Whose wide affections can embrace TO THE REV. DR. WALWYN, Prebendary of Canterbury. ON HIS INTENDING TO CUT DOWN A GROVE TO ENLARGE HIS PROSPECT. BY MISS CARTER. In plaintive sounds, that tun'd to woe The sadly-sighing breeze, A weeping HAMADRYAD mourn'd Ah! stop thy sacrilegious hand, Nor violate the shade, Where Nature form'd a silent haunt For Contemplation's aid. Canst thou, the son of Science, bred Where learned Isis flows, Forget that, nurs'd in shelt'ring groves, Within the plantane's spreading shade, And fair LYCEUM form'd the depth To Latian groves reflect thy views, Retir'd beneath the beechen shade, The Muses wove th' unfading wreaths Reflect before the fatal axe My threaten'd doom has wrought; Nor sacrifice to sensual taste The nobler growth of thought. Not all the glowing fruits that blush Can recompense thee for the worth Of one idea lost. My shade a produce may supply, Unknown to solar fire; And what excludes APOLLO's rays, . ΤΟ A GENTLE MAN, ON HIS PITCHING A TENT IN HIS GARDEN. BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ: АH friend, forbear, nor fright the fields And sheds her mildest influence there : Ah! drive not the sweet wand'rer from her seat, Nor with rude arts profane her latest best retreat. Are there not bowers, and sylvan scenes, Which erst adorn'd her artless grove? Where through each hallow'd haunt the poet stray'd, And met the willing Muse, and peopled every shade. But now no bards thy woods among, Yet what avails that all be peace within, If horrors guard the gate, and scare us from the scene? 'Tis true of old the patriarch spread His happier tents which knew not war, And chang'd at will the trampled mead For fresher greens and purer air; But long has man forgot such simple ways, Truth unsuspecting harm!—the dream of ancient days. Ev'n he, cut off from human kind, (Thy neighb'ring wretch) the child of Care, Who, to his native mines confin'd, Nor sees the sun, nor breathes the air, But 'midst the damps and darkness of earth's womb Drags out laborious life, and scarcely dreads the tomb; Ev'n he, should some indulgent chance Would eye the floating veil askance, While dire presage in every breeze that blows Hears shrieks and clashing arms, and all Germania's woes. And doubt not thy polluted taste Along the morn or evening dew, Nymph, Satyr, Faun, shall vindicate their grove, Robb'd of its genuine charms, and hospitable Jove. I see, all-arm'd with dews unblest, Keen frosts, and noisome vapours drear, |