O more than ali in powerful genius blest, Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast! Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall feel, Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal!

There every thought the poet's warmth may raise, There native music dwells in all the lays.

Oh, might some verse with happiest skill persuade Expressive Picture to adopt thine aid !

What wondrous draughts might rise from every page What other Raphaels charm a distant age!

Methinks e'en now I view some free design, Where breathing Nature lives in every line: Chaste and subdued the modest lights decay, Steal into shades, and mildly melt away. -And see, where Antony, in tears approved, Guards the pale relics of the chief he loved : O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend,

Deep sunk in grief, and mourns his murder'd friend!

Still as they press he calls on all around,

Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound.

But who tis he, whose brows exalted bear

A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air?
A wake to all that injured worth can feel,
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel:
Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall
(So Heaven ordains it) on the destin❜d wall.
See the fond mother, 'midst the plaintive train,
Hang on his knees, and prostrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide
The son's affection in the Roman's pride:
O'er all the man conflicting passions rise,
Rage grasps the sword, while Fity melts the eyes.
Thus, generous Critic, as thy bard inspires,
The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires;
* See the tragedy of Julius Caesar.

+ Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's dialogue on the Odyssey.

Each from his scenes her stores alternate bring,
Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal string:
Those Sibyl-leaves, the sport of

every wind

(For poets ever were a careless kind),

By thee disposed, no farther toil demand,

But, just to Nature, own thy forming hand.

So spread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole un

known,

Even Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone.
Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more,
By winds and waters cast on every shore:
When, rais'd by Fate, some former Hanmer join'd
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind:
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim
A fond alliance with the Poet's name

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE.

Sung by Guiderus and Arviragus over Fidele, supposed to be dead.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing Spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew;
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!

The red-breast oft at evening hours

Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell;
Or midst the chase, on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell:
Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Beloved, till life can charm no more;
And mourn'd, till Pity's self be dead.

ODE

ON

THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON.

The Scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to lie on the Thames, near Richmond.

I.

IN yonder grave a Druid lies,

Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, To deck its poet's sylvan grave!

II.

In yon deep bed of whisp'ring reeds,
His airy harp shall now be laid;
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
May love through life the soothing shade.

The harp of Eolus, of which see a description in
the Castle of Indolence.

III.

Then maids and youths shall linger here
And while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.

IV.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest &

And oft suspend the dashing oar

To bid his gentle spirit rest!

V.

And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep,

The friend shall view yon whiteningt spire,
And 'mid the varied landscape weep.

VI.

But thou, who own'st that earthly bed,
Ah! what will every dirge avail!

Or tears which Love and Pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail!

VII.

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm❜ring near;

With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,
And Joy desert the blooming year.

VIII.

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill's side,
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

+ Richmond Church.

IX.

And see, the fairy valleys fade,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature's child, again adieu!

X.

•The genial meads, assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom!
There hinds and shepherd girls shall dress
With simple hands thy rural tomb.

XI.

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes:
O vales, and wild woods!' shall he say,
'In yonder grave your Druid lies!'

VERSES

Written on a Paper which contained a Prece of Bride cake.

YE curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes,

By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake, With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize, Nor dare a theft for love and pity's sake. This precious relic, form'd by magic power, Beneath the shepherd's haunted pillow laid, Was meant by love to charm the silent hour, The secret present of a matchless maid. The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request,

Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art; Fears, sighs, and wishes of th' enamour'd breast, And pains that please, are mixt in every part. Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death.