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| ORIGINAL 
An Apptess To THE BririsH NATION, 
AY, gen’rous Britons! fhalf the arts alone 
Claim all your fondnefs, and be all your own. 
While genuine Science in oblivion lies, 
And none confults the volumes of the wife ¢ 
‘Shall goal ke Plato’s facred page infpire 
No breaft with rays of heav’n-defcended fire ? 
That page, whofe venerably-myftic lore 
Form’d /fatefmen, focts, kags, im days of yore. 
Say, while thro” Marter’s labyrinth * you toil, 
Or o’er wrong readings wafte the midnight oil ; 
Shall true Philofophy no vo'try gain, 
But in deep folitude unknown remain ; 
Tho’ Rapture warble frem her facred tongue, 
‘Tho’ Harmony herfelf, her lyre has ftrung ? 
Forbid it heav’7n |———-To fouls of meaner. iank, 
The grov’ling Dutchman, or the #ippant Frank, 
Leave fardid toils: while you of nobler kind, 
Quit words for things, and fenfibles for mind: 
And thus the nations that around yeu dwell, 
Alike in qwijdem, as‘in art excel. 
Dec. 3, 1796- Tuomas TAyLor. 
ee - 
To tHe POET COWPER, 
@®N HIS RECOVERY FROM AN INDISPOSITION, 
Written fome time back. 
COWPER, I thank my God, that thou art 
heai’d. ; 
Thine was the foret malady of all; 
And I am fad to think that it fhould light 
Upon the worthy head: but thou art heal’d, - 
And thou art yet, we tuft, the deftin’d man, 
Born to re-animate the lyre, whofe chords 
Have flumber’d, and have idle lain fo long ; 
To th* immortal founding of whofe firings 
Did Miiton frame the flately-paccd verfe; 
Among whofe wires with lighter finger playing 
Our elder Bard, Spencer, a gentler name, 
The lady Mufes’ deareft darling child, 
Enticed forth the defteft tunes yet heard 
En hall or bower; taking the delicate ear 
Of the brave Sidney, and the Maiden Queen, 
Thou, then, take up the mighty epic (train, 
Cowper, of England’s bards the wileft and the 
belt 
De. 1, 1796. 
WRITTEN 1n SOLITUDE, 
BY MR. MOTT, OF CAMBRIDGE, 
(SOME, Melancholy,, at the clofe of day, 
C. Lames. 
And meet me, in the lone fequefter’d vale, 
Where oft’ I’ve heard the diftant paffing-bell 
Forebode the burial of feme friend ; fad found !=« 
Or lead me, by thy myttic pleafing fpell, 
As the moon wanders thro” the fhades of night, 
To mould’ring ruins, on fome holy ground, 
Where the tall thiftle flirts the timeworn tow’r, 
That rocks to reft the night-bird, as the gale 
Blows thro’ the tott’ring arches of the pile; 
For there, methinks, fome Spirit foft wiil fay— 
“* Poor Serrower, on thy fate is feen to fmile 
oe 

* Alluding to experimental enquiries, 
-On thoughts of death with joy to dwell 
( 88 ) 
POETRY. 
6©Fell Madnefs, as o’er Life’s deceitful way 
* Thou’rt led by Hope’s dim folitary light.’” 
Dec. 15, 1796. 
~~ Se 
To a WRETCH SHIVERING IN THE STREET, - 
"THY pla ntive voice, fo eloquent and meek, 
Poor child of Wretchednefs! T never hear, 
But filently I turn t’ indulge the tear 
Which Pity gives! To me thineaccents {fpeak,— 
Haply, of her who knows no friend, the fate ; 
Or one, to dark Defpondency confign’d, 
Or caft to the cold mercy of mankind, 
On Life’s bleak wafte!--But thou, tho’ defolate, 
. Shalt find no fhelter! thro” her proud aboce, 
Grandeur, in Folly’s {plendid robes, fhall haunt ¢~ 
Riot his fong of merriment fhall chaunt : 
But thou fhalt journey friendlefs on thy road, 
Nor fhall one friendly brother think on thee, 
Save him, who pitieth poyerty, like me ! 
Dec, 19, 1796. 
a 
To MIRA. 
F native dignity and eafe, 
With ev’ry varied pow’r to pleafe ; 
If all that’s good, and’all that’s fair, 
Can fhield the breaft from anxious care ; 
Then muft thy years ferenely flow, 
Exempt from ev’ry human woe.— 
Ls 
But fuch, alas! our deftin’d ftate, 
While here we run the maze of Fate ! 
. That all the charms of Heav’n born-Truth, 
With Wifdom, Beauty, Health, and Youth, 
Mutt, undiftinguith’d, fade and die, 
Quick as the tranfzent feafons fly * 
But confcious merit, fuch as thine, 
Can calmly {mile at Time’s decay ; 
y Y 3 
Tho’ fiorms arife, and funs decline, 
With Virtue ev’ry month is AZzy. 
Dee. 14, 1796. W.E, . 
~ em 
“Lranflation of the Lines written by MARGARET 
of VALous, i f ried in the Maithly Mag. xine 
for Fuly /. fi. 
WV OULD you the Chriftian pathex lore 
In which your Saviour Chrift hath trod 3 
Defires of wealth, and power, give o’er, . 
And ail that turns your thoughts from God. 
Scorn woman’s dangerous fnares to prove, 
All worldly gaieties pafs by, 
Leave, honour, pleafure, wealth, and love, 
_ Let thofe who like it but not I. 

- Bleft Charity, of power divine, 
Should guide thy hand, and cheer thy heats 
Be {weet forgivenefs ever thinc, ite 
Aind let thy foes thy bounty part, 
To mufe in melancholy’s cell, ~~ 
Hach vain defire to mortify, 
+ 
Let thofe who like it=eebut not I. 
OF. 15 1796. 
