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No barren spot can here be found,
No weed nor thistle curfe the ground;
Nor here is heard the fcreech-owl's note,
Nor omen from the raven's throat;
But thrush and black-bird sweetly fing,
And the glad cuckoo hails the fpring.

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Here, too, the fcented sweet-briar grows,

The woodbine wild, and wild the rofe;
The king-cup fmiles with brighter bloom,
And violets breathe more fweet perfume.
To fuch a fpot, enchanted mead!
The fprightly elve doth Patty lead
Now from his bounding steed alights,
And mixes 'mong his fellow fprites;
His bounding steed no more his
Directly vanish'd into air.

;

care,

Now gentle Patty, in furprize,
Around her turns her wand'ring eyes.
Here some she saw, with mighty care,
New-moulding fancies for the fair;
Here rofe a head, and there was feen
Improvements on a capuchin ;
(For all the milliner imparts
Is the refult of fairy arts.)

Here stood a crowd in warm dispute,
About to form a birth-day fuit;
And there, in confultation, fat
As many, modelling a hat:
Faft by, infpir'd by female love,
The fpreading petticoat t' improve,
They met, and in debate were high,
Or is ?—or is it not—a fly ?
Others, to greater deeds inclin'd,
Were drawing morals for the mind;
And lo! to this important end,
The fairy hiftories are penn'd;

The

The fprites, to all invention new,
Their flender fingers dip in dew,
And fill with deeds unknown before,
Their tomes, the leaves of fycamore.
Hence are the lov'd of fairies taught,
And blefs'd with ev'ry brilliant thought;
Who here perufe at early dawn,

Th' impreffions on the dewy lawn,
Ere yet an inaufpicious wind,
Leaves not a fingle tome behind,
Or the refulgent fun exhales
On one bright beam a thousand tales!
From hence each intellectual vapour,
They fcrawl on mortal ink and paper.
So wretches, vulgar things their care,
For mushrooms at the morn repair,
Ere yet th' expanding warmth of day
Dries their contracted sweets away.

A number more, at different toil,
Patty with terror view'd a while:
When now a train approach'd the maid,
With sprightly Simkin at their head;
Who, fmiling, tripp'd before the rest,
And thus the trembling fair addrefs'd.

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Fear not, fweeteft maid, but fee
What the gift we bring to thee.
This the queen of fairies fent,
In a phial nicely pent;

Drops, by moon-ey'd elves diftill'd • From the wild-buds of the field;

Mix'd with liquids nicely caught, • Which in acorn cups are brought; Fill'd before the peep of morn, From the prickly point of thorn; • Or the furze-bush in the dell, Or the yellow cowflip bell,

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(Suck'd from thence with flender pipe)
Or the hip, at Christmas ripe;

Join'd with these, a chymick rare,
• Earth extract from pureft air.

Nymph, with this bedew thine head,
• No more shall glow thy locks with red ;
Of lovely brown fhall be thy hair,
And thou the brighteft of the fair.'
This faid, the ken of rifing day
Summon'd each sprite in hafte away.
Now Patty to the phial flies,
And straight the remedy applies.
She fighs, neglected, now no moré,
The fwains admire that jeer'd before;
The nymphs from former pity turn,

And now with hate and

envy

burn.

PHILANTHROPY.

INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

BY C. MARTYN, ESQ.

AIL, firft-born principle of grace divine,
Eternal Mercy! at thy facred shrine

Let titles, dignities, and honours bow,
Wealth stoop her creft, and Pride herself fall low.
Hail, Charity benign! whofe gentle courfe
From god-like Mercy firft deriv'd it's fource;
Offspring of Heav'n, of two-fold force poffefs'd,
Who bleffing others, in thyself art bless'd.
Hail, mild Philanthropy, from Mercy sprung,
Begot by fiat of th' Almighty tongue,
When Discord firft his jarring reign began,
To heal the ftrifes, and ease the cares of man!
The monarch, feated in the chair of state,
Whose smile is fortune, and whofe frown is fate;

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Whofe word, obfequious, diftant realms obey,
And crowds attendant own his fov'reign fway;
At Mercy's throne shall bend the fuppliant knee,
And, God of Mercy! feek for aid from thee.

At that fad hour, when wealth and grandeur fail,
And Joy no longer fpreads her filken fail;
When anxious doubts the flutt'ring foul poffefs,
Dreading to be, yet fearing to be lefs;

Lo! Charity, with lenient hand appears,
And comfort minifters with mingling tears;
Blefs'd hope of future blissful fcenes fhe brings,
And robs the tyrant, Death, of half his stings.
When fuch misfortunes as e’en wealth attend,
A fon unduteous, or unfaithful friend,
Unjuft fufpicion, or ill-founded blame,
A wounded character, or blafted fame,
Envy's foul tongue, or Malice' ranc'rous dart,
Distract the mind, and rack the lab'ring heart;
Philanthropy with willing step draws nigh,
With fweet compaffion checks the rifing figh,
Perfuafive bids us common ills endure,
And charms the malady fhe cannot cure.

Thrice happy thou, to whom indulgent Heav'n
The means of bleffing, and the will has giv❜n ;
A heart attentive to the plaints of woe,
A hand refponfive ready to bestow;
A foul which emulates the Pow'r above,
Replete with mercy, charity, and love.

Behold yon pile in decent order rife,
Whose annual coft thy lib'ral hand supplies,
To fickness dedicate, and fudden ill,
Where care, contentment, medicine, and skill,
With force united combat fierce disease,
Expel the poifon, and reftore to ease:
Wretches reliev'd, in strains of heart-felt praise,
To God, and thee, their grateful voices raise;

Mothers

Mothers preferv'd, fhall catch the grateful flame,
And lifping infants ftrive to bless thy name.

When nipping Winter bends it's hoary brows,
And feeble Age beneath it's rigour bows;
When e'en the chearing fun's bless'd influence fails,
And Want, with double force, the wretch affails :
Warm'd by thy hand, and by thy bounty fed,
The child of woe thall rear his drooping head,
And raise to heav'n his fupplicating pray'r,
To crown thy days with choicest bleffings here;
From care and pain thine eve of life to guard,
And grant eternal blifs, thy due reward.

O, for that Mufe which Rosse's hero fung!
That lyre with harmony celestial ftrung!
Sounds that might vibrate on the ravish'd ear
Strains fit for Virtue's choiceft fons to hear!
Defcription's pow'rs to paint the glowing line
And, as the fubject, language all divine !
Then would th' enraptur'd Mufe, with willing feet,
Attend thee daily to the dark retreat,
Where worth obfcure, in pining anguish lies,
And hides it's mifery from vulgar eyes;
Where conscious Virtue, dignify'd in grief,
Unus'd to work, asham'd to seek relief,
Bereft alike of fortune and of friends,
On God alone for fuccour he depends;
Humbly fubmits the rod of wrath to bear,
Nor on himself beftows a single tear.

Lo, where his wife, dear partner of his care!

Whofe voice could comfort, and whofe fmile could chear;
Whofe eye was funshine on the lovelieft face,
Whofe form was fymmetry, whofe motion grace ;
O'erwhelm'd with grief, in filent forrow stands,
Grafping her hapless race with pallid hands;
Till at their plaints her yearning heart o'erflow,
And burft upon them in a flood of woe!
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