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Such is their meed-THEIR honours thus secure, Whose arts yield objects, and whose works endure. "The ACTOR only, shrinks from times award ; Feeble Tradition is His Memory's Guard; By whose faint breath his merits must abide, Unvouch'd by proof-to substance unallied ! Ev'n matchless Garrick's art to Heav'n resign'd, No fix'd effect, no model leaves behind!
The Grace of Action--the adapted MIEN Faithful as nature to the varied Scene; The' EXPRESSIVE GLANCE--whose subtle comment
draws Entranc'd attention, and a mute applause ; GESTURE that marks, with force and feeling fraught, A sense in silence, and a will in thought; HARMONIOUS SPEECH, whose pure and liquid tone Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its own; As light from gems, assumes a brighter ray And clothed with orient hues, transcends the day!Passion's wild break and Frown that awes the sense,
CHARM of gentler ELOQUENCEAll perishable!-like the electric fire But strike the frame-and as they strike expire; Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear, It's fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air.
WHERE then--while sunk in cold Decay he lies,
By all those Thoughts, which many a distant night,
What more is due from sanctifying Time,
IMITATION OF MARTIAL.
With faulty accents and so vile a tone
N. B. HALHED, ESQ.
BY F. N. C. MUNDAY, ESQ.
ON LEAVING BATH. 1761.
Adicu, fair city, Beauty's darling seat!
From you my steps unwillingly retreat.
While scanty morn deals forth the light of day,
My eyes shall take their lingering last survey. And Fancy there that envied roof descries
Where dwells the dear possessor of my heart:
Nor knows, nor pities, my unceasing smart.
-But cease, vain mind, the fond petition cease Nor vex her gentle breast with fruitless woes ;
-Peace to her threshold, to her slumbers peace. Enough for me, if when Hyperions' ray
Unlocks the brighter glories of her eye,
While from her soul escapes the struggling sigh.
Nor yet, so Hope sweet flatterer would suggest,
Nor yet of Love unconscious is her heart;
Nor unlamented shall I now depart.
How joy'd my soul such blessings to receive!
With every bliss that virtue ought to give. When from her presence, forc'd by fate I came,
Sudden her cheeks the virgin bloom forsook : In her moist eye the rising sorrows swam,
And kind concern hung mournful on her look. Grief ill-conceal’d, seem'd bursting from her breast;
The fond “Farewell," her faltering voice deny'd; With equal warmth my closing hand she press'd;
And looks and nods the fond " Farewell” supply'd ; - Fair city, happy walls, at length adieu! I go; but leave
soul's best part behind; I go from joy, from pleasure, and from you ;
Love, only Love, accompanies my mind: Guard well your choicest charge, this favourite Maid;
the Sun rise gorgeous on your towers ! Me, on my hated way let darkness shade,
Smit by the furious blasts and rattling showers. In glooms congenial to my sorrowing mind
May the sick sky its troubled visage shrowd; My plaints be answer'd by the muttering wind;
And heavy as my heart each lowering cloud. In vain doth Phoebus at the call of morn,
New trick his beams fresh rising from the sea ; In vain doth Spring the laughing fields adorti;
Without my Love, she shines ro Spring to me,
O cou'd the Seasons but my Love restore !
So might my soul their genial pleasures taste : Or bless'd with her I'd hear the whirlwind roar ;
And brave the tempest on th' unshelter'd waste! For she alone can Time's dull space beguile,
Or with fresh joys improve the happy hour: For she can bid the wintry landscape smile,
Or add new beauties to the vernal hour.
ELEGY II. ON RETURNING HOME FROM WINCHESTER. 176). In vain, O native fields, ye strive to please,
In vain to joy yout various scenes invite: Nor can ye give my soul its wonted ease;
Nor can ye give my Fair-one to my sight! Joy is not here: fly, sweet Remembrance fly;
Fly where I revell’d late in Pleasure's train; Recall the fleeting form to Fancy's eye ;
And live o'er all the blissful hours again. Mine was the lot, from every youth to bear
The prize how envy'd, how desir'd by all! Mine was the lot, where hundred nymphs were fair,
To lead the fairest through the mazy ball. How felt my soul when she to music mov'd,
In youthful prime, and blooming beauty warm! Each step, each attitude her form improv’d,
And a new grace arose on every charm. How I obey'd, tho' music gave command,
Her palm's soft touch one moment to resign : Again, ere music bade, I seiz'd her hand,
And lock'd the lovely treasure fast in mine.