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WHILE others, lavish in exalted lays,

Proclaim thy triumphs and record thy praise,
Whence comes it I, the tuneful tribe among,
Alone, withhold the tribute of my song?

Nor, while admiring crowds their offerings bring,
Even on thy birth-day, fay one civil thing?
So much applauded, honour'd and endear'd,
Child of my care! has it not strange appear'd?

I might, 'tis true, have gardens rang'd and fields, And cull'd the choiceft treasures FLORA yields;

The breathing violet and the blushing rose,
With every opening fweet the spring bestows,
Thy lovely bofom might conspire to grace,

Yet faintly match the wonders of thy face.
To trace the luftre of thy speaking eyes,

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ΙΟ

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I might have roam'd, like brother bards, the fkies;

And when I thro' the angelic choir had run,
Have tipp'd their beams with radiance from the fun.
With equal eafe, propriety and truth,

I might to HEBE's have compar'd thy youth;

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And

And brought each nymph of old and modern times,
Renown'd for charms, to decorate my rhymes;
And if, to image thy enchanting form,

A kindred foul could polish'd marble warm,
The all-perfect Medicean Venus might,
With thy refemblance dazzle human sight:
While gaily round, alluding to the day,
The officious nereïds dance and tritons play,
And in cool grot or amaranthine bowers,
Commit thee to the loves and feftive hours.
The foft-ey'd graces with their charge elate,
To deck their smiling queen might ready wait,
And with ambrosial dews imbue the lips,
Where cupid revels and enraptur'd fips.

Such the conceits, when beauty is the theme,
On which full oft our fancy-mongers dream;
But, hunting wit, tho' nature they disguise,
Applied to thee, it proves at leaft they have eyes.
To pen thy praise were but a waste of parts;

All who behold thee feel it in their hearts.

To me the more important care's affign'd,
To form thy judgment and improve thy mind;
To call the native powers of genius forth,
And on the public ear imprefs thy worth.
Scorning inferior arts, be thine the scheme
To gain the plaudit of deserv'd esteem,

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Whate'er

Whate'er illufive profpects court thy view,
The onward paths of excellence pursue;
Nor too fecurely loiter in the chace,

A trifle loft the Grecian maid the race;

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And, whatfoe'er the colour or pretence,

Let not good nature supersede good sense.
Envy may carp and calumny invade;
No power can confcious rectitude degrade.

The time arrives, how flattering to my hope!

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When thy confummate talents fhall have scope,
And all the virtues latent in thy breast

Break into day, confpicuous and confefs'd.
And, if the page of fate I truly read,

Illum'd with laurel'd gold, it ftands decreed,
In future ftory when thy name shall shine,
Her rofy finger fame fhall point to mine,
And, emulous thy merits to display,

Succeeding poets fing the TWELFTH OF MAY.

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то M R. WALKER.

WRITTEN AT HIS OPTIC LECTURE,"

MAY XIVTH, MDCCLXXI.

WHILE, with convincing eloquence,
You philofophic truths difpenfe,
And, in ten thousand pleasing ways,
Divert the fun's all-chearing rays,
What living wonders here abound,
Beaming fuperior influence round!

Lo! goodness, gentle and ferene,
In charming EMILY is feen;
Concentering to the dazzled fight
A glow of pure intrinfic light,
Unting'd with one affected air,

*

Which rank, too oft, and beauty wear.
Look there, ye meteors of a day!
Who throw your time and selves away;
Look there, ye fupercilious great!
Ye flaves to fashion, pomp, and state,
Look there! and learn, 'tis true defert

Alone, that captivates the heart;

ΤΟ

And,

And, such is blest AMELIA's store,
The heart the gains returns no more.

Belov'd ELIZA, here fhines forth,*
The beauteous quinteffence of worth;
Yet, rob'd in fplendors, like the fun,
She fhines not for herself alone;
But, eafy, affable, and gay,

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She sheds on all a brighter day,

And, with a candour known to few,

Sets others' merit full in view.

This praise is hers-and, proud to tell,

I have known her long, and know her well.

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In ANNA's speaking eyes we find*

Each calm perfection of the mind,

And, fparkling with celeftial rays,

Each goodly difpofition plays,

Lodg'd in a frame, where, often fought,

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Confult the impreffion in your breast,
And own, what all mankind atteft.

When worth and lovelinefs fupreme,

The raptur'd poet makes his theme,
Recreant to beauty, tafte, and wit,

Who could a fifter's claim omit;

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Tho'

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