The Revenge of America. WARTON. WHEN Cortez' furious legions flew O'er ravaged fields of rich Peru, Struck with his bleeding people's woes, Old India's awful Genius rose: He sat on Ardes' topmost stone, And heard a thousand nations groan; For grief his feathery crown he tore, To see huge Plato foam with gore; He broke his arrows, stamp'd the ground, To view his cities smoking round.

What woes, he cried, hath lust of gold O'er my poor country widely roll'd! Plund'rers, proceed! my bowels tear: But ye shall meet destruction there. From the deep-vaulted mine shall rise Th' insatiate fiend, pale Avarice; Whose steps shall trembling Justice fly, Peace, Order, Law, and Amity! I see all Europe's children curst With lucre's universal thirst; The rage that sweeps my sons away, My baneful gold shall well repay.

Mutual Pity.

TOм, ever jovial, ever gay,
To appetite a slave,
In riot throws his life away,

And laughs to see me grave. 'Tis thus that we two disagree;

So diff'rent is our whim: The fellow fondly laughs at me, While I could cry for him.

Universal Complaisance.

THROUGH servile flattery thou dost all commend

Who cares to please whom no man can offend?

Under the Statue of a Water Nymph, at Stourhead, Somersetshire. From the Latin.

POPE.

NYMPH of the grot, these sacred springs I keep,

And to the murmur of these waters sleep;
Ah, spare my slumbers! gently tread the cave,
Or drink in silence, or in silence lave.

On his own Grotto. POPE.

THOU who shalt stop where Thames' translucent wave

Shines a broad mirror thro' the shadowy cave:
Where ling ring drops from min'ral roofs distil,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill;
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow :
Approach! great Nature studiously behold,
And eye the mine without a wish for gold.

THY reliques, Rowe! to this sad shrine we trust, [bust. And near thy Shakspeare place thy honour'd

Horse-Racing.

For never heart felt passion more sincere ;
To nobler sentiments to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdain'd a slave;
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Bless'd in thy genius, in thy love too bless'd!
And bless'd, that, timely from our scene re-
mov'd,

Thy soul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.

On Mr. Fenton. POPE.

THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles

can,

May truly say, "Here lies an honest man:"
A poet, bless'd beyond a poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and
great.

Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace,
Calmly he look'd on either life, and here'
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfied,
Thank'd Heav'n that he had liv'd, and that he
died.

On Mr. Gay. POPE.

Of manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit a man, simplicity a child;
With native humor temp'ring virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age:
Above temptation in a low estate,

And uncorrupted e'en among the great:
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblam'd thro' life, lamented in his end.
These are thy honors! not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust;
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms-Here lies Gay.

On Tom D'Urfey.

HERE lies the lyric, who with tale and song Did life to threescore years and ten prolong: His tale was pleasant, and his song was sweet; His heart was cheerful-but his thirst was great. Grieve, reader! grieve, that he, too soon grown His song has ended, and his tale has told. [old,

Inscription on an Urn at Lord Cork's, to the Memory of the Dog Hector.

STRANGER, behold the mighty Hector's tomb!

See! to what end both dogs and heroes come.
These are the honors by his master paid
Tô Hector's manes and lamented shade:
Nor words nor honors can enough commend
The social dog-nay more, the faithful friend!
From nature all his principles he drew;
By nature faithful, vigilant, and true;
His looks and voice his inward thoughts ex-
press'd;

He growl'd in anger, and in love caress'd.
No human falsehood lurk'd beneath his heart;
Brave without boasting, gen'rous without art.
When Hector's virtues man, proud man, dis-
plays,

Truth shall adorn his tomb with Hector's praise.

On an Old Woman who sold Pots at Chester.

BENEATH this stone lies Cath'rine Gray, Chang'd to a lifeless lump of clay; By earth and clay she got her pelf, Yet now she's turn'd to earth herself. Ye weeping friends, let me advise, Abate your grief, and dry your eyes; For what avails a flood of tears? Who knows but in a run of years, In some tall pitcher, or broad pan, She in her shop may be again?

To the Pie-house Memory of Nell Batchelor, the Oxford Pie-Woman.

HERE, into the dust
The mouldering crust

Of Eleanor Batchelor's shoven;

Well vers'd in the arts

Of pies, custards, and tarts, And the lucrative skill of the oven. When she'd liv'd long enough, She made her last puff―

A puff by her husband much prais'd:
Now here she doth lie,
And makes a dirt-pie,
In hopes that her crust shall be rais'd.

POPE.

On General Withers. HERE, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human kind O born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd! O soft humanity, in age belov'd!

For thee the hardy vet'ran drops a tear, And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere.

Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove Thy martial spirit, or thy social love! Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage, Still leave some ancient virtues to our age: Nor let us say, those English glories gone, The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

stone

Here sleep in peace the father and the son!
By virtue, as by nature, close allied;
The painter's genius, but without the pride:
Worth unambitious, wit afraid to shine,
Honor's clear light, and friendship's warmth
divine.

The son, fair rising, knew too short a date!
But O! how more severe the parent's fate!
He saw him torn untimely from his side,
Felt all a father's anguish, wept, and died.

On an Infant.

To the dark and silent tomb Soon I hasted from the womb; Scarce the dawn of life began Ere I measur'd out my span.

I no smiling pleasures knew ; I no gay delights could view ; Joyless sojourner was I, Only born to weep and die.

Bristol.

MASON.

Epitaph on Miss Drummond, in the Church of Brodsworth, Yorkshire. MASON.

HERE sleeps what once was beauty, once was grace; [bin'd Grace, that with tenderness and sense comTo form that harmony of soul and face, Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind. Such was the maid, that in the morn of youth, In virgin innocence, in nature's pride, Blest with each art that owes its charms to truth,

Sunk in her father's fond embrace, and died. He weeps; O venerate the holy tear!

Faith lends her aid to ease affliction's load; The parent mourns his child upon the bier, The Christian yields an angel to his God.

Lo! where this silent marble weeps,
A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps;
A heart, within whose sacred cell
The peaceful virtues lov'd to dwell.
Affection warm, and faith sincere,
And soft humanity, were there.
In agony, in death resign'd,

She felt the wound she left behind.
Her infant image, here below,
Sits smiling on a father's woe:
Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang to secret sorrow dear;
A sigh, an unavailing tear,
Till time shall ev'ry grief remove,
With life, with mem'ry, and with love.

A kindling passion ev'ry breast alarms, Each tongue proclaims the triumph of her charms.

But when, retir'd amidst their rural bow'rs, She cheers th' illustrious patriot's calmer hours; Or, smiling, sits her infant tribe among, And guides to virtue's paths the list ning throng:

Behold, amidst these pleasing cares of life, The tender mother, and th' engaging wife! More just applause these humbler virtues share, And Portia shines, as good as she is fair.

An Incident in High Life.

THE Bucks had din'd, and deep in council sat;

Their wine was brilliant-but their wit grew

flat:

Up starts his Lordship, to the window flies, And lo!" A race! a race!" in rapture cries. "Where?" quoth Sir John. "Why, see! two drops of rain

Start from the summit of the crystal pane:
A thousand pounds, which drop with nimblest
force

Performs its current down the slippery course!"
The bets were fix'd; the dire suspense they wait
For victory pendant on the nod of fate.
Now down the sash, unconscious of the prize,
The bubbles roll-like pearls from Chloe's eyes.

But ah! the glittering joys of life are short!How oft two jostling steeds have spoil'd the sport!

Lo! thus attraction, by coercive laws,
Th' approaching drops into one bubble draws.
Each curs'd his fate, that thus their project
How hard their lot, who neither won nor lost!
cross'd;