Nor art nor learning wish'd assistance lends,

But Nature, Love and Music, are my friends. 26

AN EPISTLE

TO MR. JOHN DYER,

AUTHOR OF GRONGAR HILL,

In answer to his from the country.

Now various birds in melting concert sing,
And hail the beauty of the op'ning spring;
Now to thy dreams the nightingale complains,
Till the lark wakes thee with her cheerful strains;
Wakes in thy verse and friendship ever kind,
Melodious comfort to my jarring mind.

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Oh! could my soul thro' depths of knowledge see, Could I read Nature and mankind like thee, I should o'ercome, or bear the rocks of Fate, And draw ev'n Envy to the humblest state. Thou canst raise honour from each ill event, From shocks gain vigour, and from want content. Think not light poetry my life's chief care; The Muse's mansion is at best but air: But if more solid works my meaning forms, Th' unfinish'd structures fall by Fortune's storms. Oft' have I said we falsely those accuse Whose godlike souls life's middle state refuse. Self-love, I cry'd, there seeks ignoble rest;

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Mean let me shrink, or spread sweet shade o'er all, Low as the shrub, or as the cedar tall!—

'Twas vain! 't was wild!—I sought the middle state, And found the good, and found the truly great.

Tho' verse can never give my soul her aim; 25 Tho' action only claims substantial fame; Tho' Fate denies what my proud wants require, Yet grant me, Heav'n! by knowledge to aspire : Thus to inquiry let me prompt the mind;

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Thus clear dimm'd Truth, and bid her bless mankind!
From the pierc'd orphan thus draw shafts of grief,
Arm Want with patience, and teach Wealth relief!
To serve lov❜d Liberty inspire my breath;
Or, if my life be useless, grant me death:
For he who useless is in life survey'd
Burthens that world his duty bids him aid.

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Say, what have honours to allure the mind, Which he gains most who least has serv'd mankind? Titles when worn by fools I dare despise ;

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Yet they claim homage when they crown the wise.
When high distinction marks deserving heirs,
Desert still dignifies the mark it wears.
But who to birth alone would honours owe?
Honours, if true, from seeds of merit grow.
Those trees with sweetest charms invite our eyes
Which from our own ingraftment fruitful rise. 46
Still we love best what we with labour gain,
As the child's dearer for the mother's pain.
The great I would nor envy nor deride,

Nor view an equal's hope with jealous eyes,
Nor crush the wretch beneath who wailing lies:
My sympathizing breast his grief can feel,
And my eye weep the wound I cannot heal.
Ne'er among friendships let me sow debate,
Nor by another's fall advance my state,
Nor misuse wit against an absent friend;
Let me the virtues of a foe defend!

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In wealth and want true minds preserve their weight; Meek tho' exalted; tho' disgrac'd elate:

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Gen'rous and grateful, wrong'd or help'd, they live, Grateful to serve, and gen'rous to forgive,

This may they learn who close thy life attend, Which, dear in mem'ry, still instructs thy friend. Tho' cruel distance bars my grosser eye,

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My soul, clear-sighted, draws thy virtue nigh;
Thro' her deep wo that quick'ning comfort gleams,
And lights up
Fortitude with Friendship's beams.68

GRONGAR HILL.

SILENT Nymph! with curious eye,
Who the purple ev'ning lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings,
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale
;
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy sister Muse;
Now, while Phoebus, riding high,
Gives lustre to the land and sky,
Grongar Hill invites my song,

Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar! in whose mossy cells,
Sweetly musing, Quiet dwells;
Grongar! in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made,
So oft' I have, the ev'ning still,
At the fountain of a rill

Sat upon a flow'ry bed,

With my hand beneath my head,

While stray'd my eyes o'er Towsy's flood,

From house to house, from hill to hill,
Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd sides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves and grottos where I lay,
And vistoes shooting beams of day.
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal:

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Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly-risen hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow,

What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours, intervene ;
But the gay the open scene

Does the face of Nature show
In all the hues of heav'n's bow,
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight.

Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies;
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires;
Half his beams Apollo sheds

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