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When Fortune fmil'd, when Pleasure woo'd,

• How indolently gay,

Life's tranfitory ftream I view'd

• Unheeded waste away!

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For wealth, be fmiling peace my share!
With friendship's generous love;
And, loft to each ambitious care,
Be mine the flowery grove!

There ftudious thought would wear the day,

In each inftructive page ;

Or happier speed the hours away,
In converse with the fage.

Taught by the awful voice of Truth,
Life's fyren fnares to fly,

By Reafon's card conduct my youth,
And like my Sophron die!



N gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,

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The Muse exulting, thus her lay began.

Blefs'd be the Bastard's birth! thro' wond'rous ways,

He fhines excentrick, like a comet's blaze!

No fickly fruit of faint compliance Hę!

He! ftamp'd in Nature's mint of extafy!
He lives to build, not boaft a generous race;
No tenth tranfmitter of a foolish face.
His daring hope no fire's example bounds;
His first-born lights no prejudice confounds.
He, kindling from within, requires no flame;
He glories in a Baftard's glowing name.

< Born to himself, by no poffeffion led,

In freedom fofter'd, and by Fortune fed;


Nor guides, nor rules, his fov'reign choice controul,
His body independent as his foul.

Loos'd to the world's wide range; enjoin'd no aim;

• Prefcrib'd no duty, and affign'd no name:
• Nature's unbounded son, he stands alone,
• His heart unbiass'd, and his mind his own!
O Mother, yet no mother! 'tis to you,
My thanks for fuch distinguish'd claims are due.
You, unenflav'd to Nature's narrow laws,
• Warm championefs for Freedom's facred cause,
From all the dry devoirs of blood and line,

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From ties maternal, moral and divine,

Difcharg'd my grafping foul, pufh'd me from fhore,
And launch'd me into life without an oar.

• What had I loft, if conjugally kind,

By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd, Untaught the matrimonial bounds to flight, • And coldly conscious of a husband's right, You had faint-drawn me with a form alone, • A lawful lump of life by force your own! Then, while your backward will retrench'd defire, And unconcurring fpirits lent no fire,

I had been born your dull, domestick heir; • Load of your life, and motive of your care:

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Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great;
The flave of pomp, a cypher in the state;

• Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown,
And flumb'ring in a feat-by chance my own.
• Far nobler bleffings wait the Bastard's lot;

• Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot!

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Strong as Neceffity, he starts away,

⚫ Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day!
Thus, unprophetick, lately misinspir'd,

I fung; gay flutt'ring Hope my fancy fir'd;
Inly fecure, thro' confcious fcorn of ill,
Nor taught by Wisdom how to balance will,


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Rafhly deceiv'd, I faw no pits to shun ;


But thought, to purpose, and to act, were one;
Heedlefs what pointed cares pervert his way,
Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray :
But now expos'd, and fhrinking from diftress,
I fly to fhelter, while the tempefts press;
My Mufe to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan
O Memory! thou foul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why doft thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous fmart to every blow?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad'st me not;
While fharp and numberless my forrows fall,
Yet thou repeat'ft and multiply'ft 'em all!

Is chance a guilt; that my difaft'rous heart,
For mischief never meant, muft ever fmart?

Can felf-defence be fin?-Ah, plead no more!
What tho' no purpos'd malice ftain'd thee o'er;
Had Heav'n befriended thy unhappy fide,
Thou had'ft not been provok'd-or, thou had'ft died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all,
On whom, unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale dead revives, and lives to me;
To me! thro' Pity's eye condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but fwells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their way!
He might have liv'd, till Folly died in shame,

Till kindling Wisdom felt a thirft for fame.

He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd ;
Both happy, gen'rous, candid, and belov'd:

He might have fav'd some worth, now doom'd to fall;
And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.

O fate

O fate of late repentance! always vain :
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.

Where shall my hope find reft! No mother's care
Shielded my infant innocence with prayer;

No father's guardian hand my youth maintain❜d,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome pow'rful arm,
Firft to advance, then fcreen from future harm?
I am return'd from death, to live in pain;
Or would imperial Pity fave in vain?
Diftruft it not: what blame can Mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind ?
Mother, mifcall'd, farewel!of foul feverè,
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by, to you I ow'd;
Alone from strangers ev'ry comfort flow'd!

Loft to the life you gave, your fon no more,
And now adopted, who was doom'd before ;
New-born, I may a nobler mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name:
Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestick mother of a kneeling ftate!
Queen of a people's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed-yet now with one confent adore!
One contest yet remains in this defire,
Who most shall give applause, where all admire.


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OWN by the brook which glides thro' yonder vale,

His hair all matted, and his cheeks all pale,
Robin, fad fwain, by love and forrow pain'd,
Of flighted vows, and Sufan, thus complain'd.

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