What Poet fings, and ftrikes the strings?
It was the mighty Theban spoke.
He from the ever-living Lyre

With magic hand elicits fire.

Heard ye the din of Modern Rhimers bray?
It was cool M――n: or warm G—y,
Involv'd in tenfold smoke.

I. 2.

The fhallow Fop in antic vest,

Tir'd of the beaten road,

Proud to be fingularly drest,

Changes, with every changing moon, the mode. Say, fhall not then the heav'n-born Muses too Variety purfue?

Shall not applauding critics hail the vogue? Whether the Mufe the ftile of Cambria's fons, Or the rude gabble of the Huns,

Or the broader dialect

Of Caledonia fhe affect,

Or take, Hibernia, thy ftill ranker brogue?

I. 3.

On this terreftial ball

The tyrant, Fashion, governs all.
She, fickle Goddess, whom, in days of yore,
The Ideot Moria, on the banks of Seine,
Unto an antic fool, hight Andrew, bore.

Long fhe paid him with disdain,

And long his pangs in filence he conceal'd:
At length, in happy hour, his love-fick pain
On thy bleft Calends, April, he reveal'd.
From their embraces sprung,

Ever changing, ever ranging,
Fashion, Goddess ever young.

II. I.

Perch'd on the dubious height, She loves to ride,

Upon a weather-cock, aftride.

Each blast that blows, around fhe goes,

While nodding o'er her crest,

Emblem

Emblem of her magic pow'r,

The light Cameleon stands confeft, Changing it's hucs a thousand times an hour. And in a veft is she array'd,

Of many a dancing moon-beam made,

Nor zoneless is her waift:

But fair and beautiful, I ween,

As the ceftos-cinctur'd Queen,

Is with the Rainbow's fhadowy girdle brac'd.

II. 2.

She bids pursue the fav'rite road

Of lofty cloud-capt Ode.

:

Meantime each Bard, with eager speed,

Vaults on the Pegafean Steed:

Yet not that Pegafus, of yore

Which th' illuftrious Pindar bore,

But one of nobler breed.

High blood and youth his lufty veins inspire.

From Tottipontimoy He came,
Who knows not, Tottipontimoy, thy name?
The bloody-shoulder'd Arab was his Sire.

* His

His White-nofe.

He on fam'd Doncaftria's plains

Refign'd his fated breath :

In vain for life the ftruggling courfer strains.
Ah! who can run the race with death?

The tyrant's speed, or man or steed,
Strives all in vain to fly.

He leads the chace, he wins the race,
We ftumble, fall, and die.

Third from Whitenose springs
Pegasus with eagle wings :

Light o'er the plain, as dancing cork,

With many a bound he beats the ground,
While all the Turf with acclamation rings.
He won Northampton, Lincoln, Oxford, York:
He too Newmarket won.

There Granta's Son

P

Seiz'd

* The Author is either mistaken in this place, or has else indulged himself in a very unwarrantable poetical licence. Whitenofe was not the Sire, but a Son of the Godolphin Arabian. See my Calendar.

HEBER.

Seiz'd on the Steed;

And thence him led, (fo fate decreed)

To where old Cam, renown'd in poet's fong,
With his dark and inky waves,

Either bank in filence laves,

Winding flow his fluggish streams along.

III. 1.

What stripling neat, of visage fweet,
In trimmest guise array'd,
First the neighing Steed affay'd?
His hand a taper switch adorns, his heel
Sparkles refulgent with elastick steel:
The whiles he wins his whiffling way,

Prancing, ambling, round and round,

By hill, and dale, and mead, and greenswerd gay : Till fated with the pleasing ride,

From the lofty Steed dismounting,

He lies along, enwrapt in conscious pride,

By gurgling rill or crystal fountain.

III. 2.