Inftead of harmony, 'tis jar

And tumult, and inteftine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,

Preferv'd by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention,
But lives, when that exterior grace
Which firft infpir'd the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate and kind,
To faults compaffionate or blind,
And will with fympathy endure
Thofe evils it would gladly cure,

But angry, coarse, and harsh expreffion
Shows love to be a mere profeffion,

Proves that the heart is none of his,

Or foon expels him if it is.

T

An Invitation into the Country.

I.

THE swallows in their torpid state,

Compose their useless wing,

And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early fpring.

II.

The keenest frost that binds the stream,

The wildeft wind that blows,

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,

Secure of their repose.

III.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene furveys,

With prefent ills his heart must ach,

And pant for brighter days.

IV Old

IV.

Old winter halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn,

But lovely spring peeps o'er his head,

And whispers your return.

V.

Then April with her fifter May,
Shall chafe him from the bow'rs,
And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,
To crown the fmiling hours.

VI.

And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times appear,

A glimpse of joy that we have met

Shall fhine, and dry the tear.

TRANS

TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S

CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.

I.

MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere poffit,
Nomine fub ficto trans mare mittit opes;

Lené fonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,
Sed folam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.

II.

Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,

Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, fume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà pofitam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcifonamque lyram,

III.

Fila lyræ vocemque paro, fufpiria furgunt,
Et mifcent numeris murmura mæsta meis,

Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ,
Tota anima intereà pendet ab ore Chlöes.

VOL. I.

A a

Subrubet

VI.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens confcia, pfallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta corona,

Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

BOADIC E A;

A N ODE.

I.

WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods,

II.

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Ev'ry burning word he spoke,

Full of rage and full of grief.

Princess!