How soon obedient FLORA brought her store,
And o'er thy breast a shower of fragrance flung:
VERTUMNUS came; his earliest blooms he bore,
And thy rich sides with waving purple hung:

Then to the sight, he call'd yon stately spire,
He pierc'd th' opposing oak's luxuriant shade;
Bad yonder crowding hawthorns low retire,
Nor veil the glories of the golden mead.

Hail, sylvan wonders, hail and hail the hand, Whose native taste thy native charms display'd, And taught one little acre to command

Each envied happiness of scene, and shade.

Is there a hill, whose distant azure bounds
The ample range of Scarsdale's proud domain,
A mountain hoar, that yon wild Peak surrounds,
But lends a willing beauty to thy plain ?

And, lo! in yonder path I spy my

friend;

He looks the guardian genius of the grove, Mild as the fabled Form that whilom deign'd, At MILTON's call, in Harefield's haunts to rove.

Blest Spirit, come! tho' pent in mortal mould,
I'll yet invoke thee by that purer name;

Oh come, a portion of thy bliss unfold,

From Folly's maze my wayward step reclaim..

Too long, alas, my inexperienc'd youth,

Misled by flattering Fortune's specious tale, Has left the rural reign of Peace, and Truth,

The huddling brook, cool cave, and whispering vale.

Won to the world, a candidate for praise,
Yet, let me boast, by no ignoble art,
Too oft the public ear has heard my lays,

Too much its vain applause has touch'd my heart;

But now, ere Custom binds his powerful chains,
Come, from the base enchanter set me free,
While yet my soul its first, best taste retains,
Recall that soul to reason, peace, and thee.

Teach me, like thee, to muse on Nature's page,
To mark each wonder in Creation's plan,
Each mode of being trace, and, humbly sage,
Deduce from these the genuine powers of Man;

Of Man, while warm'd with reason's purer ray,
No tool of policy, no dupe to pride;

Before vain Science led his taste astray;

When conscience was his law, and God his guide.

This let me learn, and learning let me live

The lesson o'er. From that great Guide of Truth

Oh may my suppliant soul the boon receive

To tread thro' age the footsteps of thy youth.

ELEGY IX..

ΤΟ

THE REV. MR. HURD,

[NOW BISHOP OF WORCESTER.]

By the Same.

FRIEND of my youth, who, when the willing

Muse

Stream'd o'er my breast her warm poetic rays, Saw'st the fresh seeds their vital powers diffuse, And fed'st them with the fostʼring dew of praise!

Whate'er the produce of th' unthrifty soil,

The leaves, the flowers, the fruits, to thee belong:

The labourer earns the wages of his toil;

Who form'd the Poet, well may claim the song.

Yes, 'tis my pride to own, that taught by thee
My conscious soul superior flights essay'd;
Learnt from thy lore the Poets dignity,

And spurn'd the hirelings of the rhyming trade,

Say, scenes of Science, say, thou haunted stream! (For oft my Muse-led steps did'st thou behold) How on thy banks I rifled every theme,

That Fancy fabled in her age of gold.

How oft' I cry'd, "Oh come, thou tragic Queen! March from thy Greece with firm majestic tread! Such as when Athens saw thee fill her scene, When Sophocles thy choral Graces led :

"Saw thy proud pall its purple length devolve;
Saw thee uplift the glitt'ring dagger high;
Ponder with fixed brow thy deep resolve,
Prepar'd to strike, to triumph, and to die.

"Bring then to Britain's plain that choral throng;
Display thy buskin'd pomp, thy golden lyre:
Give her historic Forms the soul of song,
And mingle Attic art with SHAKSPERE'S fire."

"Ah, what, fond boy, dost thou presume to claim?" The Muse reply'd: "Mistaken suppliant, know, To light in SHAKSPERE's breast the dazzling flame Exhausted all PARNASSUS could bestow.

"True; Art remains; and, if from his bright page
Thy mimic power one vivid beam can seize,
Proceed; and in that best of tasks engage,
Which tends at once to profit and to please.”