The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes, ...,
His rainbows and his starry eyes;
The Pheasant, plumes, which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The Cock, his arched tail's azure show;
And, river-blanched, the Swan, his snow.
All tribes beside of Indian name,
That glossy shine or vivid flame,
Where rises and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dashing shower, i
Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower,
Shall drench again or discompose,
But screened from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.

To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,

Which, though new-born, with vigour move, Like Pallas springing armed from Jove--Imagination scattering round Wild roses over furrowed ground, Which Labour of his frowns beguile, : And teach Philosophy a smile .! .' Wit flashing on Religion's side, : ' .. Whose fires to sacred Truth applied, ,, The gem, though luminous before, Obtrude on human notice more, Like sun-beams on the golden height Of some tall temple playing brightWell-tutored Learning, from his books Dismissed with grave, not haughty, looks, Their order on his shelves exact, Not more harmonious or compact Than that, to which he keeps confined The various treasures of his mindAll these to Montagu's repair, Ambitious of a shelter there. There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, The ruffled plumage calm refit,

(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.

She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phæbus aiding,
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading.






I am monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

Oh solitude! where are the charms,

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

Than reign in this horrible place."

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roain over the plain,

My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
. Their tameness is shocking to me,

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth. VOL. I.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell

These vallies and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey 10 this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report

Of a land, I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, · And the swift winged arrows of light.

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