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No barren spot can here be found,
No weed nor thistle curse the ground;
Nor here is heard the screech-owl's note,
Nor omen from the raven's throat;.
But thrush and black-bird sweetly fing,
And the glad çuckoo hails the spring.
Here, too, the scented sweet-briar grows,
The woodbine wild, and wild the rose ;
The king-cup smiles with brighter bloom,
And violets breathe more sweet perfume.
To such a spot, enchanted mead!
The sprightly elve doth Patty lead ;
Now from his bounding steed alights,
And mixes 'mong his fellow sprites;
His bounding steed no more his care,
Directly vanish'd into air.

Now gentle Patty, in surprize,
Around her turns her wand'ring eyes.
Here some she saw, with mighty care,
New-moulding fancies for the fair ;
Here rose a head, and there was seen
Improvements on a capuchin ;
(For all the milliner imparts
Is the result of fairy arts.)
Here stood a crowd in warm dispute,
About to form a birth-day fuit ;
And there, in consultation, fat
As many, modelling a hat:
Fast by, inspir'd by female love,
The spreading petticoat t improve,
They met, and in debate were high,
Pr is ?-or is it not a fly?
Others, to greater deeds inclin’d,
Were drawing morals for the mind;
And lo! to this important end,
The fairy histories are penn'd;

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The sprites, to all invention new,
Their slender fingers dip in dew,
And fill with deeds unknown before,
Their tomes, the leaves of fycamore.
Hence are the lov'd of fairies tanght,
And blefs'd with ev'ry brilliant thought;
Who here perufe at early dawn,
Th'impressions on the dewy lawn,
Ere yet an inauspicious wind,
Leaves not a single tome behind,
Or the refulgent sun exhales
On one bright beam a thousand tales !
From hence each intellectual vapour,
They scrawl on mortal ink and paper.
So wretches, vulgar things their care,
For mushrooms at the morn repair,
Ere yet th' expanding warmth of day
Dries their contracted sweets away.

A number more, at different toil,
Patty with terror view'd a while:
When now a train approach'd the maid,
With sprightly Simkin at their head;
Who, smiling, tripp'd before the rest,
And thus the trembling fair address'd.

• Fear not, sweetest maid, but see
" What the gift we bring to thee.
• This the queen of fairies fent,
• In a phial nicely pent;
• Drops, by moon-ey'd elves distillid
• From the wild-buds of the field;
• Mix'd with liquids nicely caught,
• Which in acorn cups are brought ;
• Fill'd before the peep of morn,
• From the prickly point of thorn;
• Or the furze-bush in the dell,
« Or the yellow cowslip bell,

. (Suck'd

- (Suck'd from thence with slender pipe)
• Or the hip, at Christmas ripe;

Join'd with these, a chymick rare,
• Earth extract from purest air.

Nymph, with this bedew thine head,
• No more shall glow thy locks with red;

Of lovely brown shall be thy hair,
* And thou the brightest of the fair.'
This said, the ken of rising day
Summon'd each sprite in hafte away.

Now Patty to the phial Aies,
And straight the remedy applies.
She fighs, neglected, now no more,
The swains admire that jeer'd before ;
The nymphs from former pity turn,
And now with hate and






AIL, first-born principle of grace divine,


Let titles, dignities, and honours bow,
Wealth stoop her crest, and Pride herself fall low.
Hail, Charity benign! whose gentle course
From god-like Mercy first deriv'd it's source ;
Offspring of Heav'n, of two-fold force poffess’d,
Who blessing others, in thyself art blefs’d.
Hail, mild Philanthropy, from Mercy sprung,
Begot by fiat of th' Almighty tongue,
When Discord first his jarring reign began,
To heal the strifes, and ease the cares of man!

The monarch, seated in the chair of state,
Whose smile is fortune, and whose frown is fate;

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Whose word, obsequious, diftant realms obey,
And crowds attendant own his sov'reign fway ;
At Mercy's throne shall bend the suppliant knee,
And, God of Mercy! seek for aid from thee.

At that sad hour, when wealth and grandeur fail,
And Joy no longer spreads her silken fail ;
When anxious doubts the flutt'ring foul poffefs,
Dreading to be, yet fearing to be less;
Lo! Charity, with lenient hand appears,
And comfort ministers with mingling tears ;
Bless'd hope of future blissful scenes the brings,
And robs the tyrant, Death, of half his stings.

When such misfortunes as e'en wealth attend,
A fon unduteous, or unfaithful friend,
Unjuft fufpicion, or ill-founded blame,
A wounded character, or blafted fame,
Envy's foul tongue, or Malice' ranc'rous dart,
Distract the mind, and rack the lab’ring heart;
Philanthropy with willing step draws nigh,
With sweet compaflion checks the rising figh,
Persuasive hids us common ills endure,
And charms the malady she cannot cure.

Thrice happy thou, to whom indulgent Heav'n
The means of blessing, and the will has giv'n;
A heart attentive to the plaints of woe,
A hand responsive ready to bestow ;
A soul which emulates the Pow'r above,
Replete with mercy, charity, and love.

Behold yon pile in decent order rise,
Whose annual cost thy lib'ral hand supplies,
To fickness dedicate, and sudden ill,
Where care, contentinent, medicine, and skill,
With force united combat fierce disease,
Expel the poison, and restore to ease :
Wretches reliev'd, in strains of heart-felt praise,
To God, and thee, their grateful voices raise ;


Mothers preserv'd, Mall catch the grateful flame,
And lifping infants strive to bless thy name.

When nipping Winter bends it's hoary brows,
And feeble Age beneath it's rigour bows ;
When e’en the chearing sun's bless'd influence fails,
And Want, with double force, the wretch affails :
Warm'd by thy hand, and by thy bounty fed,
The child of woe thall rear his drooping head,
And raise to heav'n his supplicating pray'r,
To crown thy days with choicest blessings here ;
From care and pain thine eve of life to guard,
And grant eternal bliss, thy due reward.

O, for that Muse which Rosse's hero fung!
That lyre with harmony celestial strung!
Sounds that might vibrate on the ravilh'd ear
Strains fic for Virtue's choicest fons to hear !
Description's pow'rs to paint the glowing line
And, as the subject, language all divine !
Then would th' enraptur'd Muse, with willing feet,
Attend thee daily to the dark retreat,
Where worth obscure, in pining anguish lies,
And hides it's misery from vulgar eyes;
Where conscious Virtue, dignify'd in grief,
Unus'd to work, alham’d to seek relief,
Bereft alike of fortune and of friends,
On God alone for fuccour he depends ;
Humbly submits the rod of wrath to bear,
Nor on himself bestows a single tear.

Lo, where his wife, dear partner of his care !
Whose voice could comfort, and whose smile could chear ;
Whose eye was sunshine on the loveliest face,
Whose form was symmetry, whose motion grace ;
O’erwhelm’d with grief, in silent forrow stands,
Grasping her hapless race with pallid hands;
Till at their plaints her yearning heart o’erflow,
And burft upon them in a food of woe!

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