II.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet mufic of speech;
I ftart at the found of my own.
The beafts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference fee;

They are fo unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is fhocking to me.

III.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man,

Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How foon would I taste you again!

My forrows I then might affuage

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

And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth.

IV.

Religion! what treasure untold

Refides in that heavenly word!

More precious than filver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.

But the found of the church-going bell
Thefe vallies and rocks never heard,

Ne'er figh'd at the found of a knell,
Or fmil'd when a fabbath appear'd.

V.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this defolate fhore

Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I fhall vifit no more.

My friends, do they now and then fend A wish or a thought after me?

O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to fee.

VI.

How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I feem to be there;

But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

VII.

But the fea-fowl is gone to her neft,
The beast is laid down in his lair,

Ev'n here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

ON THE

PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ.

TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND.

I.

ROUND Thurlow's head, in early youth,

And in his sportive days,

Fair science pour'd the light of truth,

Difcernment, eloquence, and grace,

Proclaim him born to fway

The balance in the highest place,

And bear the palm away.

IV.

The praise bestow'd was just and wife;

He sprang impetuous forth,

Secure of conquest where the prize

Attends fuperior worth.

So the best courfer on the plain

Ere yet he starts is known,

And does but at the goal obtain

What all had deem'd his own,

ODE TO PEACE,

I.

COME, peace of mind, delightful guest,

Return and make thy downy neft

Once more in this fad heart!

Nor riches I, nor pow'r, pursue,

Nor hold forbidden joys in view;

We therefore need not part.

II.

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,

From av'rice and ambition free,

And pleasure's fatal wiles?

For whom, alas! doft thou prepare

The sweets that I was wont to fhare,

The banquet of thy fmiles?