Have you not feen? yes, oft you
When vernal funs adorn the woods with green,
And genial warmth, enkindling wanton love,
Fills with a various progeny the grove,
The tim❜rous young, just ventur'd from the nest,
First in low bushes hop, and often reft;
From twig to twig, their tender wings they try,
Yet only flutter when they seem to fly.
But as their strength and feathers more encrease,
Short flights they take, and fly with greater ease:
Experienc'd foon, they boldly venture higher,
Forfake the hedge, to lofty trees afpire;
Transported thence, with strong and steady wing
They mount the skies, and foar aloft, and fing.
So you and I, just naked from the fhell,
In chirping notes our future finging tell;
Unfeather'd yet, in judgment, thought, or fkill,
Hop round the bafis of Parnaffus' hill:
Our flights are low, and want of art and ftrength,
Forbids to carry us to the wish'd-for length.
But fledg'd, and cherish'd with a kindly spring,
We'll mount the fummit, and melodious fing.
ERE lie the remains of CAROLINE,
Queen confort of Great Britain.
Her Friends, when living, knew and enjoy'd
Now dead, her Foes confefs and admire.
Her ambition afpired to Wisdom,
And attain'd it;
To Knowledge,
And it fill'd her mind.
Patronefs of the Wife,
And friend of the Good,
She look'd, and modest Merit rais'd its head;
She fmil'd, and weeping Woe grew glad.
Religion, plain and fimple,
Dignify'd her mind,
Defpifing forms and useless pageantry.
Morals, clear and refin'd,
Dwelt in her heart,
And guided all her actions.
Virtue fhe lov'd, beneath her fmile it fourifh'd;
She frown'd on Vice, and it was put to fhame.
In fine,
Her Life was a publick bleffing
Her Death is an univerfal lofs.
O reader! if thou doubtest of these things,
Afk the cries of the Fatherless, they shall tell thee, And the tears of the Widow fhall confirm their truth:
The fons of Wisdom shall testify of her,
And the daughters of Virtue bear her witness;
The voice of the Nation fhall applaud her,
And the heart of the KING fhall sigh her praife.
O fuccour all whom grief or cares opprefs,
To raife neglected merit from distress,
The dying arts t'encourage and revive,
And independent of mankind to live;
This, this is Riches' grand prerogative.
These all the wife and good with joy pursue,
And thousands feel, and bless their power in you.
But stay, my mufe, nor rafhly urge thy theme,
Examine well thy candidates for fame;
Thy verfe is praise. Confider very few
Can juftly say one fingle line's their due:
Scorn thou with generous freedom to record,
Without his juft credentials, duke or lord:
An honeft line prefer to a polite,
So fhall thy praife no confcious blush excite.
But as to paint a lovely female face,
With every charm adorn'd, and every grace,
Requires a finer hand, and greater care,
Than the rough features of a H——R ;
So praife than fatire afks a nicer touch;
But finifht well, there's nothing charms fo much.
A fhining character when drawn with art,
Like beauty, whilft it pleafes, wins the heart.
MECENAS first the noble lift shall grace,
Learning's great patron merits the firft place.
O dear to every mufe! to every art!
Virtue's chief 'friend! Tupporter of desert!
Is there a man, tho' poor, defpis'd, oppreft,
Yet whofe fuperior genius fhines confeft;
Whether the useful arts his foul infpire,
Or the politer mufe's facred fire,
Learning and arts t'encourage and extend?
In thee he finds a patron and a friend.
Wealth thus bestow'd returns in lafting fame,
A grateful tribute to the donor's name.
Next him from whom true virtue meets reward,
Is he who fhows to want a kind regard.
CARUS, tho' bleft with plenty, ease, and health,
His every want fupply'd from boundless wealth,
Yet feels humanity: his foul o'erflows
To fee, or hear, or think on others woes.
Is there a wretch with pinching want opprest?
His pain, till eas'd, is felt in CARUS' breast.
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