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Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her ftartling fancy found
In ev'ry bush his hov'ring fhade,

His groan in ev'ry found.

Alone, appall'd, thus had fhe pafs'd

The vifionary vale

When lo! the death-bell fmote her ear,

Sad founding in the gale!

Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door :

He's gone!' fhe cry'd; and I shall fee
That angel-face no more!

‹ I feel, I feel, this breaking heart
Beat high against my fide !—

From her white arm down funk her head,
She fhivering figh'd, and died.

NEW MARKET.

A SATIR E.

BY THOMAS WARTON, M. A.

IS country's hope, when now the blooming heir
Has left the parent's, or the guardian's care :

Fond to poffefs, yet eager to destroy;

Of each vain youth, fay, what's the darling joy?
Of each fond frolick what the fource and end?

His fole and firft ambition what?-to spend.

Some fquires, to Gallia's cooks most dainty dupes, Melt manors in ragouts, or drown in soups:

This coxcomb doats on fidlers, till he fees

His mortgag'd mountains deftitute of trees;
Convinc'd too late, that modern ftrains can move,
With mightier force than thofe of Greece, the grove.
In headless ftatues rich, and ufelefs urns,

Marmoreo from the claffick tour returns;

So poor the wretch of current coin, you'd laugh-
He cares not-if his Cæfars* be but fafe.
Some tread the flippery paths of love's delights;
Thefe deal the cards, or fhake the box at White's.
To different pleasures different tastes incline,
Nor the fame fea receives the rushing fwine.
Tho' drunk alike with Circe's poisonous bowl,
In feparate flies the mimick monsters roll.

But would ye learn, ye leifure-loving fquires,
How beft you may difgrace your prudent fires;
How fooneft foar to fashionable fhame,

Be damn'd at once to ruin, and to fame;
By hands of grooms ambitious to be crown'd,
O greatly dare to tread Olympick ground!
Where fam'd Newmarket fpreads her tempting plain,
There let the chofen fteed victorious ftrain;
Where not (as erft was fung in manly lays)
Men fly to different ends thro' different ways;
Thro' the fame path, to the fame goal ye run,
And are, at once, undoing and undone ;
Forfeit, forget, friends, honour, and estate,
Lose all at once-for what?—to win the plate;
All are betray'd, and all alike betray,

To your own beafts, Acteon-like, a prey.
What dreams of conqueft flush'd Hilario's breast,
When the good knight at last retir'd to rest!
Behold the youth with new-felt rapture mark
Each pleafing profpect of the fpacious Park;

* Antique medals.

That

That Park, where beauties undisguis'd engage
Those beauties less the work of art than age;
In fimple ftate, where genuine Nature wears
Her venerable drefs of ancient years;

Where all the charms of chance with order meet,
The rude, the gay, the graceful, and the great.
Here aged oaks uprear their branches hoar,

And form dark groves, which Druids might adore ;
Pride and fupport of Britain's conq'ring cross,
Which distant ancestors faw crown'd with mofs:
With meeting boughs, and deep'ning to the view,
Here shoots the broad umbrageous avenue;
Here various trees compofe a chequer'd scene,

Glowing in gay diverfities of green;

There the full ftream, through intermingling glades,
Shines a broad lake, or falls in deep cafcades,
Nor wants there hazle copfe, or beechen lawn,
To chear with fun, or fhade the bounding fawn.
And see the good old feat, whofe Gothick tow'rs
Awful emerge from yonder tufted bow'rs;
Whose rafter'd hall the crouding tenants fed,
And dealt to age and want their daily bread :
Where garter'd knights, with peerless beauties join'd,
At high and folemn festivals have din'd;
Presenting oft fair Virtue's fhining task,
In mystick pageantries, and moral mafque *.
But vain all ancient praise, or boasts of birth,
Vain all the palms of old heroick worth!
At once a bankrupt, and a prosperous heir,
Hilario bets-park, houfe, diffolve in air!

* It was a fashionable practice among our ancient nobility and gentry, of both sexes, to perform perfonally in entertainments of this kind. Nothing could be a more delightful or rational method of spending an evening than this. Milton's Comus was thus exhibited at Ludlow Caftle, in the year 1631. See Ben Johnson's Mafques.

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With antique armour hung, high trophy'd rooms
Defcend to gamefters, prostitutes, and grooms.
He fees his fteel-clad fires, and mothers mild,
Who bravely fhook the lance, or fweetly fmil'd;
All the fair feries of the whisker'd race,
Whofe pictur'd forms the ftately gallery grace;
Debas'd, abus'd, the price of ill-got gold,
To deck fome tavern vile, at auctions fold.
The parish wonders at th' unopening door,
The chimnies blaze, the tables groan no more.
Thick weeds around th' untrodden courts arise,
And all the focial scene in filence lies.

Himself, the lofs politely to repair,

Turns atheist, fidler, highwayman, or player.
At length, the fcorn, the fhame of man and God,
Is doom'd to rub the fteeds that once he rode !

Ye rival youths, your golden hopes how vain,
Your dreams of thousands on the lifted plain !
Not more fantastick Sancho's * airy course,
When madly mounted on the magick horse,

He pierc'd heav'n's opening spheres with dazzled eyes,
And feem'd to foar in vifionary skies.

Nor lefs, I ween, precarious is the meed

Of young adventurers on the Mufe's steed:

For poets have, like you, their deftin'd round;
And ours is but a race on claffick ground.
Long time, foft fon of patrimonial ease,
Hippolitus had eat firloins in peace:

Had quaff'd fecure, unvex'd by toils or ftrife,
The mild October of a rural life;

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Long liv'd with calm domestick conquefts crown'd,

And kill'd his game on safe paternal ground.
As bland he puff'd the pipe o'er weekly news,
His bofom kindles with fublimer views.

* Clavileno. See Don Quixotes

Lo!

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