ON THE

BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING,

IN THE YEAR 1789.

O SOVEREIGN of an isle renown'd

For undisputed sway Wherever o'er yon gulf profound Her navies wing their way;

With juster claim she builds at length

Her empire on the sea,

And well may boast the waves her strength

Which strength restored to Thee.

TO MRS. THROCKMORTON,

ON

HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE

AD LIBRUM SUUM.

FEBRUARY, 1790.

MARIA, Could Horace have guess'd

What honour awaited his ode

To his own little volume address'd,

The honour which you have bestow'd,— Who have traced it in characters here,

So elegant, even, and neat,

He had laugh'd at the critical sneer

Which he seems to have trembled to meet

And sneer, if you please, he had said,
A nymph shall hereafter arise
Who shall give me, when you are all dead,
The glory your malice denies ;
Shall dignity give to my lay,

Although but a mere bagatelle;
And even a poet shall say,

Nothing ever was written so well.

INSCRIPTION

FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ. 1790.

JUNE, 1790.

OTHER stones the era tell,

When some feeble mortal fell;

I stand here to date the birth

Of these hardy sons of Earth.

Which shall longest brave the sky,
Storm and frost-these Oaks or I?
Pass an age or two away,

I must moulder and decay;

But the years that crumble me
Shall invigorate the tree,
Spread its branch, dilate its size,
Lift its summit to the skies.

Cherish honour, virtue, truth,
So shalt thou prolong thy youth.
Wanting these, however fast

Man be fix'd, and form'd to last,
He is lifeless even now,

Stone at heart, and cannot grow.

ANOTHER,

FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR.

JUNE, 1790.

READER! Behold a monument
That asks no sigh or tear,
Though it perpetuate the event
Of a great burial here.

ANNO 1791.

HYMN

FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.

JULY, 1790.

HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,
In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants, made the public care,

And taught to seek thy face!

Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day;

And grant us, we implore,

Never to waste in sinful play

Thy holy Sabbaths more.

Thanks that we hear,-but oh! impart

To each desires sincere,

That we may listen with our heart,
And learn as well as hear.

For if vain thoughts the minds engage
Of elder far than we,

What hope that at our heedless age

Our minds should e'er be free?

Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.

Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,
A sun that ne'er declines;

And be thy mercies shower'd on those
Who placed us where it shines'.

STANZAS

ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS OF THE GREAT MILTON,-ANNO 1790.

AUGUST, 1790.

"ME too, perchance, in future days,
The sculptured stone shall show,
With Paphian myrtle or with bays
Parnassian on my brow.

"But I, or ere that season come,
Escaped from every care,
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb,
And sleep securely there 2."

This Hymn was written at the request of the Rev. James Bean, then Vicar of Olney, to be sung by the children of the Sunday Schools of that town, after a Charity Sermon, preached at the parish church for their benefit, on Sunday, July 31, 1790.-J.

2 Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus
Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Pernasside lauri
Fronde comas-At ego secura pace quiescam.

Milton in Manso.

So sang, in Roman tone and style,
The youthful bard, ere long
Ordain'd to grace his native isle
With her sublimest song.

Who then but must conceive disdain,
Hearing the deed unblest

Of wretches who have dared profane
His dread sepulchral rest?

Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones
Where Milton's ashes lay,

That trembled not to grasp his bones
And steal his dust away!

O ill-requited bard! neglect
Thy living worth repaid,
And blind idolatrous respect
As much affronts thee dead.

TO MRS. KING,

ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING.

AUGUST 14, 1790.

THE Bard, if e'er he feel at all,

Must sure be quicken'd by a call
Both on his heart and head,
To pay with tuneful thanks the care
And kindness of a lady fair

Who deigns to deck his bed.

A bed like this, in ancient time,
On Ida's barren top sublime,