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CONTENTS.

Page

5

ENCOMIUMS on Johnson.......
London, in Imitation of the Third Satire of

Juvenal
The Vanity of Human Wishes, from Juvenal's

Tenth Satire......

9

18

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Verses, addressed to Dr. Lawrence............. 45 The Natural Beauty. To Stella........, 46 Stella in Mourning............

47 To Miss Hickman, playing on the Spinet..... 48 To Miss -, playing on the Harpsichord,&c. 49 To Miss on her giving the Author a Purse ......

50 To a Yonng Lady, on her Birth-Day........... 51

Page Song.

52 On seeing a Bust of Mrs. Montague............ 53 To Lady Firebrace....

ib. Verses, written at the Request of a Gentleman.....

54 The Young Author

55 Translation from Metastasio...

56 PROLOGUES, &c. ......

57 BAGATELLES...........

66

TRANSLATIONS. From the 6th Book of Homer's Iliad........... 75 Horace. Book 1. Ode xxii.

76 Book 2. Ode ix....

77 Book 4. Ode vii..

78 Virgil. Pastoral 1.................

79 Anacreon. Ode ix.........................................

80 Boethius. Book 2. Metre ii...................... 82 Book 2. Metre iv.......

83 Book 3. Metre V...........

84 Paraphrase of Proverbs, ch. vi. ver. 6 to 11... ib. On the Death of Dr. Robert Lever........... 85

EPITAPHS. On Sir Thomas Hanmer............................... 87 On Claude Phillips....................................

88 For Hogarth.......

89 The New Year's Offering. To Myrtilis....... ib. On the Death of Stephen Grey, F.R.S.......... 91 Poemata.......

93

ENCOMIUMS ON JOHNSON.

ELEGY.

The moon, reposing on yon pine-tree tops,
With a soft radiance silvers all the copse;
Nor aught is heard above, nor aught below;
No flood to murmur, and no gale to blow;
But dove-wing'd Silence, hovering o'er the scene,
Sheds a mild grandeur, and a dead serene.
Now, Fancy, loveliest of the cherubs ! guide
To where old Thames surveys his gothic pride ;
There let me range the statue-glimmering pile,
Down the long horrors of the midnight aisle ;
Join the sad band, that clasp their Johnson's urn,
With Science, praise him; and with Virtue, mourn.
Ev'n there he lies ! the greatest, and the best ;
By Genius flatter'd, and by Power caress'd;
His merits flown to Him, from whom they came;
And all his lionours shrunk into a name!

Yet fell he not by fortune's sudden rage,
But the slow waste of all-consuming age ;
And the same Heaven, that, in his well-tried youth,
With misery's clouds o'erhung the paths of truth ;
Bade his declining years from struggling cease,
In the smooth vale of competence and peace.

How full of sadness was the morn, that gave His mortal part for ever to the grave!

IMITATION.
1 Can I forget the dismal night, that gave
My soul's best part for ever to the grave!

Tickell on the Death of Addison.

B

With what deep awe the sable pomp rolld slow,
Through walks of gazers, and through streets of woe!
E'en dull indifference melted at the view,
As friendship took a long and last adieu ;
While froin the priest the solemn sentence falls,
That adds a guest to Britain's dearest walls ;
Mid chiefs, for arms; for justice, statesmen priz'd;
And bards, by him again immortaliz’d!

But the lost sage, for whom his country mourns,
A laurel, fairer than a bard's, adorns.
Why droops the sufferer, his lov'd name to hear,
Eyes the faint babe, and sheds the desperate tear?
Is't, that proud Genius hail'd him, as his own?
Or Science plac'd him on her loftiest thrope?
That Wit's keen breath the living line inspires,
And all the Muses warın with all their fires ?-
In want himself, he wept a friend's distress;
His little still was charitably less;
And, ere a Johnson's appetite was fed,
A starving SAVAGE shard the’ untasted bread.

O Pity, parent of each bliss refin'd !Wealth can but soothe, not humanize, the mind! Not the light graces of the dancer's bound, Or.soft'Italia's magic-warbling sound, Can bid the wounded heart forget to bleed; Or pay the raptures of one generous deed.

In that dire hour, when Falsehood shrinks with To see destruction tottering o'er her head; [dread, Applauding Conscience breathed a sacred calm, And Resignation shed her heavenly balmı; Faith cheerd his soul with brightest ray serene; And wondering angels eyed the pious scene : Till the freed spirit sought the bless'd abode; And hardly trembled to behold his GOD!

a

Though he, the child of Virtue, be no more, Others inspir'd shall act his actions o’er; His last dread precepts ever shall survive, And Johnson's death shall teach the world to live; Till Sophistry with disappointment groan, To see an host of Christians spring from one. As some tall oak, that had for ages stood, The venerable shelter of the wood; His crops diminish'd, and his strength decay'd, His glories levell’d, and destroy'd his shade, Ev'n from bis fall, a nobler purpose knows; And bears the thunder on his country's foes.

But thou, bright Saint! (if now thy blissful shade Regard the sorrows, which thyself hast made ;) Say, may a stranger's murmurs, here below, Join the sad chorus of a nation's woe? May he, with trembling feet, approach thy urn, And, whom he hop'l to cherish, dare to mourn?-What, though the Muse but vainly deck thy tomb, With a gay chaplet's perishable bloom! Yet shall fair Truth in lasting accents tell Of him, who liv'd her champion, and who fell : Her Johnson lost, his sacred memory keep; For ever honour, and for ever weep.

T. H. 1785..

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