To these deserted plains: Undone, abandon'd to despair, Alas! 'tis winter all the year To us unhappy swains.

Ye little Loves! lament around;

With empty quivers strew the ground,
Your bows unbent lay down :

Harmless your wounds, pointless your darts,

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And frail your empire o'er our hearts,
Till she your triumphs crown.

Ye Nymphs! ye Fawns! complaining sigh;
Ye Graces! let your tresses fly,
The sport of ev'ry wind;

Ye mimic Echoes: tell the woods,
Repeat it to the murm'ring floods,

She's gone! she's gone! unkind!

Break, Shepherds! break each tuneless reed,
Let all your flocks at random feed,

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Each flow'ry garland tear;

Since Wit and Beauty quit the plain,
Past pleasures but enhance our pain,

And life's not worth our care.

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HUDIBRAS AND MILTON

RECONCILED.

TO SIR ADOLPHUS OUGHTON.

Si fractus illabatur orbis,
Impavidum feriunt ruinae.

KOR.

DEAR Knight! how great a drudge is he
Who would excel in poetry!

And yet how few have learn'd the art

T' inform the head or touch the heart!
Some with a dry and barren brain,

Poor rogues! like costive lapdogs strain;
While others with a flux of wit

The reader and their friends besh-t.

Would you (Sir Knight) my judgment know?

He still writes worst who writes so-so.

In this the mighty secret lies,

To elevate and to surprise.

Thus far my pen at random run,

The fire was out, the clock struck one,

When, lo! strange hollow murmurs from without
Invade my ears. In ev'ry quarter rous'd,
The warning winds rush from their rocky caves
Tumultuous; the vapours dank or dry,

Beneath their standards rang'd, with low'ring front

IQ

Darken the welkin. At each dreadful shock

Oaks, pines, and elms, down to their mother earth
Bend low their suppliant heads; the nodding tow'rs
Menace destruction, and old Edric's house
From its foundation shakes. The bellying clouds
Burst into rain, or gild their sable skirts
With flakes of ruddy fire: fierce elements

In ruin reconcil'd, redoubled peals

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Of ceaseless thunder roar. Convulsions rend
The firmament. The whole creation stands
Mute and appall'd, and trembling waits its doom. 30
And now, perhaps, dear friend! you wonder
In this dread scene of wind, rain, thunder,
What a poor guilty wretch could do:
Then hear---(for, faith, I tell you true)
I water'd, shook my giddy head,
Gravely broke wind, and went to bed.

IN MEMORY OF

THE REV. MR. MOORE.

Of humble birth, but of more humble mind,
By learning much, by virtue more refin'd,
A fair and equal friend to all mankind:
Parties and sects, by fierce divisions torn,
Forget their hatred, and consent to mourn;
Their hearts unite in undissembled woe,

And in one common stream their sorrows flow.
Volume I.

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Each part in life with equal grace he bore,
Obliging to the rich, a father to the poor.
From sinful riots silently he fled,

But came unbidden to the sick man's bed.
Manners and men he knew, and when to press
The poor man's cause, and plead it with success.
No penal laws he stretch'd, but won by love
His hearers' hearts, unwilling to reprove;
When sour rebukes, and harsher language fail,
Could with a lucky jest or merry tale

O'er stubborn souls in Virtue's cause prevail.
Whene'er he preach'd, the throng attentive stood,
Feasted with manna and celestial food:
He taught them how to live and how to die;
Nor did his actions give his words the lie.
Go, happy Soul! sublimely take thy flight
Thro' fields of ether, in long tracts of light,
The guest of angels; range from place to place,
And view thy great Redeemer face to face.
Just God! eternal source of pow'r and love!
Whom we lament on earth give us above;
Oh! grant us our companion and our friend,
In bliss without alloy, and without end!

THE LAMENTATION OF DAVID
OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN.

PROSTRATE on earth the bleeding warrior lies,

And Isr'el's beauty on the mountains dies.

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How are the mighty fallen!

Hush'd be my sorrows, gently fall my tears,
Lest my sad tale should reach the aliens' ears:
Bid Fame be dumb, and tremble to proclaim
In heathen Gath, or Ascalon, our shame,
Lest proud Philistia, lest our haughty foe,
With impious scorn insult our solemn woe.
O Gilboa! ye hills aspiring high,
The last sad scene of Isr'el's tragedy;
No fatt'ning dews be on thy lawns distill'd,
No kindly show'rs refresh the thirsty field;
No hallow'd fruits thy barren soil shall raise,
No spotless kids that on our altars blaze;
Lonesome and wild shall thy bleak summits rise,
Accurs'd by men, and hateful to the skies.
On thee the shields of mighty warriors lay,
The shield of Saul was vilely cast away;
The Lord's anointed, Saul! his sacred blood
Distain'd thy brow, and swell'd the common flood.
How are the mighty fall'n!

Where'er their bands the royal heroes led,
The combat thicken'd and the mighty bled;
The slaughter'd hosts beneath their falchions die,
And wing'd with death unerring arrows fly;
Unknowing to return, still urge the foe,

As Fate insatiate, and as sure the blow.

The son, who next his conqu'ring father fought,
Repeats the wonders his example taught;

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