And there, without the power to fly, And madam's female friends and cousins, LORD LYTTLETON'S MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY. Ye tufted groves, ye gently falling rills, Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green, But never shall you now behold her more; And tafte refin'd, your rural charms explore, O'er all the well-known ground, My Lucy's wonted footsteps to defcry; Where oft in tender talk, We faw the fummer fun go down the sky, Nor by yon fountain's fide, Nor where it's waters glide Along Along the valley can fhe now be found, In all the wide-stretched prospects ample bound; No more my mournful eye, Can ought of her espy. But the fad facred earth where her dear relics lie. Sweet babes, who like the little playful fawns, Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns, By your delighted mother's fide; Who now your infant steps shall guide ? Ah! where is now the hand whose tender care, To every virtue would have form'd your youth, And ftrew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of truth: Oh! lofs beyond repair! Oh! wretched father left alone. To weep their dire misfortune and my own! And uncorrupted Innocence ! Tell how to more than manly fenfe, A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd, CARTE CARTE BLANCHE. Mrs. Pilkington's brother having teized her to write fome Verfes, as a fchool exercife for him, afked him what the fhould write upon; why, faid he pertly, what should you write upon but the paper? fo taking it for her fubject fhe wrote the following lines. O fpotle's paper, fair and white! On whom, by force, constrain'd I write, Thy purity to please a boy 2 The fairest fervant of the mufe. That, which destroy'd, shall make thee live. TRAN TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach, Along the treacherous fhore. The little and the great; Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, The tallest pines feel moft the power And hopes, in fpite of pain; If winter bellows from the north, What What if thy heaven be over-cast, The God that strings the filver bow, If hindrances obstruct thy way, And let thy ftrength be feen: THE LAST SPEECH AND DYING WORDS OF WILLY, A PET-LAMB, Who was executed by the hand of a common butcher, for gnawing, tearing, and murdering one of " AND muft I die? Muft your poor Willy bleed ? |