The changing year's fucceffive plan
Proclaims mortality to man.
Rough winter's blafts to fpring give way,
Spring yields to fummer's fovereign ray;
Then fummer finks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again:
Her loffes foon the moon fupplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies
Where Priam and his fons are laid,
Is nought but afhes and a fhade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will tofs us in a morning more?
What with your friend you nobly share
At least you rescue from your heir.
Not you, Torquatus, boaft of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or fplendid birth,
Or virtue, fhall restore to earth,
Hippolytus, unjustly flain,
Diana calls to life in vain ;
Nor can the might of Thefeus rend
The chains of hell that hold his friend.
On feeing a BUST of Mrs. MONTAGUE.
AD this fair figure which this frame difplays,
Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days,
In every dome, in every facred place,
Her ftatue would have breath'd an added
And on its bafis would have been enroll'd,
"This is Minerva, caft in Virtue's mould."
The following TRANSLATIONS, PARODIES, and BURLESQUE VERSES, most of them extempore, are taken from ANECDOTES of Dr. JOHNSON, lately published by Mrs.
ANACREON, ODE IX.
OVELY Courier of the íky,
Whence and whither doft thou fly?
Scatt'ring, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it bufinefs? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.
Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair;
Grac'd with all that charms the heart,
Blufhing nature, fmiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove beftow'd:
Vefted with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you fee,
Weighty charge, confign'd to me;
Think not yet my service hard,
Joylefs task without reward;
Smiling at my mafter'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 fuch as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's gueft without a home;
Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly fhelter'd, coarfely fed:
Now my better lot beflows.
Sweet repaft, and foft repofe;
Now the generous bowl I fip
As it leaves Anacreon's lip:
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers fnatch his bread;
Then with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play
Or from wine as courage fprings,
O'er his face extend my wings;
And when feaft and frolick 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.
LINES written in ridicule of certain Poems published in 1777.
WHERESOE'ER I turn my view,
All is ftrange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong;
Phrase that time has flung away,
Uncouth words in difarray,
Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet,
Ode, and elegy, and sonnet,
PARODY of a TRANSLATION from the MEDEA of EURIPIDES.
RR fhall they not, who refolute explore
Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes ;
And fcanning right the practices of yore,
Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwife.
They to the dome where fmoke with curling play
Announc'd the dinner to the regions round,
Summon'd the finger blythe, and harper gay,
And aided wine with dulcet-ftreaming found.
The better ufe of notes, or fweet or fhrill,
By quiv'ring ftring or modulated wind;
Trumpet or lyre-to their harsh bofoms chill,
Admission ne'er had fought, or could not find.
Oh! fend them to the fullen manfions dun,
Her baleful eyes where forrow rolls around;
Where gloom-enamour'd mifchief loves to dwell,
And murder, all blood-bolter'd, fchemes the
wound.
When cates luxuriant pile the fpacious dish,
And purple nectar glads the feftive hour;
The gueft, without a want, without a wifh,
Can yield no room to mufick's foothing pow'r,
BURLESQUE of the modern Verfifications of ancient Legendary Tales.
HE tender infant, meek and mild,
Fell down upon the stone;
The nurse took up the fquealing child,
But ftill the child fqueal'd on.
TRANSLATION of the Two Firft Stanzas of the Song "Rio verde, Rioverde," printed in Bishop PERCY's Reliques of ancient English Poetry. An IMPROMPTU,
LASSY water, glaffy water,
Down whose current clear and strong, Chiefs confus'd in mutual flaughter,
Moor and Chriftian roll along.
IMITATION of the Style of ****
ERMIT hoar, in folemn cell
Wearing out life's evening grey;
Strike thy bofom fage, and tell
What is blifs, and which the way.
Thus I fpoke, and fpeaking figh'd,
Scarce reprefs'd the ftarting tear,
When the hoary fage reply'd,
Come, my lad, and drink fome beer.
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