WITH beauty, with pleasure surrounded, to lan

guish

To weep without knowing the cause of my anguish : To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morn

ing

To close my dull eyes when I see it returning;

Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejectedWords that steal from my tongue, by no meaning connected!

Ah! say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befell me?

They smile, but reply not-Sure Delia will tell me!

SONG.

THYRSIS, when we parted, swore Ere the spring he would return— Ah! what means yon violet flower!

And the bud that decks the thorn! 'Twas the lark that upward sprung! 'Twas the nightingale that sung!

Idle notes! untimely green!

Why this unavailing haste? Western gales and skies serene

Speak not always winter past. Cease, my doubts, my fears to move, Spare the honour of my love.

AN EPIGRAM.

THUS Tophet look'd; so grinn'd the brawling

fiend,

Whilst frighted prelates bow'd and call'd him friend.
Our mother-church, with half-averted sight,
Blush'd as she bless'd her grisly proselyte;

Hosannas rung through hell's tremendous borders,
And Satan's self had thoughts of taking orders,

IMPROMPTU,

SUGGESTED BY A VIEW, IN 1766, of the SEAT AND RUINS OF A DECEASED NOBLEMAN, AT

KINGSGATE, KENT.

OLD, and abandon'd by each venal friend,
Here H- -d form'd the pious resolution
To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend
A broken character and constitution.

On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice;
Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighbouring sand
Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice,

And mariners, though shipwreck'd, dread to land.

Here reign the blustering North and blighting East, No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing;

Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast,
Art he invokes new horrors still to bring.

Here mouldering fanes, and battlements arise,
Turrets and arches nodding to their fall,
Unpeopled monast❜ries delude our eyes,
And mimic desolation covers all.

"Ah!" said the sighing peer, "had B-te been true, Nor M-'s, R-'s, B-'s friendship vain,

Far better scenes than these had blest our view,

66

And realized the beauties which we feign:

Purged by the sword, and purified by fire,

Then had we seen proud London's hated walls;
Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir,
And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's."