NOT the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.

Not all the gems on India's shore,
Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets, claim;
Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve;
To form one wish my soul can move.

Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain ;
In lovely Stella all combine;
And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.

VERSES

Written at the request of a Gentleman to whom a
Lady had given a Sprig of Myrtle.*

WHAT hopes, what terrors, does thy gift create;
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Consign'd by Venus to Melissa's hand)
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft avours, oft rejects, a lover's prayer,
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads,
Th' unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this bough, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

то

LADY FIREBRACE.†

AT BURY ASSIZES.

Ar length must Suffolk's beauties shine in vain, So long renown'd in B―n's deathless strain?

These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson assured me, they were composed in the short space of five minutes.

N.

This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Ba con, Esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town. She became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of £25,000), July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq. uncle to the present Duke of Argyle, and died July 8, 1782.

Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire

Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph, a Muse and Grace.

TO LYCE,

AN ELDERLY LADY.

Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest,
By flattering poets given,
Who shine, by lavish lovers drest,
In all the pomp of Heaven;
Engross not all the beams on high,
Which gilds a lover's lays,
But, as your sister of the sky
Let Lyce share the praise.

Her silver locks display the moon,
Her brows a cloudy show,
Stripp'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And showers from either flow.

Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's starr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.

But some Zelinda, while I sing,
Denies my Lyce shines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.

Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express,
My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter less.

ON THE DEATH OF

MR. ROBERT LEVET,

A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC.

CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,

Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year, See Levet to the grave descend, Officious, innocent, sincere,

Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;
Nor letter'd arrogance deny

Thy praise to merit unrefined.
When fainting nature call'd for aid,

And hovering death prepared the blow, His vigorous remedy display'd

The power of art without the show.

In misery's darkest cavern known,

His useful care was ever nigh, Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan, And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,

No petty gain disdain'd by pride,

Hæres patruelis

Solent nihil temerè effutire,

Sed probè perpensa disertè expromere,
Orator gravis et pressus;

Non minus integritatis quam eloquentiæ laude commendatus,

Equè omnium, utcunque inter se alioqui dissidentium,

Aures atque animos attraxit.

Annoque demum M.DCC.XIII. regnante Annâ Felicissimæ florentissimæque memoriæ reginâ, Ad Prolocutoris cathedram

Communi Senatûs universi voce designatus est:
Quod munus,

Cum nullo tempore non difficile,
Tum illo certè, negotiis

Et variis et lubricis et implicatis difficillimum,
Cum dignitate sustinuit.

Honores alios, et omnia quæ sibi in lucrum ce-
derent munera,
Sedulò detrectavit,

Ut rei totus inserviret publicæ;
Justi rectique tenax,

Et fide in patriam incorruptâ notus. Ubi omnibus, quæ virum civemque bonum decent, officiis satisfecisset,

Paulatim se à publicis consiliis in otium recipiens,

Inter literarum amoenitates,

Inter ante-actæ vitæ haud insuaves recordationes, Inter amicorum convictus et amplectus, Honorificè consenuit;

Et bonis omnibus, quibus charissimus vixit, Desideratissimus obiit.

Hic, juxta cineres avi, suos condi voluit, et cu

ravit

Gulielmus Bunbury Bttus nepos et hæres.

PARAPHRASE OF THE ABOVE EPITAPH.

BY DR. JOHNSON.*

THOU who survey'st these walls with curious.

eye,

Pause at the tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie!

cessit.

And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end.

His force of genius burn'd in early youth, With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth; His learning, join'd with each endearing art, Charm'd every ear, and gain'd on every heart.

Thus early wise, th' endanger'd realm to aid, His country call'd him from the studious shade; In life's first bloom his public toils began, At once commenced the Senator and man.

In business dexterous, weighty in debate, Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the State: In every speech persuasive wisdom flow'd, In every act refulgent virtue glow'd: Suspended faction ceased from rage and strife, To hear his eloquence, and praise his life.

Resistless merit fix'd the Senate's choice Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice. Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, When Hanmer fill'd the chair-and Anne the throne!

*This Paraphrase is inserted in Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies. The Latin is there said to be written by Dr. Freind. Of the person whose memory it celebrates, a copious account may be seen in the Appendix to the Supplement to the Biographia Britannica.

'Then when dark arts obscured each fierce de-
bate,

When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state,
The moderator firmly mild appear'd-
Beheld with love-with veneration heard.
This task performi'd-he sought no gainful
post,

Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost;
Strict on the right he kept his steadfast eye,
With temperate zeal and wise anxiety;
Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lured aside,
To pluck the flowers of pleasure or of pride.
Her gifts despised, Corruption blush'd and fled,
And Fame pursued him where Conviction led.
Age call'd, at length, his active mind to rest,
With honour sated, and with cares opprest;
To letter'd ease retired, and honest mirth,
To rural grandeur and domestic worth:
Delighted still to please mankind, or mend,
The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend.
Calm Conscience, then, his former life sur-
vey'd,

And recollected toils endear'd the shade,
Till Nature call'd him to the general doom,
And Virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb.

TO MISS HICKMAN.*

PLAYING ON THE SPINNET.

BRIGHT Stella, form'd for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,
Awed into love, our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway:
But when your music sooths the raging pain,
We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.

When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king:
Unbounded projects labouring in his mind,
He pants for room, in one poor world confined.
Thus waked to rage, by music's dreadful power,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour,
Had Stella's gentle touches moved the lyre,
Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire;
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair;
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.

PARAPHRASE OF PROVERBS.

CHAP. VI. Verses 6-11.

"Go to the Ant, thou Sluggard."t TURN on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes, Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise: No stern command, no monitory voice, Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice; Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, To snatch the blessings of the plenteous day; When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain, She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.

These lines, which have been communicated by Dr. Turton, son to Mrs. Turton, the lady to whom they are addressed by her maiden name of Hickman, must have been written at least as early as the year 1734, as that was the year of her marriage: at how much earlier a period of Dr. Johnson's life they may have been written, is not known.

In Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies, but now printed from the original in Dr. Johnson's own hand-writing.

How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy powers: While artful shades thy downy couch enclose, And soft solicitation courts repose? Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, Year chases year with unremitted flight, Till Want, now following, fraudulent and slow, Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.

HORACE, LIB. IV. ODE VII.

TRANSLATED.

THE Snow dissolved, no more is seen,
The fields and woods, behold! are green;
The changing year renews the plain,
The rivers know their banks again;
The sprightly nymph and naked grace;
The mazy dance together trace;
The changing year's successive plan,
Proclaims mortality to man;

Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sovereign ray;
Then summer sinks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again;
Her losses soon the moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.

Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will toss us in a morning more?
What with your friend you nobly share,
At least you rescue from your heir.
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly slain,
Diana calls to life in vain;

Nor can the might of Theseus rend
The chains of Hell that hold his friend.
Nov. 1784.

The following TRANSLATIONS, PARODIES, and BURLESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from ANECDOTES of Dr. JOHNSON, published by Mrs. Piozzi.

ANACREON, ODE IX.

Lovely courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scattering, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it business? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.
Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair;
Graced with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove bestow'd;
Vested with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge consign'd to me;
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless task without reward;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits;
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.

Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's guest without a home;
Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed:
Now my better lot bestows
Sweet repast, and soft repose;
Now the generous bowl I sip
As it leaves Anacreon's lip:
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread;
Then, with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play;
Or from wine, as courage springs,
O'er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolic tire,
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go,

More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply,

I have chatter'd like a pye.

PARODY OF A TRANSLATION

From the Medea of Euripides. ERR shall they not, who resolute explore, Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes; And scanning right the practices of yore,

Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. They to the dome where smoke, with curling play,

Announced the dinner to the regions round, Summon'd the singer blithe and harper gay, And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, By quivering string or modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre-to their harsh bosoms chill Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.

Then cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,

And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish," Can yield no room to music's soothing power.

Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, Moor and Christian, roll along.

IMITATION

OF

THE STYLE OF

HERMIT hoar, in solemn cell

Wearing out life's evening gray, Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell, What is bliss, and which the way? Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, Scarce repress'd the starting tear, When the hoary sage reply'd,

Come, my lad, and drink some beer!

BURLESQUE

Of the following Lines of Lopez de Vega.

AN IMPROMPTU.

Se acquien los leones vence
Vence una muger hermosa
O ei de flaco averguence

O ella di ser mais furiosa.
Ir the man who turnips cries,
Cry not when his father dies,
'Tis a proof that he had rather
Have a turnip than his father.

TRANSLATION

Of the following Lines at the end of Baretti's Easy Phraseology.

AN IMPROMPTU.

VIVA! viva la padrona!
Tutta bella, e tutta buona,
La padrona è un angiolella
Tutta buona e tutta bella;
Tutta bella e tutta buona;
Viva! viva la padrona!

LONG may live my lovely Hetty!
Always young, and always pretty!
Always pretty, always young
Live, my lovely Hetty, long!
Always young, and always pretty,
Long may live my lovely Hetty!

IMPROVISO TRANSLATION

Of the following Lines of M. Benserade à son Lil-
THEATRE des ris, et des pleurs,
Lit! où je nais, et où je meurs,
Tu nous fais voir comment voisins,
Sont nos plaisirs, et nos chagrins.
In bed we laugh, in bed we cry,
And born in bed, in bed we die;
The near approach a bed may show
Of human bliss to human wo.