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When years thy judgment shall mature, And reason shows those ills it cannot cure :

Wilt thou, à father's grief ț' assuage,
For virtue prove the phenix of the earth,
(Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth)

And be the comfort of my age ?
When sick and languishing I lie,
Wilt thou my Emma's wonted care supply ?

And, oft as to thy listening ear
Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,

Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear, .
Whilst on the mournful theme I dwell?
"Then, fondly stealing to thy father's side,

Whene'er thou seest the soft distress,
Which I would vainly seek to hide,

Say, wilt thou strive to make it less ?
To sooth my sorrows all thy cares employ,
And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy ?

Shaw.

ON THE DEATH OF LADY ANSON.

ADDRESSED TO HER FATHER,* 1761. O! Crown'd with honour, bless'd with length of

days, Thou wlion the wise revere, the worthy praise ; Just guardian of those laws thy voice explain'd, And meriting all titles thou hast gain'd

* Pbilin, first Earl of Hardwicke.

Though still the fairest from Heaven's bounty flow,
For good and great no monarch can bestow :
Yet thus of health, of fame, of friends, possess’d,
No fortune, Hardwicke! is sincerely bless'd :
All human-kind are sons of sorrow born ;
The great must suffer, and the good must mourn.

For say, can Wisdom's self, what late was thine,
Can Fortitude, without a sigh resign ?
Ah! no: when Love, when Reason, hand in hand
O'er the cold urn consenting mourners stand,
The firmest heart dissolves to soften here,
And Piety applauds the falling tear.
Those sacred drops, by virtuous weakness shed,
Adorn the living while they grace the dead ;
From tender thought their source unblam'd they

draw, By Heav'n approv'd, and true to Nature's law.

When his lov'd child the Roman could not save, Immortal Tully, from an early grave, No common forms his home-felt passion kept, The sage, the patriot, in the parent wept: And, O! by grief allied, as join'd in fame, The same thy loss, thy sorrows are the same. She whom the Muses, whom the Loves, deplore, Ev'n she, thy pride and pleasure, is no more ; In bloom of years, in all her virtue's bloom, Lost to thy hopes, and silent in the tomb.

O season mark'd by mourning and despair ! Thy blasts how fatal to the young and fair! For vernal freshness, for the balmy breeze, Thy tainted winds came pregnant with disease ; Sick Nature sunk before the mortal breath, That scatter'd fever, agony, and death.

What funerals have thy cruel ravage spread! What eyes have flow'd! what noble bosoms bled!

Here let Reflection fix her sober view; O think who suffer and who sigh with you. See, rudely snatch'd, in all her pride of charms, Bright Granby from a youthful husband's arms! In climes far distant see that husband mourn, His arms revers’d, his recent laurel torn! Behold again, at Fate's imperious call, In one dread instant blooming Lincoln fall! See her lov'd lord with speechless anguish bend!' And, mixing tears with his, thy noblest friend, Thy Pelham, turn on Heav'n his streaming eye ; Again in her he sees a brother die!

And he who, long unshaken and serene, Had death in each dire form of terror seen, Through worlds unknown o'er unknown oceans By love subdued, now weeps a consort lost; [tost, Now sunk to fondness all the man appears, His front dejected, and his soul in tears.

Yet more; nor thou the Muse's voice disdain, Who fondly' tries to sooth a father's pain Let thy calm eye survey the suffering ball, See kingdoms round thee verging to their fall ! What spring had promis'd and what autumn yields, The bread of thousands, ravish'd from their fields, See youth and age, th' ignoble and the great, Swept in one grave, in one promiscuous fate! Hear Europe groan! hear all her nations mourn ! And be a private wound with patience borne.

Think too, and reason will confirm the thought ; Thy cares for her are to their period brought,

Yes she, fair pattern to a failing age ;
With wit chastis'd, with sprightly temper sage;
Whoin each endearing name could recommend,
Whom all became, wife, sister, daughter, frieud,
Unwarp'd by folly, and by vice unstain'd,
The prize of virtue has for ever gain'd!
From life escap'd, and safe on that calm shore
Where sin, and pain, and error, are no more ;
She now no change, nor you no fear, can feel ;
Death to her fame has fix'd th' eternal seal.

Mallet.

MELANCHOLY: AN ODE.

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF A BELOVED DAUGH

TER,
ADIEU, vain mirth, and noisy joys!
Ye gay desires, deluding toys!
Thou, thoughtful Melancholy, deign
To hide me in thy pensive train !
If by the fall of murmuring floods,
Where awful shades embrown the woods,
Or if, where winds in caverns groan,
Thou wanderest silent and alone;
Come, blissful inourner, wisely sad,
In sorrow's garb, in sable clad;
Henceforth, thou, Care, my hours employ!
Sorrow, be thou henceforth my joy!
By tombs where sullen spirits stalk,
Familiar with the dead I walk ;
While to my sighs and groans, by turns,
From graves the midnight echo mourns.

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Open thy marble jaws, O tomb,
Thou earth conceal me in thy womb!
And you, ye worms, this frame confound ;
Ye brother reptiles of the ground !
O life, frail offspring of a day !
'Tis puffd with one short gasp away!
Swift as the short-liv'd flower it flies,
It springs, it blooms, it fades, it dies.
With cries we usher in our birth,
With groans resign our transient breath :
While round, stern ministers of fate,
Pain, and Disease, and Sorrow wait.
While childhood reigns, the sportive boy
Learns only prettily to toy;
And while he roves from play to play,
The wanton trifles life away.
When to the noon of life we rise,
The man grows elegant in vice;
To glorious guilt in courts he climbs,
Vilely judicious in his crimes.
When youth and strength in age are lost,
Man seems already half a ghost;
Wither'd and wan, to earth he bows,
A walking hospital of woes.
O Happiness, thou empty name!
Say, art thou bought by gold or fame ?
What art thou, Gold, but shining earth?
Thou, common Fame, but common breath?

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