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• On Death's new genial day the foul may rife,

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Born to fome higher life, and hail some brighter skies.

The mofs-grown tree, that fhrinks with rolling years,
The drooping flow'rs that die fo foon away,
Let not thy heart alarm with boding fears,

⚫ Nor thy own ruin date from their decay:
• The blushing rose that breathes the balmy dew,
No pleafing transports of perception knows;
The rev'rend oak, that circling springs renew,

Thinks not, nor by long age experienc'd grows.

Thy fate and theirs confefs no kindred tie:

* Tho' their frail forms may fade, shall sense and reason die?

• Nor let life's ills, that in dire circle rage,

• Steal from thy heaving breaft those labour'd fighs; • Thefe, the kind tutors of thy infant age,

Train the young pupil for the future skies:

• Unfchool'd in early prime, in riper years

• Wretched and fcorn'd ftill ftruts the bearded boy; The tingling rod, bedew'd with briny tears,

Shoots forth in graceful fruits of manly joy. The painful cares that vex the toilfome fpring,

• Shall plenteous crops of blifs in life's laft harvest bring.'

She ceas'd-and vanish'd into fightless wind!

O'er my torn breaft alternate paffions fway:

Now Doubt, defponding, damps the wav'ring mind;
Now Hope, reviving, sheds her chearful ray.
Soon from the skies, in heav'nly white array'd,
Faith, to my fight reveal'd, fair cherub! stood;
With life replete, the volume she display'd,
Seal'd with the ruddy stains of crimson blood.
Each fear now starts away, as spectres fly,

When the fun's orient beam firft gilds the purple sky.

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Meanwhile the faithful herald of the day,

The village cock, crows loud with trumpet fhrill a
The warbling lark foars high, and morning grey
Lifts her glad forehead o'er the cloud-wrapt hill:
Nature's wild mufick fills the vocal vale;

The bleating flocks that bite the dewy ground,
The lowing herds that graze the woodland dale,
And cavern'd echo, fwell the chearful found.
Homeward I bend with clear unclouded mind,
Mix with the bufy world, and leave each care behind,

ELEG Y.

TO A FRIEND,

ON SOME SLIGHT OCCASION ESTRANGED FROM HIM.

HE

BY W. SHENSTONE, ESQ

EALTH to my friend, and many a chearful day! Around his feat may peaceful shades abide ! Smooth flow the minutes, fraught with fmiles, away; And, till they crown our union, gently glide!

Ah, me too swiftly fleets our vernal bloom!
Loft to our wonted friendship, loft to joy!
Soon may thy breast the cordial wish resume,
Ere wint❜ry doubt it's tender warmth destroy!

Say, were it ours, by Fortune's wild command,
By chance to meet beneath the Torrid Zone,
Wouldst thou reject thy Damon's plighted hand?
Wouldst thou with fcorn thy once-lov'd friend disown?

Life is that ftranger land, that alien clime;

Shall kindred fouls forego their focial claim? Launch'd in the vast abyss of space' and time, Shall dark fufpicion quench the gen'rous flame?

Myriads of fouls, that knew one parent mould,
See fadly fever'd by the laws of Chance!
Myriads, in Time's perennial lift enroll'd,
Forbid by Fate to change one tranfient glance!

But we have met-where ills of ev'ry form,
Where paffions rage, and hurricanes descend;
Say, fhall we nurse the rage, affift the ftorm,
And guide them to the bosom-of a friend?

Yes, we have met-thro' rapine, fraud, and wrong;
Might our joint aid the paths of peace explore!
Why leave thy friend amid the boist'rous throng,
Ere death divide us, and we part no more?

For, oh! pale Sicknefs warns thy friend away;
For me no more the vernal rofes bloom!
I fee ftern Fate his ebon wand display,

And point the wither'd regions of the tomb.

Then the keen anguish from thine eye shall start,
Sad as thou follow'ft my untimely bier :
Fool that I was-if friends fo foon must part,
To let fufpicion intermix a fear!'

GRONGAR

GRONGAR HILL.

BY MR. DYER.

ILENT Nymph! with curious eye, who the

Who the purple ev'ning lie

On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of bufy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet fings,
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the foreft with her tale;
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy fifter Muse.
Now, while Phoebus, riding high,
Gives luftre to the land and sky,
Grongar Hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and ftrong;
Grongar! in whofe moffy cells,
Sweetly mufing, Quiet dwells;
Grongar! in whose filent shade,
For the modeft Mufes made,
So oft I have, the ev'ning still,
At the fountain of a rill,

Sat upon a flow'ry bed,

With my hand beneath my head,

While ftray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,

Over mead and over wood,

From houfe to house, from hill to hill,
Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd fides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind;
And groves and grottoes, where I lay,
And viftoes fhooting beams of day.

Wide and wider fpreads the vale,

As circles on a smooth canal:
The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,

Withdraw their fummits from the skies,
And leffen as the others rife.
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens ftill,
And finks the newly-rifen hill.
Now I gain the mountain's brow,

What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours, intervene ;
But the gay, the open scene,
Does the face of Nature fhew
In all the hues of heav'n's bow;
And, fwelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the fight.
Old caftles on the cliffs arife,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies;
Rushing from the woods, the fpires
Seem from hence afcending fires;
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain heads,
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.

Below me trees unnumber'd rife,
Beautiful in various dies:
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the fable yew;
The flender fir, that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs;
And, beyond, the purple grove,
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!

Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,

Lies a long and level lawn,

On

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