t the shadow flies,
"When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.
"At least be firm, and undismayed
"Maintain your ground; the fleeting shade,
"Erelong, spontaneous glides away,
"And gives you back the enlivening ray.
"Lo! while I speak, our danger past!
"No more the shrill horn's angry blast
"Howls in our ear; the savage roar
"Of war and murder is no more.
"Then snatch the hour that Fate allows,
"Nor think of past and future woes."
He spoke; and hope revives; the lake
That instant, one and all forsake,
In sweet amusement to employ
The present sprightly hour of joy.
Now, from the western mountain's brow,
Compassed with clouds of various glow,
The sun a broader orb displays,
And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.
The lawn assumes a fresher green,
And dew-drops spangle all the scene.
The balmy zephyr breathes along,
The shepherd sings his tender song.
With all their lays the groves resound,
And falling waters murmur round;
Discord and care were put to flight,
And all was peace, and calm delight.
EPITAPH:
BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT TO BE
ERECTED BY A GENTLEMAN TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY.
Farewell, my best beloved! whose heavenly mind
Genius with virtue, strength with softness, joined;
Devotion, undebased by pride or art,
With meek simplicity, and joy of heart;
Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere;
And only of thyself a judge severe;
Unblamed, unequalled, in each sphere of life,
The tenderest Daughter, Sister, Parent, Wife.
In thee their patroness the afflicted lost;
Thy friends, their pattern, ornament, and boast;
And I----but, ah! can words my loss declare,
Or paint the extremes of transport and despair?
O Thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell,
My guide, my friend, my best-beloved, farewell!
ODE
ON
LORD HAY'S BIRTH-DAY.
13TH MAY, 1767.
A muse, unskilled in venal praise,
Unstained with flattery's art;
Who loves simplicity of lays
Breathed ardent from the heart;
While gratitude and joy inspire,
Resumes the long-unpractised lyre,
To hail, O HAY, thy natal Morn;
No gaudy wreath of flowers she
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