thought and deep penetration of the Arabs. In application, it recommends that close attention which is so requifite in matters of importance. Without this, genius and judgment are at best but defective, and this talent hath often led persons, in other respects not greatly distinguished, to make discoveries of consequence in philosophy, agriculture, and other sciences. No where, I presume, is this faculty more necessary, than in chymical researches. In any business, the foolish and the heedless are ready to say, " I did not think;" but the motto of the diligent and attentive will ever be " quid utile ;-Curo et rogo, et omnis in hoc fum." Wishing you all success in your paper, and hoping the Bee will foon answer the expectation raised by your excellent profpectus, I am, March 31, Yours, &c. NARRATOR, A detached Thought. LET us suppose a nation, or, if you please, a species of men so superior to us in respect of genius, that the last among them should furpass, in that respect, the first among us, it is evident, that our best performances would appear to them very indifferent; but I believe also, that theirs, and, above all, their finest productions, would afford us very little pleasure. Our critics would, indeed, acknowledge, that their performances discovered genius, but very little taste. These folks, they would say, write nothing but enigmas. They know not how to develope their thoughts, nor to make them connect easily with one another. One does not understand what they would fay; and perhaps they do not well understand it themselves. Verfes occafioned by hearing the proverb, " Scorn comes commonly with skaith." 66 Ode to the Lark, by the Reverend Mr. I. Tyson. SWEET attendant on the spring, " (Can the MUSES then inspire, "Comes expression from the LYRE, "That may full description prove, "Of my THIA's heat and love? "Ah! too weak 's the welcome aid, "To fing the beauties of the maid! "Love's the rudder of my lays, " Love alone shall fing her praise, "Love that captivates the brave, "And turns the tyrant to a flave! "Let the critic knit his brow, " Let him call my verfe but low, "Let him cenfure, what care I; " All his threat'nings I defy. "From the maid in beauty's bloom, " "Tis from her I wait my doom, " "Tis from her alone I love ; "She can praise or disapprove.)” Learn to murmur like the dove, Bear the love-tale to my love; Hear me vow, and hear me figh; Tell her, " fick of love I die." Go, the lovely virgin greet, Waft my off'ring to her feet, WARBLER, thou love's sweets hast prov'd, Ever loving, and belov'd! (Search the writings of the SAGE, "Search the fair historic page; " Still the love won't equal mine! "TO FANCY then the pencil give, "Let her bid the canvas live, "Let the youthful image rife, " Lovely to the ravish'd eyes; "The love-sick swain then let her paint, * " Still description is too faint : " In vain she'll paint, in vain design; > " Still the love won't equal mine.)" Fancy feels the task too hard; Weak 's the fancy of the Bard, Weak 's the Painter's mimic skill, FN. Yorkshire. To the Editor of the Bee. SIR, Paisley. April 5th, 1791. The following desultory ode is original; if it merits a place in the Bee, the infertion of it there will much oblige Your humble servant SCRIBBLE. The Temple of Plutus, an Ode. Once on a day from the superb abode Proclaim'd of mighty treasures to bestow: And hafte, the clarion oft enjoined, The founds first reach'd two humble swains Scarce cheer'd their lab'ring fight, With fierce impatience burn'd; And to curtail The tedious way, its obvious tract he spurn'd, His devious flight, fleet as the bounding deer, When strep'rous hounds and horn, its trembling ears affail. The tiffu'd canopy, the purple stole; A thousand glories buoy'd up his foul, Which, while they glitter'd in his breast, To gladden now his hopeless eye, And night's black shades collected round his head. Beneath no friendly shade Down the poor shepherd his tir'd body laid; Whilft the loud tempest seem'd his forrows to deride. The orient morn at length appear'd, The other swain, whom no rash thoughts impell'd, The long but easy road. No sinking marsh impeded his plain way, Nor brake nor brier his body pain'd : The surest way to Plutus' lov'd abode Oft find the temple difficult to gain, Feel all the brambly torments of remorse, 1 |