Yet fix'd his principles, beyond the force Of all beneath the fun to bend his course *. Thus the tall cedar, beautiful and fair, Flatters the motions of the wanton air ; Salutes each paffing breeze with head reclin'd; The pliant branches dance in every wind: But fix'd the ftem her upright ftate maintains, And all the fury of the North difdains.
How are you bless'd in such a matchless friend! Alas! with me the joys of friendship end; O Harrifon! I muft, I will complain;
Tears foothe the foul's diftrefs, tho' fhed in vain : Didft thou return, and bless thy native shore With welcome peace, and is thy friend no more ? Thy task was early done, and I must own Death kind to thee, but, ah! to thee alone. But 'tis in me a vanity to mourn,
The forrows of the great thy tomb adorn; Strafford and Bolingbroke the lofs perceive, They grieve, and make thee envy'd in thy grave. With aching heart, and a foreboding mind,
I night to day in painful journey join'd, When firft inform'd of his approaching fate, But reach'd the partner of my foul too late † ; 'Twas paft; his cheek was cold; that tuneful tongue Which Ifis charm'd with its melodious fong, Now languish'd, wanted ftrength to speak his pain, Scarce rais'd a feeble groan, and funk again : Each art of life, in which he bore a part, Shot like an arrow thro' my bleeding heart. To what ferv'd all his promis'd wealth and pow'r, But more to load that most unhappy hour?
Yet ftill prevail'd the greatnefs of his mind; That, not in health, or life itself, confin'd, Felt thro' his mortal pangs Britannia's peace, Mounted to joy, and smil'd in Death's embrace. His fpirit now juft ready to refign,
No longer now his own, no longer mine, He grafps my hand, his fwimming eye-balls roll, My hand he grafps, and enters in my foul; Then with a groan-fupport me, O! beware Of holding worth, however great, too dear!:
His lordship's nephew, who took orders.
† Swift gives a fimilar affecting account of his calling on him too late in his
Extat from MASON's English Garden.
OR is that Cot, of which fond Fancy draws This cafual picture, alien from our theme. Revifit it at morn; its opening latch,
Tho' Penury and Toil within refide, Shall pour thee forth a youthful progeny Glowing with health and beauty: (fuch the dower Of equal heav'n) fee how the ruddy tribe
Throng round the threshold, and, with vacant gaze, Salute thee; call the loiterers into use,
And form of these thy fence, the living fence
That graces what it guards. Thou think'ft, perchance, That, fkill'd in nature's heraldry, thy art
Has, in the limits of yon fragrant tuft, Marshall'd each rofe, that to the eye of June Spreads its peculiar crimson; do not err, The lovelieft ftill is wanting; the fresh rofe Of Innocence, it blossoms on their cheek, And, lo, to thee they bear it' ftriving each, In panting race, who firft fhall reach the lawn, Proud to be call'd thy fhepherds. Want, alas! Has o'er their little limbs her livery hung, In many a tatter'd fold, yet still thofe limbs Are shapely; their rude locks start from their brow, Yet, on that open brow, its dearest throne, Sits fweet Simplicity, Ah, clothe the troop In fuch a ruffet garb as beft befits
Their paftoral office; let the leathern scrip Swing at their fide, tip thou their crook with steel, And braid their hat with rushes, then to each Affign his flation; at the clofe of eve, Be it their care to pen in hurdled cote The flock, and when the matin prime returns, Their care to fet them free; yet watching ftill The liberty they lend, oft fhalt thou hear Their whistle fhrill, and oft their faithful dog Shall with obedient barkings fright the flock From wrong or robbery. The livelong day Meantime rolls lightly 'o'er their happy heads; They bafk on funny hillocks, or disport In ruftic paftime, while that loveliest grace, Which only lives in action unreftrain'd To ev'ry fimple gefture lends a charm.
NEW YEAR's ODE, To Queen Mary, 1562. The Poet, ALEXANDER SCOTT.
To Queen Mary, when she firft came Hame.
ELCUM, illuftrat lady, and our Quene, Welcum our Lyone with the Floure-dy-Lyce; Welcum our Thistle with the Lorane Grene, Welcum our rubent rofe upon the ryce : Welcum our Jem and joyfull Gentryce, Welcum our Beil of Albion to beir; Welcum our pleasand Princes maift of prayce; God give you grace agains this gude NEW YIER.
Found on the first four Vertues Cardinall,
On Wisdom, Juftice, Force, and Temperance, Applaud to prudent folk, and principall
Of verteous life, thy glory to advance;
Wey Juftice equal with Difcrepance!
Strengthen thy State, with ftedfastness to steir, To temper Tyme with true continuance,
God give thee grace agains this gude NEW YIER. Frefch, fulgent, flurift, fragrant flower formofe! Lantern to luve, of lady's lamp and lot : Cherry maift fweet! chief carbuncle and choise : Chaft fmiling Sovraign! fhining beautie spot!
Bleft! beautifull! benygn! and beft begot! To this indyte please to incline thine eir, Sent by thy fimple fervant, Sanders Scott,
Greiting, God grant thy Grace a gude NEW YIER.
EPITAPH on a Lady, who died of a Confumption at Bristol Wells. By her HUSBAND.
HOE'ER, like me, with trembling anguish brings
WHis heart's whole treasure to fair Briftol's springs ;
Whoe'er, like me, to foothe disease and pain,
Shall pour those falutary fprings in vain ; Condemn'd, like me, to hear the faint reply, To mark the fading cheek, the finking eye, From the chill'd brow to wipe the damps of death, And watch in dumb despair the short'ning breath; If chance directs him to this artless line, Let the fad mourner know his pangs were mine i
Ordain'd to lose the partner of my breast,
Whofe virtue warm'd me, and whose beauty bleft, Fram'd ev'ry tie, that binds the foul, to prove, Her duty friendship, and her friendship love- But yet remembering that the parting figh, Appoints the juft to flumber, not to die, The ftarting tear I check'd, I kifs'd the rod, And not to earth refign'd her, but to God.
SONNET by Mr. WARTON, To the River Lodon.
AH! what a weary race my feet have run,
Since first I trod thy banks with alders crown'd, And thought my way was all through fairy ground, Beneath thy azure fky, and golden fun : Where first my Mufe to lifp her notes begun! While penfive memory traces back the round, Which fills the varied interval between ;
Much pleasure, more of forrow marks the fcene. Sweet native ftream! whofe fkies and funs fo pure No more return, to chear my evening road! Yet ftill one joy remains, that not obfcure, Nor useless, all my vacant days have flowed,
From youth's gay dawn to manhood's prime mature s Nor with the Mufe's laurel unbestowed-
The two following additional ODES of the First Book of HORACE made their first Appearance in the Gentleman's Magazine, and are there faid to have been lately discovered in the Palatine Library, and communicated by GASPER PALLAVICINI, Sub-Librarian.
CARMINUM, LIB. I. Out 39. Ad Julium Florum.
Jam vide Caras Aquilone fparfas! Mens viri fortis fibi conftat, utrum Serius lethi, citiufve triftis
QU. HORATII FLACCI, ODE 40. Ad Librum fuum.
CHARTAM unicam hanç Libri certè vetuftissimi in Bibliothecâ Palatinâ repertam accuratiffimè tranfcripfi, verbum de verbo, et literam de literâ. Chartam ipfam in Archivis tutiffimè recondidi; tranfcriptionem tibi amoris ergo committo. Clariffimè apparet è titulis fupernè paginæ notis, aliifque indiciis laceratam excerptamque ex aliquâ editione Horatianâ olim fuiffe, et forfitan primâ, quando nufquam alibi, vel antea has Odas in memoriam revocare poffum. Mecum ergo literatos omnes gratulari videbitur, recuperatis his elegantiffimis carminibus Horatianis. Vale & fruere.
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