Nor let the fair, with a contemptuous fneer,
On these unmarried men reflections caft.
The fplendid fortune, and the beauteous face,
(Themfelves confefs it, and their fires bemoan)
Too foon are caught by fcarlet and by lace;
These fons of fcience fhine in black alone.
Forgive, ye fair, th' involuntary fault,
If thefe no feats of gaiety difplay,

Where through proud Ranelah's wide echoing vault
Melodious Frafi* trills her quivering lay.

Say, is the fword well fuited to the band?

Does 'broider'd coat agree with fable gown? Can Mechlin laces fhade a churchman's hand? Or learning's votaries ape the beaux of town? Perhaps in these time tottering walls refide

Some who were once the darling of the fair,
Some who of old could tastes and fashions guide,
Controul the manager, and awe the play'r.

But Science now has fill'd their vacant mind
With Rome's rich spoils, and truth's exalted views,
Fir'd them with transports of a nobler kind,

And bade them flight all females-but the muse. Full many a lark, high towering to the sky,

Unheard, unheeded, greets th' approach of light; Full many a ftar, unfeen by mortal eye,

With twinkling luftre glimmers through the night. Some future Herring, who, with dauntless breast, Rebellion's torrent fhall like him oppose ; Some mute, unconfcions Hardwicke here may rest, Some Pelham dreadful to his country's foes. From prince and people to command applaufe ; . 'Midft ermin'd peers to guide the high debate, To fhield Britannia and Religion's laws,

And fteer, with fteady courfe, the helm of state. Fate yet forbids; nor circumfcribes alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confines, Forbids in Freedom's veil t' insult the throne, Beneath her mafk to hide the worst designs; To fill the madding crowd's perverted mind With Penfions, taxes, marriages, and Jews.' Or fhut the gates of heaven on lost mankind, And wreft their darling hopes, their future views.

* A late celebrated Italian finger.

Far from the giddy town's tumultuous ftrife,
Their wishes never yet have learn'd to stray;
Content and happy in a fingle life,

They keep the noifelefs tenour of their way.
E'en now their books from cobwebs to protect,
Inclos'd by doors of glafs in Doric ftyle,
On polifh'd pillars rais'd, with bronzes deck'd,
They claim the paffing tribute of a smile.
Oft are the author's names, though richly bound,
Mifpelt by blundering binder's want of care,
And many a catalogue is ftrew'd around,

To tell th' admiring gueft what books are there. For who, to thoughtless ignorance a prey, Neglects to hold fhort dalliance with a book? Who there but wishes to prolong his stay,

And on thofe cafes cafts a lingering look? Reports attract the lawyer's parting eyes,

Novels, Lord Fopling and Sir Plume require, For Songs and Plays the voice of Beauty cries, And Senfe and Nature Grandifon defire. For thee, who mindful of thy lov'd compeers, Doft in thefe lines their artlefs tale relate, If chance, with prying fearch, in future years, Some antiquarian fhould enquire thy fate; Haply fome friend may shake his hoary head, And fay, Each morn unchill'd by frofts he ran, With hofe ungarter'd, o'er yon turfy bed,

To reach the chapel ere the pfalm began; There, in the arms of that lethargic chair, Which rears its old moth-eaten back fo high, At noon he quaff'd three glaffes to the fair, And por❜d upon the news with curious eye. Now by the fire engag'd in ferious talk,

Or mirthful converfe, would he loitering stand; Then in the garden chofe a funny walk

Or launch'd the polish'd bowl with steady hand. "One morn we mifs'd him at the hour of prayer, • Nor in the hall, nor on his favourite green; Another came: nor yet within the chair,

Nor yet at bowls, or chapel was he seen.

The next we heard that in a neighb'ring fhire, That day to church he led a blufhing bride; A nymph whofe finowy vest and maiden fear Improv'd her beauty while the knot was ty'd.

Now, by his patron's bounteous care remov'd,

He roves enraptur'd through the fields of Kent : "Yet ever mindful of the place he lov'd, Read here the letter which he lately fent.'

THE LETTER.

IN rural innocence fecure I dwell,
Alike to fortune and to fame unknown;
Approving confcience cheers my humble cell,
And focial quiet marks me for her own.
Next to the bleffings of religious truth,
Two gifts my daily gratitude engage;
A WIFE-the joy and tranfport of my youth,
A SON-the comfort of declining age.
Seek not to draw me from this calm retreat,
In loftier spheres unfit, untaught to move;
Content with plain domestic life, where meet
The sweets of friendship, and the smiles of love.

"B

A FEMALE WORTHY.

EYOND that hillock, topp'd with fcatter'd trees,
That meet, with freshest green, the haftening breeze,

There, where the glassy brook reflects the day,

Nor weeds, nor fedges, choke its crystal way,
Where budding willows feel the earliest spring,
And wonted red-breafts fafely nest, and sing,
A female worthy lives; and all the poor
Can point the way to her fequefter'd door.

"She, unfeduc'd by dress and idle show,
The forms and rules of fashion never knew ;
Nor glittering in the ball, her form difplay'd;
Nor yet can tell a diamond from a fpade.
Far other objects claim'd her steady care;
The morning chapter, and the nightly prayer;
The frequent vifit to the poor man's fhed;
The wakeful nurfing at the fick man's bed;
Each day to rife before the early fun;
Each day to fee her daily duty done;
To cheer the partner of her houshold cares,
And mould her children from their earliest years.
"Small is her house; but fill'd with ftores of good;
Good, earn'd with toil, and with delight bestow'd.

In the clean cellar, rang'd in order neat,

Gay frailing Plenty boafts her cafks of meat,
Points, to fmall eyes, the bins where apples glow,
And marks her cider-butts, in ftately row.

N N

Her granary fill'd with harveft's various pride,
Still fees the poor man's bushel laid aside;
Here fwells the flaxen, there the fleecy ftore,
And the long wood-pile mocks the winter's power :
White are the fwine; the poultry plump and large;
For every creature thrives, beneath her charge.
"Plenteous, and plain, the furniture is feen;
All form'd for use, and all as filver clean.
On the clean dreffer, pewter fhines arow;
The clean-fcour'd bowls are trimly fet below;
While the wash'd coverlet, and linen white,
Affure the traveller a refreshing night.

"Oft have I feen, and oft ftill hope to fee,
This friend, this parent to the poor and me,
Tho' bent with years, and toil, and care, and woe,
Age lightly filver'd on her furrow'd brow,
Her frame ftill useful, and her mind ftill young,
Her judgment vigorous, and her memory ftrong.
Serene her fpirits, and her temper fweet,
And pleas'd the youthful circle still to meet,
Cheerful, the long accustom❜d task pursue,
Prevent the ruft of age, and life renew;
To church, still pleas'd, and able still to come,
And fhame the lounging youth, who fleep at home.
"Such as her toils, has been the bright reward;
For Heaven will always toils like these regard.
Safe, on her love, her truth and wisdom tried,
Her husband's heart, through lengthen'd life relied;
From little, daily faw his wealth increase,
His neighbours love him, and his household bless';
In peace and plenty liv'd, and died refign'd,
And, dying, left fix thousand pounds behind.
Her children, train'd to usefulness alone,
Still love the hand that led them kindly on,
With pious duty, own her wife beheft,
And, every day, rise up and call her bleft.

"More would ye know, of each poor hind enquire,

Who fees no fun go down upon his hire;
A cheerful witnefs, did each neighbour come;
Afk each fad wanderer where he finds a home;
His tribute e'en the vileft wretch will give,
And praise the useful life, he will not live."

AN INTENDED INSCRIPTION, WRITTEN FOR THE MONUMENT ON BEACON-HILL, IN BOSTON, AND ADDRESSED TO THE PASSENGER.

By James Allen, of Boston.

HERE ftretch'd your fail, beneath what foreign sky

W Did lov'lier landicapes ever charm your eye?

Could fancy's fairy pencil, Stranger! fay,
E'en dipt in dreams, a nobler fcene pourtray?
Behold yon vales, whose skirts elude your view,
And mountains fading to aërial blue !
Along their bow'ry fhades how healthy toil
Alternate sports, or tends the mellow foil.
See rural towns mid groves and gardens rife,
And eastward,-where the stretching ocean lies,
Lo! our fair capital fublimes the scene,
New Albion's pride, and ocean's future queen ;
How o'er the tradeful port auguft fhe fmiles,
Her fea-like haven boasts an hundred ifles,
Whence hardy commerce fwells the lofty fails
O'er arctic feas, and mocks the polar gales,
Thence tides of wealth the wafting breezes bring,
And hence e'en culture feels its vital fpring.

These scenes our Sires from rugged nature wrought,
Since what dire wars their patriotic race have fought!
Witnefs yon tracts, where first the Briton bled,
Driv'n by our youth redoubted PIERCY fled:
There BREED afcends, and BUNKER'S bleeding fteeps,
Still o'er whose brow abortive Vict'ry weeps ;
What Trophies fince! the gaze of after times,
Rear'd Freedom's empire o'er our happy climes !

But hence, fond Stranger, take a nobler view,
See yon fhorn elm,* whence all thefe glories grew.
Here, where the armed foe prefumptuous trod,
Trampled our fhrines, and even mouth'd our God,
His vengeful hand, deep as the parent-root,
Lopt each grown branch, and ev'ry fuckling shoot;
Because beneath her confecrated shade

Our earliest vows to LIBERTY were paid.

High from her Altar blew the heaven-caught fire,
While all our wealth o'erhung the kindling pyre.
How at the deed the nations flood aghaft,
As on the pile our plighted lives we cast!
O! if an alien from our fair domains,
The blood of Britain, haplefs, taint your veins,
Pace o'er that hallow'd ground with awful tread,
And tears, atoning, o'er yon relick shed ;

*The stump of Liberty-tree.