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I view the field with mangled corses spread/

And bend to seek my William, thro' the dead,

Where men and beasts infect the noontide ray/

Or satiate famish'd birds, and beasts of prey.

Promiscuous ruin of the young and brave,

In heaps they fill one undistinguished grave!

I muster round me images of death,

Each direful chance, that takes an Hero's breath.

I see the furrows float, with human gore,

And feel my veins have added to the store,

While, posting to the wintry close of day,

I find one prop from being cut away.

A death untimely ends a father's care,

And fairest prospects blast into despair.

Ceaseless I mourn—I feel his loss, and see

No tranquil apathy ordained for me.

Still drops the tear, and chills the secret heart}

Yet, stony hardness never can impart.

My Son, my Son, tho' ravished from these eyes,

Thy form, in visions of the night will rise.

The peaceful home, once thine, still bids me view

An hundred monuments, that grief renew.

Twas here (I murmur) past his cloudless days,

Here was the scene of all his childish plays.

These toys were William's once, these books he read,

Thro' careless nights he rested in this bed.

With smiles of fondness, and with gladsome cries,

My little children greet me when 1 rise;

I see them, in their dawn of morning bright,

And tears of anguish mingle with delight;

While drooping Fancy figures in their bloom,

A transient flow'r, that blossoms for the tomb.

I see them also fill th' untimely urn,

And, with the dead, my living children mourn.

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Oh! when we see our infant offspring grow,
Could we the doom that waits their manhood know,
Might we not pray that Heav'n would bid them part,
Ere with a stronger grasp they rend the heart?Might we not deem some dispensation kind,
That loos'd their union with parental mind,
Ere charms, that growth of form and mind await,
Had more and more entwin'd us with their fate;
Ere Hope and Love a wider circuit take,
And airy fabrics of their fortunes.make i
Were it not well if they were call'd away,
In childish prattle, and in thoughtless play?Ere selfish pride its objects multiplies,
And bid our vanity from children rise?When, as they pass the crowded street along,
They draw the gaze of an admiring throng,
With fair proportions, and with blooming grace,
How brief their date! and how confin'd their space!I cannot say that I have left undone,
What love or duty prompted for my Son;
Yet wayward Mem'ry will collect her train,
And seek omissions that augment my pain;Nor yet omissions, but the sorrowing breast,
Still finds the measures it neglected best,
Foregoes the merit of a good intent
Severe, to judge—censorious, from event.
I blame the caution of paternal fear,
That deem'd the rage of civil warfare near.
Nor wished my Son to join in furious mood,
And stain the cruel sword in kindred blood.
Oh! vain precaution! he was sent to lie
Where mangled corses welter to the sky.
And can I then contemplate unappall'd,
A Son belov'd, to sudden audit call'd,

This moment flush'd with hope, this moment dead, His youthful follies on his thoughtless head i Tremendous thought!—Yet no—secure I rest!Father of Mercies, in thy works exprest, And in thy word reveal'd! Oh, who might stand For punishment should rigour arm thy hand i

But thou art not extreme our faults to scan;Thy pardon is the Righteousness of Man. Father of Mercies, in thy love I trust, I know my God is merciful as just. His creatures all engage his tender care, The true Believer never can despair. Should some dark clouds obscure the morning ray, The breath of Mercy chases them away. Here let me pause—what murmurs fill my ear, My William's spirit in the blast I hear."Why mourns my father thro' the nightly gloom t

"Thy footsteps haste to meet me in the tomb."Such is the privilege of hoary hairs,"Soon comes their respite from consuming cares."Hence was I call'd by the Redeemer's will,"While yet my nature was unstain'd with ill."From great offence my conscience yet was pure,

"My fame was fair, my happiness secure."Some little space in this bad world abide,"Where patient Faith is by Submission tried;"Thro' dangers, toils, and crimes, where mortals know"Uncertain fortunes, with unvaried woe; "Then, hope amid the Good and Just to prove,"The blessed fulness of almighty Love,"The holy peace, that sanctifies our souls,"The joys that no remorse or fear controuls."

VERA FELICITAS.

BY THOMAS WARTON *, B. D.

FORMERLY VICAR OF BASINGSTOKE, AND FATHER OF Ttlt LATE LAUREAT, AND OF DR. JOSEPH WARTON.

Qua frondens Ilex annosa amplectitur umbra

Congestum culmen cespite, Pastor agit. Non ilium populi fasces, non purpura tangit,

Non regum caeco vulnere torquet honos; Mane nova properat per campos rore vigentis,

Et clausas alacri voce revisit oves: Mox aefJtum vitat sub ramis arboris alta;,

Qua viridem pandit roscida ripa torum.

his poems, a posthumous publication by his son Joseph, He was a friend of Pope, and educated under the

* From hi; in 1748. famous Dr. Sacheverell, at Magdalen College, Oxlord. See Warton'.-. Pope, II. 398. These poems ought to be more known. Dr. Joseph Warton had published his own poems two years before under the title of "Odes on various Subjects," by Joseph Warton, B. A. of Oriel College, Oxford. Printed for Dodsley, 1746, 4to. The advertisement to these last poems is worth transcribing, as it shews the consistency of Or. Walton's opinions. "The public," says he, " has been so much accustomed of late to didactic poetry '' alone, and Essays on moral subjects, that any work where the "imagination is much indulged, will perhaps not be relished or "regarded. The author, therefore, of these pieces is in some "pain lest certain austere critics should think them too fanciful "and descriptive. But as he is convinced that the fashion of '• moralizmg in verse has been carried too far, and as he looks upon "invention and imagination to be the-chicf faculties of a poet, so "he will be happy if the following Odes may be looked upon as an •• attempt to bring back Poetry into its right channel." 1746.

Pocula sunt liquidi fontes, lymphacquc salubres,

Inque levi instruitur gramine prompta dapes. Nunc vacuum arguta solatur arundine mentem,

Nunc musco in molli membra sopore levat: Donee oves tandem constructa ad ovilia sparsas

Cogere, tranquilli vesperis hora monet Jamque aures vario permulsus murmure, laeto

Corde, humilem repetit nota per arva Larem: Hunc opibus ditet Fortuna benignior amplis,

Maluerit solitae limina fida casae.

THE ABOVE TRANSLATED.
TRUE HAPPINESS.

Where the broad oak extends his reverend shade
Across the turf-clad knowl, the Shepherd's laid.
To him, nor shout of mobs, nor smile of Kings,
Nor robe of office anxious wishes brings:
At early morn thro' lawns o'erspread with dew
Chearful he hastes his folded flock to view:
On beds of flowers he finds a soft retreat
Beneath umbrageous trees from mid-day heat:
From founts and living streams his cup is fed;
And his prompt feast upon the grass is spread.
Now with his pipe he soothes his vacant mind;
Now in soft slumbers are his limbs reclin'd;
Till as calm Evening's solemn bell has toll'd,
Warn'd, he again collects his scatter'd fold.
Now glad he seeks his home thro' well-known fields,
Charm'd with the dying sounds that Nature yields.
'Mid richer stores would Fortune fix his lot,
Still would he choose his long-accustom'd cot!

O. Y. VOL. IT. K

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