194 In social hours indulge thy soul, Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl; STELLA IN MOURNING. WHEN lately Stella's form display'd The nymphs, who found their power decline, "Fate! snatch away the bright disguise, Since Stella still extends her reign, Th' adoring youth and envious fair, The skies-"That Stella mourn no more." TO STELLA. Nor the soft sighs of vernal gales, The murmurs of the crystal rill, Not all the gems on India's shore, Yet nature's charms allure my eyes, And, lovely Stella! thou art mine. VERSES, Written at the request of a gentleman to whom a lady had given a sprig of myrtle.* WHAT hopes, what terrors, does this gift create? The myrtle, ensign of supreme command, • These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson assured me, they were composed in the short space of five minutes. N. Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom, TO LADY FIREBRACE,* AT BURY ASSIZES. At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY. Ye nymphs, whom starry rays invest, By flatt'ring poets given, Who shine, by lavish lovers drest, In all the pomp of heaven; Engross not all the beams on high, Her silver locks display the moon, Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen, Her teeth the night with darkness dyes, She's starr'd with pimples o'er; This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town. She became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of that name, to whom she brought a fortune of twenty-five thousand pounds, July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq. uncle to the present Duke of Argyle, and died July 3, 1782. Her tongue like nimble lightning plies, And can with thunder roar. But some Zelinda, while I sing, Denies my Lyce shines; And all the pens of Cupid's wing Yet spite of fair Zelinda's eye, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET, A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. CONDEMN'D to hope's delusive mine, Well try'd through many a varying year, Of ev'ry friendless name the friend. Yet still he fills affection's eye, When fainting nature call'd for aid, His vig'rous remedy display'd The pow'r of art without the show. In misery's darkest cavern known, No summons mock'd by chill delay, The toil of ev'ry day supply'd. His virtues walk'd their narrow round, The single talent well employ'd The busy day-the peaceful night, His frame was firm-his powers were bright, Death broke at once the vital chain, EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS, AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN.* PHILLIPS! whose touch harmonious could remove These lines are among Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies; they are nevertheless recognised as Johnson's in a memorandum of his hand-writing, and were probably written at her request. Phillips was a travelling fiddler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated for his performance. |