tha mournful train.
From what enamour'd breaft, fad feat of woe,
Were thofe foft lays, to folemn taught to flow?
Some poor warbler reftleis flying,

Seek; his murder'd care in vain;
Or his much-lov'd mate is dying,

Hark-how fad the pleasing ftrain!
Love, perplexing pow'r, away!
Yield to pity's gentler fway.

She comes: (for well the mournful fair I know,
Her blush-fpread checks, and eyes that ever flow.)
On her friendly arm reclining,
See the weeping forrows go;
Soft companion ftill repining,

While he fees their endiels woe,
In pale ev'ning's duíky gcy,
Goddef, oft with thee I tray;
Perfue fair fancy thro' her favrite fcenes,
Of bow'ry walls and daify-painted greens.
Oft in pleafing thought we wander
Thro' bright plains and flow'ry glades;
View thy mazy ftream's meander,
Study, pride of rural fhades!

Yorkshire, August 14, 1756.

J. L.

Ries Blackeney to Byng, as he kept at a dif[bring affiftance. You'll be hang'd, you paltroen, it you don't Why aye-reply'd Byng, what you fay may be But then I may chance to be shot if I do: [true, Sudden death I abhor; while there's life there is hope:

Let me 'fcape but the gun, I can buy off the rope.

And thine the fairest maid at ball or court. But fairest maids, whom health and vigour warm, In life's fresh prime, give up their fleeting

breath;

And ev'ry youthful, ev'ry boafted charm,
Refign, the trophies of relentless death.
But Thould his tyrant arm the ftroke forbear,
Nor fnatch the beauties in their earliest bloom;
Time talks behind, who never knew to fpare,
The mortal race predeftined to the tomb.
Foul wrinkled age awaits the fairest face,
Fades the fair tints, and dims the fparkling eye;
With wrinkles marks the feat of ev'ry grace,
And bids the laughing train of Venus fly.
So fades each form, however rich and rare,

By beauty's foft delufive hand difplay'd:
Ah then! what boots Rosetta's anxious care?
She grafps the wind, and courts the fleeting
fhade.

But fairer yet, for ever fair is fhe,

The lov'd Eudocia, whofe enraptur'd mind,
Celeitral charms in virtue's form can fee,

Celestial joys in moral graces find.
Whofe glowing mind illum'd by reafon's ray,

Devotion warms, and wifdom's lore improves Who feels the influence mild of friendship's fway, Nor treats with fcornful pride the fwain the loves.

Thefe mental beauties laft when others fade, Nor fleet fo tranfient with the parting breath; But fairer ftill, in heav'nly bloom array'd, Survive old age, and never taste of death. Philadephia, June 14, 1756. EUGENIO.

1

Upon fome Difputes in a Mefs at Sea. Written by the Rev. Mr ENGLISH, I