And rear'd its proud ambitious head fo high
As almost left behind the aching eye.

Deck'd was the fcene with beauties all its own,
Whofe pow'rful charms each critic glance defy;
And on its topmost height, the regal throne
Of this romantic realm, stood Avon's hard alone.

Alone he ftood for there was none but he
On fuch a fearful precipice could stand;

Careless he ftood, from fear and danger free,
And wav'd with ease that more than magic wand,
Whofe pond'rous weight would numb each other hand;
For who like him could fairy chaplets twine,
Could paint with living hues the airy band
Of shapes infernal and of forms divine,

Or dive fo wond'rous deep in fancy's golden mine?

Reluctant rifing from their nether skies,
A troop of griefly ghofts before him ftood,
With iron teeth and ftaring ftony eyes,
Demons and fiends, and all the hellish brood
Which fancy figures in her trembling mood;
Around his head thofe elves and spirits flew,
Who taste on earth of heav'n's ambrofial food,
Who fuck with bees the cowflip's honey due,
And steal, to make them coats, the rainbow's brilliant hue.

There on her car fate Mab the fairy queen,
And dreams of various hue around her flung;
Her coachman, merry Puck, array'd in green,
Before her on the nut-built chariot hung,
And all his knavifh tricks and frolics fung.
There was the witch's child, who ne'er unclos'd
His brutal lips but forth a curfe there fprung;

And Ariel quaint, of other mold compos'd,

Who trode the winter wind, and in the gale repos'd.

EULOGIUM ON CONVERSATION,

[From CONVERSATION, a Didactic Poem, by WILLIAM COOKE, Efq.]

CONVERSATION, ever on the wing,

Delights to rove through all the honied spring
Like mufic's voice, harmonious, deep, and clear,
Pours all its information through the ear,
Draws out the force of education's plan,
Combines the whole, and finishes the man.

See how it decorates the claffic page!
And how the ancients felt this pleasing rage!
6

Or

Or at their baths-their meals-the public hall,
'Twas Conversation took the lead in all.

Here rights were canvafs'd-manners understood,
And laws develop'd for the public good,
Here heroes' deeds were told with kindred blaze,
Nor humbler virtues 'fcap'd their fhare of praife.
The matron's conftancy-the fage's fenfe,
The power of beauty, and its best defence,
The poor man's firmnefs in the ftruggling hour,
Contentment's charm, or riches' liberal power,
All learning taught-all daily life had fhewn
-The moit unerring fcience to be known-
Were here enforc'd with fimpleness and truth,
As food for age, or models for their youth;
Nay, ev'n in death they felt for human kind,
And left their moral legacies behind.

O! life's true teacher!-moft illustrious fage!
Whofe great example burns, from age to age,
Who fcorn'd the trammels of the wrangling fchools,
And taught philofophy by chriftian rules;
Tho' doom'd a bafe-unworthy death to share,
In fpite of pity's voice, and virtue's prayer
Still did thy foul unbroken, and ferene,
With confcious truth furvey the awful scene,
Fearless what pangs the poifon'd bowl could give,
And to the laft inform'd us how to live.

With these bright models plac'd before our view, Let's learn to copy each proportion true, Explore what Converfation can produce, For moral happinefs, and focial ufe.

In life's gay fpring 'tis that perpetual school,

Which moulds the manners, free from tyrant rule, Gives flow of fpeech, and readiness to scan

The various habitudes of active man.

Poffefs'd of this, we better learn to prize

What comforts fashion gives, or what denies;

What drefs imports, what friendship's crowds employ, In all the frivolous purfuits of joy.

Shielded by this, we better learn to thun

Thofe bafer lengths which youthful paffions run;
Gaming's fad charm, which rends all focial ties,
Engenders fraud, rapacity, and lies;

Or Bacchus' court, or luft's decoying cell,
Where rank difeafe and diffipation dwell.

Far from thofe haunts, the tutor'd bosom strays,

Who converfe love-love not those dangerous ways.

What

What books we read, tho' read with critic zeal,
'Tis Converfation ftamps the final feal;

Marks what's original, and what is known,
And adds another's ftrictures to our own.
What school, what travels, what examples taught,
As rich materials for our use are brought,
Proud now to feel what charm'd our earlier days,
Return with ten-fold intereft to our praise,
On every fide we fome advantage prove,
It warms our friendship, and inspires our love.

In latter age, when paffions milder flow,
And our chief pride is rais'd on what we know,
Tho' love no longer takes an active part,
No longer flames, or agitates the heart,
Still Converfation keeps its fettled throne,
power of pleafing ftill is all our own.

Its

By this once more we prove the virgin kind,
And gain fresh conquefts o'er her charms of mind,
Difperfe the gloomy, aid the cheerful hour,
Obtain refpect, and confidence, and power.
And when, approaching to its awful close,
Life feeks its chiefeft pleafure in repofe,
This focial charm fhall gild our fetting day,
Infpire fresh hopes, and brighter views difplay;
Hopes which foretafte, confirm'd by pious truft,
The facred Converfation of the just.

Where man "made perfect" feels celestial fires,
Glows in difcourfe, or hymns in heav'nly choirs,
Where, bleft communion! every joy is thine,
Eternal truth-and harmony divine.

ELEGY Occafioned by the Lofs of the Author's Daughter,

From SORROWs, facred to the Memory of PENELOPE, by Sir BROOKE

BOOTHRY, Bart.]

OW the down of the fwan o'er my temples is fpread,

Now

And grief and misfortune have bow'd down my head;

Now old age is at hand, and each forrowful day
Something adds to the load, as the ftrength wears away.
'Twere fitting, the little that life had to last,

Free from care and alarm might have quietly pafs'd;
That in ftudious repofe, to my bosom still dear,
Soft peace might have ended an humble career;
In the house of my fathers, ah! too much my pride!
On a wife's faithful breaft have fecurely relied;
With a few dear companions, who knowing my heart,
Had to faults been indulgent, where that had no part;

"Till the marble, in wait for the reft of its prey,
To eternal oblivion had fnatch'd me away;
To her again join'd, at whofe fad, early doom,

All my joys, hopes, and pleafures, were hid in the tomb.
Such once was my wifh, nor unworthy to know
The calm that an innocent life should bestow;
But vain were my projects, my wishes all vain;
No repofe, no retirement, must foften my pain;
Strange mafters my meadows and groves fhall poffefs;
For them, my loved plants wear their beautiful dress.
To new regions I go; unfriended, alone.

Rejected, forgotten, unpitied, unknown.

Doom'd, perhaps, to behold my dear country no more,
My bones fhail lie white on fome far distant shore;
O'er my poor scatter'd relicks no forrows be shed,
And nameless the duft that flies over my head.