A FABLE

In times of yore, a sprightly Steed,
Who boasted much his youthful speed,
And scorn'd, with pride, the narrow bound,
Which fix'd him in a sober ground;
Resolv'd to try one bold endeavour,
And make his fortune, now or never! —
Impetuous, ardent, wild and young,
O'er the strict fence he lightly sprung,
And darting to the distant way,
He look'd around him, blythe and gay;
And shook his mane, and prick'd his ears,
Disdaining caution — foes, and fears!

There piping Folly tun'd, in vacant mood,
Her cuckow strain, and chim'd her tinkling bells.
Next to the gloom of caves and dusky vaults
Wander'd my eye, where Love lay pining pale,
Where laugh'd wild Frenzy, and where rav'd Despair.
There too stalk'd Slander, hideous fiend, unseen,
And from her foul tongue, like the dog of hell,
Shed her black venom on the virgin robe
Of young unweeting Innocence.
The venom black flow'd frustrate to the ground,
By her unheeded, nor one stain impress'd;
And the white robe shone whiter than before.

O! why did I devote to thee
That heart which once no trouble knew;
Why chain it down to slavery, —
O! why let love my soul subdue.
The lustre of that diamond eye
Has proved to me a subtle snare; —
I felt the shaft of rapture fly, —
It pierc'd my heart, and rankled there!

I've heard — but dare not deem it true —
That some there are, who never yet
Affliction's racking torture knew, —
Whose eyes no streaming tears have wet.
Such souls as these to all may seem
More envied than a seraph's bliss; —

In those bright seenes, where Mercy dwells above,
Warm'd with the lustre of Redeeming Love!
There may the soul, refin'd, of S UTTON dwell,
Who practis'd here its sacred laws so well! —
To Heaven supreme, we yield the friend we prize,
Tho' planted in the grave, sweet Hope shall rise,
And hear its fruit immortal in the skies.

Whilst Sense and Genius mourn a patron fled,
And Friendship weeps him with the silent dead!
Whilst deeper anguish, with its keenest dart,
Has pierc'd, alas! the virtuous widow's heart! —
Let conscious Truth proclaim, with ardour due,
How nobly Pembroke from the world withdrew!
With gentle kindness, dignified, serene!
He cheer'd the mourners at his closing scene,
And from his lips such precious accents flow'd,
As Love shall treasure to its last abode!
Ah! comfort there, with soothing charm shall dwell,
And heal the anguish of a last farewell! —

WRITTEN AT MINSTED IN THE NEW FOREST AUGUST 24, 1767.

O rising Sun! on this auspicious day
With brighter beams gild every hill and grove;
Ye feather'd songsters, breathe a sweeter lay!
And fill the echoing woods with joy and love.

And, honor'd M INSTED , in thy green retreats
Let every tree a prouder foliage wear!
Let every floweret scatter livelier sweets,
And vernal perfumes scent the autumnal year!

ADDRESSED TO A PINE-TREE .

WRITTEN MAY , 1766.

The ruffian North has spent his savage power,
Collects his winds, and quits the mountain's side;
And A USTER mild, with many a genial shower,
Renews the laughing meadow's grassy pride.

The active swallow wings her rapid flight
In sportive circies through the ether bland,
And in luxuriant foliage proudly dight

To love I yield, — nor longer I
Th' unequal war with Cupid try;
For when I once, with stubborn heart,
Secure of love, despis'd his dart,
The God, resolv'd to quell my pride,
His quiver fasten'd to his side,
And bent his bow, or bade me yield,
Or try the fortune of the field.
Arm'd as Achilles was of yore
A corslet on my breast I bore,
Prepar'd with shield and spear in hand,
Or to attack him, or withstand:
Accouter'd thus, the field I sought,
And, to the god oppos'd, I fought;
Cupid his darts began to ply,

Forever be His Name ador'd—
His sacred Name, who sheath'd the sword!
And bids the Olive branch divine,
Around the sheaves of Plenty twine!
Whilst Virtue, Peace, and fair Renown,
Adorn our gracious Monarch's crown!
No more the laurel wreath appears,
Bath'd in a nation's flowing tears;
But gentle Hope, with soothing pow'r,
Anticipates the future hour,

When he, the vet'ran Soldier true,
Who ne'er the fears of danger knew,
Or quak'd to hear the cannon roar,
Shall (landed on his native shore)
Enjoy the social, dear repast,

I saw thee blush, — a liquid light
Sprang in thine eye of blue;
It glow'd as pure — as heav'nly bright,
As morn's translucent dew.

I heard the gentle heaving sigh
Thy heart's own grief bespeak;
The tear beheld, that left thine eye —
To glitter on thy cheek.

I saw thee grieve — I saw thee weep —
Again I heard thee sigh; —
'T was pity's tear that gemm'd thy cheek, —
'T was virtue dew'd thine eye!