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Hide yon deluded agonizing train,
Hoyle Lake, a Poem, written on that Coast, and addressed to its
PROPRIETOR, SIR JOHN STANLEY. [From LLANGOLLEN Vale, with other Poems, by Anna Seward.)
HEE, Stanley, thee, our gladden'd spirit hails,
Since life's first good for us thy efforts gain,
Reside far distant from her circling main.
These light some walls, beneath thy generous cares
Arofe, the lawny scene's convivial boast,
That green Britannia's watry zone displays,
Whose lares t smile, and promise lengthen'd days.
When gather'd fogs the pale horizon steep,
Falling in heavy, deep, continual rain,
His crystal rays pervade the vapory train,
O'er the light surface of the sandy mound,
Drink the pure gale, and eye the blue profound.
Dear scene!--that stretch'd between the filver arms
Of Deva, and of Mersey, meets the main,
Boasts of peculiar grace, nor boasts in vain. * The large and handsome hotel, built in the year 1792, by fir Jobo Stances
, and which converts there pleasant downs into a commodious fea-balking place.
+ Lores, Household-gods.
Tho' near the beach, dark Helbrie's lonely ille,
Reposes sullen in the watry way,
And o’er her dusky sandals dash their spray.
Her curtain’d mountains rising o'er the floods ;
Blue Deva swells her mirror to the woods.
High o'er that varied ridge of Alpine forms,
Vaft Moel-y-Fammau * towers upon the light,
And screens her filial mountains from their blight.
Far on the right, the dim Lancastrian plains,
In pallid distance, glimmer thro' the sky,
Commercial Liverpool, elude the eye.
Amid whose restless billows guardian Hoyle,
Spreads the firm texture of her amber ifle t.
Roll, day, and night, its level surface o'er,
They froth,—but rush innoxious to the shore.
Hear thundering shipwreck yell her dire decrees,
And o'er the high mast lift her whelming seas,
If to thy quiet harbour, gentle Hoyle,
The Matter'd navy thro' the tempest Aies,
And carols to the vainly angry skies.
What tho? they vex the lake's cerulean stream,
And curl its billows on the shelly floor,
Age, and infirmity, inay plunge fecure.
* Moel-y-Famnau, the first word spoken as onc syllable, as if spelt Mole. The name fignifies in Welch Mother of Ment28s. It is seen in the Hoyle-Lake prospect, behind the Flintshire hills, and confiderabiy bigher than any of them.
+ Amber Ifle, the San. Laut, fixiniles long, and four broad, which lying in the sea, 3 mile from thore, forras the lake; ani breaking the force of the tides, conftitutes the , safety of that lake as an harbour and bathing-place.
How gay the scene when spring's fair mornings breako
Or Turner nons iHume the grały mound,
Or deck the distant ocean's fkley bound.
Like leafless forests, on its verge extreme
Rre the tall malts ;--of reading wide their fails,
Stand on that last Blue line, and court thé gales.
And boatswain's whistle bears the jovial found;
Tinge the soft seas of glass, that sleep around.
'Twas on these downs * the Belgian hero spread
His ardent legions in auspicious hours,
To deathless glory their embattled powers.
When, like the conqueror of the Eastern world,
That ftemmid with dauntless breast the Granic food,
And Boyne's pale waters dyed with rebet blood.
Since now, to health devoted, this calm More
Breathes renovation in its foamy wave,
The good his energies to others gave.
That long on him clear-cheek'd Hygeia's smile,
And long on all he loves, rerene may iline,
Diffus'd the bleslings of her crystal thrine.
Ode on his Majesty's BIRTH-DAY.
BY HENRY JAMES Pye, Esq. POET-LAUREAT.
HERE are the vows the Muses breath'd,
Thit Discord's fatal reign might cease?
To bind the placid brow of Peace;
* King William encamped his army on the Hoyle lake downsy before he took taip. phg from thence, on his victorious expedition to Ireland.
Whose angel-form, with radiant beam,
Prompt to extend her influence bland,
For, lo ! on yon devoted fore,
Still through the bleeding ranks of war, His burning axles steep'd in gore,
Ambition drives his iron car. Still his eyes, in fury rollid,
Glare on fields by arms o'er run;
Spoils injurious inroad won;
Shrinks Britain at the sound? Though, while her eye
O'er Europe's desolated plains the throws,
She mourns the dreadful scene of war and woes ;
The blood-stain'd arm of battle rear,
And, far as Ocean's billows roar,
By ev'ry wave encircled shore,
The soothing voice of Peace is drown'd
Awhile in war's tumultuous sound,
Ode to Bertie Greatheed, intended to counteract the effect of the
mistaken and querulous Picture of Human Nature, drawn by Ma.
Gray in his Obe on a distant prospect of ETON COLLEGE. [From an Ode to a Boy at Eton, with three Sonnets, and one
EPIGRAM, by WILLIAM PARSONS, Esp.)
Mox etiam pectus præceptis format amicis,
Hor. Epist. Lib. 2. Ep. 1
E tho' mistaken kindness doom'd
Meso willi'd a mother's care
Ere yet the buds of genius bloom'd)
To“ chase the rolling circle's speed,"