Come, born to fill its vast desires! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,

Thy voice perpetual love inspires. Whilst all my wish and thine complete, By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return. Let me when nature calls to rest,

And blushing skies the morn foretell, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,

And bid the waking world farewell.

AUTUMN.

AN ODE.

ALAS! with swift and silent pace,
Impatient time rolls on the year;
The seasons change, and nature's face

Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.
'T was Spring, 't was Summer, all was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;
The flowers of Spring are swept away,
And Summer-fruits desert the bough.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze,
Now trod in dust neglected lie,

As Boreas strips the bending trees.
The fields that waved with golden grain,
As russet heaths, are wild and bare;
Not moist with dew, but drench'd with rain,
Nor health nor pleasure, wanders there.
No more while through the midnight shade,
Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray,
Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime she soars,
Oh! would some god but wings supply!
To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her flight I'd fly.

Vain wish! me fate compels to bear
The downward season's iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,
And shiver on a blasted plain.
What bliss to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, And Ceres flies the naked field,

And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? Oh what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour!
The grape remains! the friend of wit,

In love, and mirth, of mighty power.
Haste--press the clusters, fill the bowl
Apollo! shoot thy parting ray:
This gives the sunshine of the soul,

This god of health, and verse, and day.
Still-still the jocund strain shall flow,
The pulse with vigorous rapture beat;
My Stella with new charms shall glow,
And every bliss in wine shall meet.

WINTER.

AN ODE.

No more the morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve distils the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night,
Usurping Darkness shares the day;
Her mists restrain the force of light,

And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway.

By gloomy twilight half reveal'd, With sighs we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field,

The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill. No music warbles through the grove, No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious steps I rove

Through verdant paths, now sought in vain. Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous, showers descend;
Haste, close the window, bar the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature's aid, let art supply

With light and heat my little spnere;
Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a constellation here.
Let music sound the voice of joy,

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let Love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
When Mirth's gay tale shall please no more;
Nor music charm-though Stella sings;

Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore.
Catch, then, Oh! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies;

Life's a short summer-man a flower:
He dies--alas! how soon he dies!

THE WINTER'S WALK. BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove, What dreary prospects round us rise; The naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies! Nor only through the wasted plain,

Stern Winter! is thy force confess'd; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign, I feel thy power usurp my breast. Enlivening hope, and fond desire, Resign the heart to spleen and care; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire, And rapture saddens to despair, In groundless hope, and causeless fear, Unhappy man behold thy doom; Still changing with the changeful year,

The slave of sunshine and of gloom. Tired with vain joys and false alarms, With mental and corporeal strife, Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms, And screen me from the ills of life.*

TO MISS *****.

On her giving the Author a gold and silk net-work Purse of her own weaving.†

THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would shine,

If wrought by any hand but thine;
Thy hand, that knows the subtler art
To weave those nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy silken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed

The heart once caught should ne'er be freed?

And hide me from the sight of life. Ist edition. + Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies.

TO MISS *****,

On her playing upon the Harpsichord in a Room hung with Flower Pieces of her own painting.*

WHEN Stella strikes the tuneful string

In scenes of imitated Spring,
Where Beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound;
Ah! think not, in the dangerous hour,
The nymph fictitious as the flower;
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.

When charms thus press on every sense,
What thought of flight, or of defence?
Deceitful hope, and vain desire,
For ever flutter o'er her lyre,
Delighting as the youth draws nigh,
To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on those regions of delight
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,
One moment hear the moral song,
Instruction with her flowers might spring,
And wisdom warble from her string.

Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes
Thou seest one pleasing form arise,
How active light, and thoughtful shade,
In greater scenes each other aid;
Mark, when the different notes agree
In friendly contrariety,

How passion's well-accorded strife
Gives all the harmony of life;
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame,
Consistent still, though not the same;
Thy music teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.

EVENING.

AN ODE.

TO STELLA.

EVENING now from purple wings Sheds the grateful gift she brings; Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, Cooling breezes shake the reed; Shake the reed, and curl the stream, Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam: Near the chequer'd, lonely grove, Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. Stella, thither let us stray, Lightly o'er the dewy way. Phoebus drives his burning car, Hence, my lovely Stella, far; In his stead, the Queen of Night Round us pours a lambent light; Light that seems but just to show Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow. Let us now, in whisper'd joy, Evening's silent hours employ, Silence best, and conscious shades, Please the hearts that love invades, Other pleasures give them pain, Lovers all but love disdain.

Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies,

TO THE SAME.

WHETHER Stella's eyes are found
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round
If her face with pleasure glow,
If she sigh at others' wo,
If her easy air express
Conscious worth, or soft distress,
Stella's eyes, and air and face,
Charm'd with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we see display'd
Pendant gems, and rich brocade,
If her chintz with less expense
Flows in easy negligence;
Still she lights the conscious flame,
Still her charms appear the same;
If she strikes the vocal strings,
If she's silent, speaks, or sings,
If she sit, or if she move,
Still we love and still approve.

Vain the casual, transient glance,
Which alone can please by chance,
Beauty, which depends on art,
Changing with the changing heart,
Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendant gems and rich brocade.
I those charms alone can prize
Which from constant nature rise,
Which not circumstance nor dress
E'er can make, or more, or less.

TO A FRIEND.

No more thus brooding o'er yon heap.
With Avarice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless sighs are breath'd for more,
Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase Heaven has gold the power
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold?
No-all that's worth a wish-a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbribed, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.

With science tread the wondrous way,
Or learn the Muses' moral lay;
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl
To virtuous love resign thy breast,
And be, by blessing beauty-blest.

Thus taste the feast by nature spread, Ere youth and all its joys are fled; Come taste with me the balm of life, Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife I boast whate'er for man was meant, In health, and Stella, and content; And scorn-oh! let that scorn be thineMere things of clay that dig the mine.

STELLA IN MOURNING.
WHEN lately Stella's form display'd
The beauties of the gay brocade,

The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine.
"Fate! snatch away the bright disguise,
And let the goddess trust her eyes."
Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair,
And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer;

Written at the request of a Gentleman to whom a
Lady had given a Sprig of Myrtle.*

WHAT hopes, what terrors, does thy gift create;
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Consign'd by Venus to Melissa's hand)
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft avours, oft rejects, a lover's prayer,
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads,
Th' unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this bough, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

ΤΟ

LADY FIREBRACE.†

AT BURY ASSIZES.

Ar length must Suffolk's beauties shine in vain, So long renown'd in B―n's deathless strain?

These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson assured me, they were composed in the short space of five

minutes.

N.

But some Zelinda, while I sing,
Denies my Lyce shines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.

Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express,
My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter less.

ON THE DEATH OF

MR. ROBERT LEVET,

A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC.

CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave descend,

Officious, innocent, sincere,

Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;
Nor letter'd arrogance deny

Thy praise to merit unrefined.

When fainting nature call'd for aid,

And hovering death prepared the blow, His vigorous remedy display'd

The power of art without the show.

In misery's darkest cavern known,

His useful care was ever nigh, Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan. And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,

No petty gain disdain'd by pride,

The modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure th' Eternal Master found
The single talent well employ'd.

The busy day-the peaceful night,

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;

His frame was firm-his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

Then, with no fiery throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay,

Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.

EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,

AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN.

PHILLIPS! whose touch harmonious could re

move

The pangs of guilty power, and hapless love,
Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more,
Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before;
Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

EPITAPHIUM†

IN

THOMAM HANMER, BARONETTUM.
HONORABILIS admodum Thomas Hanmer,
Baronettus,
Wilhelmi Hanmer armigeri, è Peregrinâ Hen-
rici North

De Mildenhall in Com. Suffolcia Baronetti so-
rore et hærede,
Filius;

Johannis Hanmer de Hanmer Baronetti

Hæres patruelis

cessit.

And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end.

His force of genius burn'd in early youth, With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth, His learning, join'd with each endearing art, Charm'd every ear, and gain'd on every heart.

Thus early wise, th' endanger'd realm to aid, His country call'd him from the studious shade; In life's first bloom his public toils began, At once commenced the Senator and man.

In business dexterous, weighty in debate, Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the State: In every speech persuasive wisdom flow'd, In every act refulgent virtue glow'd: Suspended faction ceased from rage and strife, To hear his eloquence, and praise his life.

Resistless merit fix'd the Senate's choice Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice. Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, When Hanmer fill'd the chair-and Anne the throne!

This Paraphrase is inserted in Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies. The Latin is there said to be written by Dr Freind. Of the person whose memory it celebrates, a copious account may be seen in the Appendix to the Supplement to the Biographia Britannica.

'Then when dark arts obscured each fierce de-
bate,

When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state,
The moderator firmly mild appear'd-
Beheld with love-with veneration heard.
This task perform'd-he sought no gainful
post,

Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost;
Strict on the right he kept his steadfast eye,
With temperate zeal and wise anxiety;
Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lured aside,
To pluck the flowers of pleasure or of pride.
Her gifts despised, Corruption blush'd and fled,
And Fame pursued him where Conviction led.
Age call'd, at length, his active mind to rest,
With honour sated, and with cares opprest;
To letter'd ease retired, and honest mirth,
To rural grandeur and domestic worth:
Delighted still to please mankind, or mend,
The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend.
Calm Conscience, then, his former life sur-
vey'd,

And recollected toils endear'd the shade,
Till Nature call'd him to the general doom,
And Virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb.

TO MISS HICKMAN.*

PLAYING ON THE SPINNET.

BRIGHT Stella, form'd for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,
Awed into love, our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway:
But when your music sooths the raging pain,
We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.

When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king:
Unbounded projects labouring in his mind,
He pants for room, in one poor world confined.
Thus waked to rage, by music's dreadful power,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour.
Had Stella's gentle touches moved the lyre,
Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire;
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair;
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.

PARAPHRASE OF PROVERBS.

CHAP. VI. Verses 6-11.

"Go to the Ant, thou Sluggard." TURN on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes, Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise: No stern command, no monitory voice, Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice; Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, To snatch the blessings of the plenteous day; When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain, She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.

These lines, which have been communicated by Dr. Turton, son to Mrs. Turton, the lady to whom they are addressed by her maiden name of Hickman, must have been written at least as early as the year 1734, as that was the year of her marriage: at how much earlier a period of Dr. Johnson's life they may have been written, is not known.

In Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies, but now printed from the original in Dr. Johnson's own hand-writing.

How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy powers: While artful shades thy downy couch enclose, And soft solicitation courts repose? Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, Year chases year with unremitted flight, Till Want, now following, fraudulent and slow, Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.

HORACE, LIB. IV. ODE VII.

TRANSLATED.

THE Snow dissolved, no more is seen,
The fields and woods, behold! are green;
The changing year renews the plain,
The rivers know their banks again;
The sprightly nymph and naked grace;
The mazy dance together trace;
The changing year's successive plan,
Proclaims mortality to man;

Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sovereign ray;
Then summer sinks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again;
Her losses soon the moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score
Will toss us in a morning more?
What with your friend you nobly share,
At least you rescue from your heir.
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly slain,
Diana calls to life in vain;

Nor can the might of Theseus rend The chains of Hell that hold his friend. Nov. 1784.

The following TRANSLATIONS, PARODIES, and BURLESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from ANECDOTES of Dr. JOHNSON, published by Mrs. Piozzi.

ANACREON, ODE IX.
Lovely courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scattering, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it business? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair;
Graced with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, stniling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove bestow'd;
Vested with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge consign'd to me;
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless task without reward;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits ;
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.