Above, with burning blush the morning glows,
The waking world all fair before him lies

;

"Slow from the plain the melting dews,

"To kifs the fun-beams, climbing, rife," &c. Methinks the grove of Baal I fee,

In terrafs'd ftages mount up high, And wave its fable beauties in the sky,

"From stage to stage, broad steps of half-hid ftone, "With curling moss and blady grafs o'ergrown, "Lead awful

Down in a dungeon deep,

"Where through thick walls, oblique, the broken light "From narrow loop-holes quivers to the fight, "With fwift and furious ftride,

"Clofe-folded arms, and short and fudden starts, "The fretful prince, in dumb and fullen pride, "Revolves efcape

Here in red colours glowing bold,

A warlike figure ftrikes my eye!

The dreadful fudden fight his foes behold Confounded fo, they lofe the power to fly; "Backening they gaze at distance on his face, "Admire his pofture, and confefs his grace; "His right hand grafps his planted fpear," &c. Alas! my Mufe, through much good-will, you erra And we the mighty author greatly wrong;

To gather beauties here and there,

As but a fcatter'd few there were,

While every word 's a beauty in his fong!

[Thofe lines in this Poem marked thus" are taken out of the Poem called GIDEON.]

THE

THE CHOICE.

.

To Mr. DYER. By AARON HILL,

ESQ

7 HILE, charm'd with Aberglafey's quiet plains, The Mufes, and their Emprefs, court your strains,

Tir'd of the noify town, fo lately try'd,

Methinks, I fee you fmile, on Towy's fide!
Penfive, her mazy wanderings you unwind,
And, on your river's margin, calm your mind.
Oh!-greatly bless'd-whate'er your fate requires,
Your ductile wisdom tempers your defires!
Balanc'd within, you look abroad ferene,

And, marking both extremes, pafs clear between.
Oh! could your lov'd example teach your skill,
And, as it moves my wonder, mend my will
Calm would my paffions grow ;-my lot would please;
And my fick foul might think itself to ease!
But, to the future while I ftrain my eye,
Each prefent good flips, undiftinguish'd, by.
Still, what I would, contends with what I can,
And my wild wishes leap the bounds of man.
If in my power it lies to limit hope,

And my unchain'd defires can fix a scope,

This were my Choice-Oh, Friend! pronounce me

poor;

For I have wants, which wealth can never cure!

Let others, with a narrow'd stint of pride,

In felfish views, a bounded hope divide:

If I must wish at all-Defires are free,
High, as the Highest, I would wish to be!
Then might I, fole fupreme, act, unconfin'd,
And with unbounded influence blefs mankind.
Mean is that foul, whom its own good can fill!!
A profperous world, alone, could.feaft my will.
He 's poor, at beft, who others mifery fees,
And wants the wish'd-for power to give them ease!
A glory this, unreach'd, but on a throne!
All were enough—and, less than all, is none!

This my first wifh :-But fince 'tis wild, and vain, To grasp at glittering clouds, with fruitless pain, More fafely low, let my next prospect be,

And life's mild evening this fair sun-set see.

Far from a Lord's loath'd neighbourhood-a State!! Whofe little greatness is a pride I hate!

On fome lone wild, fhould my large houfe be plac'd, Vaftly furrounded by a healthful waste!

Steril, and coarse, the untry'd foil fhould be,

Till forc'd to flourish, and subdued by me.

Seas, woods, meads, mountains, gardens, ftreams, and fkies,

Should, with a changeful grandeur, charm my eyes!
Where-e'er I walk'd, effects of my past pains
Should plume the mountain tops, and paint the plains,
Greatly obfcure, and fhunning courts, or name;
Widely befriended, but efcaping fame;

Peaceful, in ftudious quiet, would I live,
Lie hid, for leifure, and grow rich, to give!

ST

TO MR. SAVAGE,

SON of the late EARL RIVERS.

INK not, my friend, beneath misfortune's weight,
Pleas'd to be found intrinfically great.

Shame on the dull, who think the foul looks lefs,
Because the body wants a glittering dress.
It is the mind's for-ever bright attire,

The mind's embroidery, that the wife admire!
That which looks rich to the grofs vulgar eyes,

Is the fop's tinfel, which the grave despise.
Wealth dims the eyes of crowds, and while they gaze,
The coxcomb 's ne'er difcover'd in the blaze!

As few the vices of the wealthy fee,

So virtues are conceal'd by poverty.

Earl Rivers!-In that name how would't thou shine?
Thy verfe, how fweet! thy fancy, how divine!
Critics and Bards would, by their worth, be aw'd,
And all would think it merit to applaud.
But thou has nought to please the vulgar eye,
No title haft, nor what might titles buy.

Thou wilt fmall praise, but much ill-nature find,
Clear to thy errors, to thy beauties blind;
And if, though few, they any faults can see,
How meanly bitter will cold censure be!
But, fince we all, the wifeft of us, err,
Sure, 'tis the greateft fault to be severe.

A few,

A few, however, yet expect to find,
Among the mifty millions of mankind,
Who proudly stoop to aid an injur’d cause,
And o'er the fneer of coxcombs force applaufe.
Who, with felt pleasure, fee fair Virtue rise,
And lift her upwards to the beckoning prize!
Or mark her labouring in the modest breast,
And honour her the more, the more depreft.

Thee, Savage, thefe (the juftly great) admire, Thee, quick'ning Judgment's phlegm with Fancy's fire! Thee, flow to cenfure, earneft to commend,

An able critic, but a willing friend.

An EPISTLE to a FRIEND in TOWN *,

HAVE my friends in the town, in the gay bufy

town,

Forgot fuch a man as John Dyer?
Or heedlefs defpife they, or pity the clown,
Whofe bofom no pageantries fire?

No matter, no matter-content in the fhades-
(Contented?-why every thing charms me)
Fall in tunes all adown the green steep,ye cascades,
Till hence rigid virtue alarms me.

Till outrage arifes, or mifery needs

The swift, the intrepid avenger;

Till facred religion or liberty bleeds,

Then mine be the deed, and the danger.

Alas!

Among the Poems of Mr. Savage, there is one to

Mr. Dyer, in answer to his from the country.