132 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1790. 
Yet what of that?—-Tho’ nought hath been effected, 
Tom might have told us what might be expected 5 
Have faid that civil lift fhould figh no more, 
And Charlotte give—a fixpence to the poor! 
ODE fe bis MAJESTY’S BIRTH DAY, Fune 4, 179¢. 
Written by the late Rev. Mr. T. Warton. 
i. 
W ITHIN what fountain’s craggy cell 
Delights the goddeis Health to dwell? 
Where from the rigid roof diftils 
Her richeft ftream in fteely rills? 
What mineral gems entwine her humid locks? 
Lo, fparkling high from potent fprings, 
To Britain’s fons her cup ihe brings! 
Romantic Matlock! are thy tufted rocks, 
Thy fring’d decilivities, the dim retreat 
. Where the coy Nymph has fix’d her favourite feat, 
And hears, reclin’d along the thundering fhore, 
Indignant Darwent’s defultory tide 
His rugged channel rudely chide ? 
Darwent, whofe thaggy wreath is ftain’d with Danifh gore! 
‘Il. ’ 
Or does fhe drefs her Naiad-cave 
With coral-fpoils from Neptune’s wave, 
And hold fhort revels with the train ; 
Of nymphs that tread the neighb’ring main? 
And from the cliits of Avon’s cavern’d fide 
Temper the balmy beyerage pure, 
‘That, fraught with “ drops of precious cure,” 
Brings back to trembling hope the drooping bride; 
That in the virgin’s cheek renews the rofe, 
And wraps the eye of Pain in quick repofe! 
While oft the climbs the mountain’s fhelving fteeps, 
And calls her votaries wan, to catch the gale | 
That breathes o’er Afhton’s elmy vale, 
And from the Cambrian hills the billowy Severn {weeps, 
II. ; 
Or broods the nymph with watchful wing 
a . Over ancient Badon’s myftic fpring ? 
And fpeeds from its fulphureous fource 
The fteamy torrent’s fecret courfe ; 
And fans th’ eternal {parks of hidden fire, 
In deep unfathom’d beds below 
By Bladud’s magic taught to glow, 
