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Is't reason no; that my whole life will belye,
For who so at variance as reason and I ?
Is't ambition that fills up each chink of my heart,
Nor allows any softer sensation a part ?
Oh no! for in this all the world must agree,
One folly was never fufficient for me.
Is my mind on diftress too intensely employ'd,
Or by pleasure relax’d, by variety cloy'd ?
For alike in this only, enjoyment and pain
Both Nacken the springs of those nerves which they

That I've felt each reverse that from fortune caa flow,
That I've tatted each bliss that the happiest know,
Has still been the whimsical fate of my life,
Where anguish and joy have been ever at ftrife.
But tho'vers’d in th'extremes both of pleasure and paie,
I am still but too ready to feel them again.
If then for this once in my life I am free,
And escape from a snare might catch wiser than me;
'Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms
For tho' brightness may dazzle 'tis kindness that warms :
As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze,
But feel not the warmth though their splendour we

praise, So beauty our just admiration may claim; But love, and love only the heart can inflame.

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On seeing the Duchess of Devonshire in full




OME, thou goddess fair and free,

Whom the meek nymph, Simplicity,
To the son of Maia bore,
And nurs'd upon th' Athenian fhore,
Then to thy fire her charge resign'd,
Who to such elegance of mind
Added, whatever polish'd cafe
Could give, and all the arts to please :
Whether on Reynolds (beauty's friend)
Thou biddeft every grace attend;
Or smiling dost in sportive song
Hail the great guest of Kien-long *
Hither, various goddess, hafte,
Boundless, inimitable taste,


Sir William Chambers.

And save those charms from fashion's tawdry reign,
Which Nature gave io Dev'n, and gave in vain-

From her cumbrous forehead tear
The architecture of her hair,
But leave one snow-white plume to fhew
It faintly mocks the neck below
Snatch from her lip the immodeft guile
Of affectation's constant smile,
And on her cheek replace the rose,
Which, pale and wan, no longer glows
With all that beauty, youth, and love,
Could copy from some faint above-
Would the promise real bliss,
Bid her feem but what she is :
Or, if lovelier ftill she'd be,
From Granby learn to worhip thee.

Lincolns-Irin New-squarı.




Written in the Garden of a Friend.

By W. MA SON, A. M.

HILE o'er my head this laurel-woven bow's

Its arch of glittering verdure wildly fings, Can fancy Number? can the luneful pow'r,

That rules my lyre, neglect her wonted itrings?

No ; 'it the blightning Eaft deform'd the plain,
If this

gay bank no balmy sweets exhald, Still Mould the re-echo to my ttrain, And friendship prompt the theme, where beauty



For he, whose careless art this foliage drest,

Who bad these twining braids of woodbine bend, He first with truth and virtue taught my breast

Where belt to chuse, and best to fix a friend.

How well does mem'ry note the golden day,

What time reclin'd in Marg'ret's Audious glade, My mimic reed first tun'd the * Dorian Jay,

“ Unseen, unheard, beneath an hawthorn shade!”

'Twas there we met : the moses hail'd the hour;

The fame desires, the same ingenious arts
Inspir'd us both : we own'd and blesa’d the pow'r

That join'd at once our studies and our hearts.
O! since those days, when science spread the feast,

When emulative youth its relish lent,
Say has one genuine joy e'er warm'd my breaft?

Enough: if joy was his, be mine content.

To thirst for praise his temperate youth forbore ;

He fondly wish'd not for a poet's name, Much did he love the muse, but quiet more,

And, tho' he might command, he slighted fame.

Hither in manhood's prime he wisely Aed

From all that folly, all that pride approves ; To this soft scene a tender partner led ;

This laurel shade was witness to their loves.

“ Begone (he cry'd) ambition's air-drawn plan ;

“ Hence with perplexing pomp's unwieldy wealth : “ Let me not feem, but be the happy man,

“ Poffeft of love, of competence, and health." Smiling he fpake, nor did the fates withstand ;

In rural arts the peaceful moments Hew: Say, lovely lawn! that felt his forming hand,

How soon thy surface shone with verdure new :

Mufæus, the first Poem which the author pub. lished, written while he was a fcholar of St. College in Cambridge.

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