ON THE QUONDAM DUCHESS OF K- -N, SAID TO BE WRITTEN BY DR, DS, ONE OF THE RESIDENTIARIES OF ST. PAUL'S.
A WIFE, who to her husband ne'er laid claim ;
A mother, who her children ne'er durft name;
Is this a wonder? more yet may be said,
This wife-this mother-still remains a maid.
SHE's fo lively and so fair,
Where'er fhe comes all hearts submit,
Charm'd by her beauty and her wit:
Her spouse thinks he's her only care;
Her lover hears it with furprise,
"It is impoffible," he cries,
"She's fo lively and so fair.”
LINES ON SEEING THE COUNTESS TEMPLE *, AT THE ROTUNDA IN DUBLIN.
ERE the fam'd Grecian artist + could
The peerless HELEN's charms display,
Ten nymphs, the boaft of Afia, stood
Unveil'd before him in array.
As once, on Ida's mount 'tis faid,
Where conteft was for beauty's prize,
Three goddeffes their charms display'd,
Before the shepherd's ravifh'd eyes.
But were the bard to these confin'd,
He'd ne'er that first of graces paint,
The ray of TEMPLE's angel mind,
To which all earthly tints are faint!
Now Marchioners of Buckingham.
TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE, THEN VICEROY OF
BY T. WARWICK, L. L. B.
WHO hath not heard, by after-poets told,'
How thro' deferted rocks, and barren fand,
Torn from the dying master's tunelefs hand,
Down Thracian streams the lyre of Orpheus roll'a.
The mufe beheld—nor mindless that of old
Her infant ftrains the rifing city plann'd,
Exalted fair among the starry band,
The plastic shell renew'd in heavenly mold.
Ierne's harp a like attention claims,
Which now her willing hand submits to thine,
O mufe-lov'd Howard, first of English names!
'Tis thine to raise her injured strings anew
Till, every lafting glory call'd in view,
Admiring ages hail the work divine.
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE DRAMATIC POEM OF
LO! at the poet's call from ancient night,
Druid, and patriot-bard, and chieftain brave,
Who bent on freedom, or a glorious grave,
To veteran arms oppos'd their native might,
When part the cliffs that break the Belgic wave,
The Julian Eagles wing'd a bolder flight,
To reach the bound where Thule's icy cave
Reflects the doubtful fun's declining light.
Yet, Mafon! yet another task remains
To fill the trump of Albion's early fame;
Be thine to paint fuperiour to his chains
The captive prince before the Claudian throne;
While Rome beholds with tributary Shame
The lofty port of virtue once her own.
WRITTEN AT STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. ·
First and boldeft of the tuneful throng
That drew from nature's fource the powers of fong!
If from the orb of some propitious star
Serenely gliding at the clofe of day,
Thy spirit love to tread this hallow'd ground
Which faw thy birth and hail'd thy virgin lay,
Let not unmark'd a youthful fuppliant kneel,
Immortal SHAKESPEARE. He with infant zeal
Thy flights rever'd, and worshipp'd, from afar,
His moral guide to life's uncertain bound,
The child of Fancy by the virtues crown'd.
Unrivall❜d yet on earth! however Greece
Exalt her fathers of poetic lore;
Whatever Rome's high boaft, when new to peace
Her arts conceal'd that freedom was no more;
Far lefs by those their heirs of later days,
With all the felf-plum'd tribe of modern Gaul,
Whose powder'd critics join at, Fashion's call
To mock with feeble light thy noon-tide rays.
VOL. II.
|