TO MIR A. FROM THE COUNTRY.

AT this late hour, the world lies hush'd below,

Nor is one breath of air awake to blow.

Now walks mute Midnight, darkling o'er the plain,
Reft, and foft-footed Silence, in his train,
To bless the cottage, and renew the swain.
These all-asleep, me all-awake they find;
Nor reft, nor filence, charm the lover's mind.
Already, I a thousand torments prove,
The thousand torments of divided love:
The rolling thought, impatient in the breaft;
The fluttering wish on wing, that will not rest;
Defire, whofe kindled flames, undying, glow;
Knowledge of distant bliss, and present woe;
Unhush'd, unsleeping all, with me they dwell,
Children of absence, and of loving well!
These pale the cheek, and cloud the chearless
Swell the swift tear, and heave the frequent figh:
These reach the heart, and bid the health decline;
And these, O Mira! these are truly mine.

eye,

}

She, whose sweet smile would gladden all the grove, Whofe mind is mufic, and whofe looks are love; She, gentle power! victorious softness !-She, Mira, is far from hence, from love, and me; Yet, in my every thought, her form I find, Her looks, her words-her world of charms combin'd!

Sweetness

Sweetness is her's, and unaffected ease;

The native wit, that was not taught to please.
Whatever foftly animates the face,

The eye's attemper'd fire, the winning grace,
Th' unftudy'd smile, the blush that nature warms,
And all the graceful negligence of charms!

Ha! while I gaze, a thousand ardours rise ;
And my fir'd bofom flashes from my eyes.
Oh! melting mildness! miracle of charms!
Receive my foul within thofe folding arms!
On that dear bofom let my wishes rest-
Oh! fofter than the turtle's downy breast!
And fee! where Love himself is waiting near!
Here let me ever dwell-for heaven is here!

OW, gloomy foul! look out-now comes thy turn
With thee, behold all ravag'd nature mourn.

Hail the dim empire of thy darling night,

That spreads, flow-fhadowing; o'er the vanquish'd light
Look out, with joy; the Ruler of the day,
Faint, as thy hopes, emits a glimmering ray :
Already exil'd to the utmost sky,

Hither, oblique, he turn'd his clouded eye.
Lo! from the limits of the wintery pole,
Mountainous clouds, in rude confufion, roll:

In difmal pomp, now, hovering on their way,
To a fick twilight, they reduce the day.

And hark! imprifon'd winds, broke loose, arife,
And roar their haughty triumph through the skies.
While the driven clouds, o'ercharg'd with floods of rain,
And mingled lightning, burft upon the plain.
Now fee fad earth-like thine, her alter'd state,
Like thee, fhe mourns her fad reverfe of fate!
Her fmile, her wanton looks-where are they now?
Faded her face, and wrapt in clouds her brow!

No more, th' ungrateful verdure of the plain;
No more, the wealth-crown'd labours of the fwain;
These scenes of blifs, no more upbraid my fate,
Torture my pining thought, and rouze my hate.
The leaf-clad forest, and the tufted grove,
Erewhile the fafe retreats of happy love,
Stript of their honours, naked, now appear;
This is my foul! the winter of their year!
The little, noify fongfters of the wing,
All, fhivering on the bough, forget to fing.
Hail! reverend Silence! with thy awful brow!
Be Mufic's voice, for ever mute-as now :
Let no intrufive joy my dead repose
Difturb:-no pleafure difconcert my woes.

In this mofs-cover'd cavern, hopeless laid,
On the cold cliff, I'll lean my aching head;
And, pleas'd with Winter's wafte, unpitying, fee
All nature in an agony with me!

Rough, rugged rocks, wet marfhes, ruin'd towers,
Bare trees, brown brakes, bleak heaths, and rushy moors,

Dead floods, huge cataracts, to my pleas'd eyes-
(Now I can smile !)-in wild diforder rife:
And now, the various dreadfulness combin'd,
Black melancholy comes, to doze my mind.

See! Night's wish'd shades rife, fpreading through the air,

And the lone, hollow gloom, for me prepare!

Hail! folitary ruler of the grave!

Parent of terrors! from thy dreary cave!
Let thy dumb filence midnight all the ground,
And spread a welcome horror wide around.-
But hark!-a fudden howl invades my ear!
The phantoms of the dreadful hour are near.
Shadows, from each dark cavern, now combine,
And stalk around, and mix their yells with mine.
Stop, flying Time! repofe thy restless wingi
Fix here nor haften to restore the spring:
Fix'd my ill fate, fo fix'd let winter be➡
Let never wanton feason laugh at me!

PR ROL

GU

E

TO THE MASQUE OF BRITANNIA.

Spoken by Mr. GARRICK *, 1755,

in the character of a Sailor, fuddled
and talking to himself.

He enters, finging,

"How pleasant a failor's life paffes

WELL, if thou art, my boy, a little mellow!

A failor, half feas o'er-'s a pretty fellow !

What cheer ho?

*

Do I carry too much fail?

to. the pit.

No-tight and trim-I fcud before the gale

*

* be fiaggers forward, then flops.. But foftly though-the veffel feems to heel: Steddy! my boy-fhe muft not fhew her keel. And now, thus ballafted-what courfe to fteer? Shall I again to fea-and bang Mounfeer? Or flay on fhore, and toy with Sall and SueDoft love 'em, boy?—By this right hand, I do! A well-rigg'd girl is furely most inviting : There's nothing better, faith-fave flip and fighting: For fhall we fons of beef and freedom stoop, Or lower our flag to flavery and foop? What! fhall these parly-vous make such a racket, And we not lend a hand, to lace their jacket? Still fhall Old England be your Frenchman's butt? Whene'er he fhuffles, we should always cut.

* Some of the lines too were written by him.