An iron-race the mountain-cliffs maintain,
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain:
For where unwearied sinews must be found
With side-long plough to quell the flinty ground,
To turn the torrent's swift-descending flood,
To brave the savage rushing from the wood,
What wonder, if, to patient valour train'd,
They guard with spirit what by strength they
gain'd?

And while their rocky ramparts round they see,
The rough abode of want and liberty,

(As lawless force from confidence will grow)
Insult the plenty of the vales below?
What wonder, in the sultry climes, that spread
Where Nile redundant o'er his summer-bed
From his broad bosom life and verdure flings,
And broods o'er Ægypt with his wat'ry wings,
If with advent'rous oar and ready sail
The dusky people drive before the gale;
Or on frail floats to neighb'ring cities ride,
That rise and glitter o'er the ambient tide

*

* *** * * *

SONNET

ON

THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST [49]. IN vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,

And redd'ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join; Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:

These ears, alas! for other notes repine,

A different object do these eyes require: My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.

Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men:
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear:

To warm their little loves the birds complain:
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.

[49] Only Son of Lord Chancellor West, of Ireland.

EPITAPH ON MRS. CLARKE.

[This Lady, the Wife of Dr. Clarke, Physician at Epsom, died April 27, 1757; and is buried in the Church of Beckenham, Kent.]

LO! where this silent marble weeps,
A Friend, a Wife, a Mother sleeps:
A Heart, within whose sacred cell
The peaceful Virtues lov'd to dwell.
Affection warm, and Faith sincere,
And soft Humanity were there.
In agony, in death resign'd,

She felt the Wound she left behind.

Her infant Image here below

Sits smiling on a Father's woe:

Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?

A Pang, to secret sorrow dear;

A Sigh; an unavailing Tear;
Till Time shall ev'ry grief remove,

With Life, with Memory, and with Love.

EPITAPH

ON SIR WILLIAM WILLIAMS [50].

[This Epitaph was written at the request of Mr. Frederick Montagu, who intended to have inscribed it on a Monument at Belleisle, at the siege of which this accomplished youth was killed, 1761; but from some difficulty attending the erection of it, this design was not executed.]

HERE, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame, Young Williams fought for England's fair re

nown;

His mind each Muse, each Grace adorn'd his frame, Nor Envy dar'd to view him with a frown.

At Aix, his voluntary sword he drew [51],

There first in blood his infant honour seal'd; From fortune, pleasure, science, love he flew,

And scorn'd repose when Britain took the field.

[50] Sir William Peere Williams, bart. a Captain in Burgoyne's dragoons.

[51] Sir William Williams, in the Expedition to Aix, was on board the Magnanime with Lord Howe; and was deputed to receive the ca pitulation.

With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast, Victor he stood on Belleisle's rocky steepsAh, gallant youth! this marble tells the rest, Where melancholy Friendship bends and weeps.