1303. ] | “ah | ( 
ORIGINAL POETRY, 
To MR. FONN MAVOR,* of WADHAM COL- 
“LEGE 3 with a prefent of fome VIDONIA, 
To you, whofe frolic {pirit on the wing 
Of glowing youth {pontaneomfly can fly, 
To youth and nature’s never-failing {pring, 
Where all the flores of youth and nature lie: 
To you, my friend, who, bleft in claffic lore, 
—An early moralift, and youthful fage— 
Who, from a rich and variegated fore, 
Can draw life’s neGtar, mellowed many an 
age: 
What is the envied Cape, the proud Tokay, 
Th’ o’erflowing goblet, or the mant’ling 
bowl, 
That makes the duil fo wife, the fool fo gay? 
What can they give tofucha buoyant foul ? 
Nor wit, nor wifdom, can they all impart, 
Nor native paffion, nor ingenuous truth ; 
Thefe—the rich vintage of a fervid heart— 
Guih in full tides of nature and of youth. 
Yet till accept the humble gift I fend, 
Friendfhip ’s ** the wine of life’. when 
found and ¢rue; 
—As fings the + awful bard, to whom I bend, 
And fuch the friendfhip that J feel for you. 
S.T. PRATT. 
TO MR» GEORGE DYER.f 
OW fhall fo mere a verfifyer 
Attempt to rhyme to Poet Dyer ? 
It is a bold prefumptuous thing 5 
Yet, I muft either fay or fing. 
For, if the dilatory bard 
Will net at all my profe regard, 
E’en muft I try, tho’ it prove worfe, 
If equally hell flight my verfe. 
Where art thou, vifionary man, 
What airy caftle doft thou plan ? 
Still doft thou roam thofe banks along, 
That erft infpir'd thy duicet fong, 
Where too, fublime and ferious Gray 
Was wont to fing, was wont to firay ? 
And he, be filial § praife allow’d, 
Whofe hallow’d ftrain fuccefsful flow’d ! 
Say, doft thou mufe fome waking dream, 
Along Cam’s fmooth and claflic ftream ? 
Whether oy no its ftream runs clearly, 
j Know not, lavow fincerely; 
* Eldeft fon of the well-known ingenious 
Dr. Mavor. 
f+ Young. 
+t Mr, Dyer had been abfent from his lodg- 
ing feveral months, and had not, it feems, 
received this lady’s letter and commiffion. 
That circumftance gives rife to the following 
poetical expoftulation. 
§ Mrs, Le Noir is daughter of Mr. Chrif- 
topher Smart, the poet, formerly fellow of 
Pembroke-hall. 
MontTuiy Mac. No.105, 
*, 
But, profiting, as fure he ought, 
LOR WP 
To have Lethean quality ;-— 
Perhaps of it you make your tea; 
Or with it mix your port-—for ture 
No poet drinks his water pure; L 
A wight train’d up in Britifh college, 
If he imbibes no other knowledge, 
Will not for infpiration feek 
In any water that is weak ; 
Yet, truly, it appears to me, 1 
From what is practis’d, if not taught, 
Will ftill retain, as one may fay, 
A fort of hydrophobia. 
The Heliconian fount fublime 
Flows marvelloufly well in rhyme 5 
But how the feeble verfe will flow, 
That has no better fource, we know. 
But, to return, Sir, to th” occafion— 
Where are you 2—This is ail digreflion.— 
Are you immerg’d, as black as Styx, 
In city fmoak and politics, 
Pent in that town of noife and porter, 
Far from the Mufe and thofe that court her 
With no bookfellers do you dine, 
Gentlemen-ufhers tothe Nine, 
Nor call, as once I thought you wou’d, 
On fohnfon, Longman, Phillips, Hood ? 
Have you my caufe and me forfook ? 
What of my book, my book, my book ?—. 
Jefting apart, where’er this greets you, 
Healthy and profp’rous may it meet you! 
Reading, BE. A. LE NOIR. 
April 22, 1803. 
Pe 
I 
Se ee ee 
—— 
See 
HERO AND LEANDER, 
A BALLAD, FROM SCHILLERs« 
JEE yonder airy turrets rife 
On either ftrand, and mock the fkies, 
And catch the golden gleam of day 3, . 
Where hoary Hellefpontus fwells, 
As through the rocky Dardanells 
He proudly works his foamy way. 
And mark the ftorm whofe fury tore 
Old Afia from Europa’s fhore ; 
Yet Love, undaunted, dares to brave 
The terrors of the madd’ning wave. 
To Hero’s eyes Leander bow'd, 
Her cheek with yielding blufhes glow’d, 
And Cupid fmil’d and blefs’d the pair, 
The maid in grace with Hebe vy’d, 
The youth, of all the fwains the pride, 
That gayly urg’d the Sylvan war. . 
But foon parental hate deftroys 
The tender bloffoms of their joys 5 
And love’s foft accents ceafe to flow, 
And rapture yields to lonely woe. 
And now from Seftos* gloomy tow'r, 
That echoes tothe furge’s roar, 
And high o’erhangs the briny flood, ~ 
The maid, in filent anguith Joft, =~ 
Surveys Abydos’ thelvy coaft— 
Her low’d Leander’s fad abode, 
iz No 
