PAGE.
An Ode,
Addison, 127
A Night Piece on Death,
Parnell, 128
A Hymn to Contentment,
ib. 131
An Allegory on Man
ib. 133
The Garland,
Prior, 137
A Dirge in Cymbeline,
Collins, 138
Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson,
ib. 140
ORIENTAL ECLOGUES.
Eclogue I. Selim; or, the Shepherd's Moral, ib. 231
Eclogue II. Hassan ; or, the Camel-Driver, ib. 233
Eclogue III. Abra; or, the Georgian Sultana, ib. 236
Eclogue IV. Agib and Secander; or, the
Fugitives,
ib. 239
Ode on the Passions,
ib. 241
Ode to Simplicity,
ib. 245
To-morrow,
Cotton, 149
The Benedicite paraphrased,
Merrick, 143
The Splendid Shilling,
Phillips, 150
Madness: an Ode,
Penrose, 154
Ode to Melancholy,
Ogilvie, 157
Of Taste: an Essay,
Cawthorn, 161
The Birth and Education of Genius: a Tale, ib. 167
Nobility : a Moral Essay,
ib.
178
Ode to Health,
Duncombe, 185
The Hamlet,
T. Warton, 187
Ode to Evening,
J. Warton, 189
The Enthusiast : an Ode,
Whitehead, 190
Hymn on Solitude,
Thomson, 199
The Cotter's Saturday Night,
Burns, 201
Man was made to mourn: a Dirge,
ib. 209
Winter: a Dirge,
ib, 212
To Ruin,
ib. 214
Address to Edinburgh,
ib. 215
Song,
ib. 217
The Farewel, to the Brethren of St. James's
Lodge, Tarbolton,
ib. 219
Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on Nith-
side,
ib. 220
On scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch-Turit,
a wild Scene among the Hills of Ough-
tertyre,
ib. 222
Despondency: an Ode,
ib. 224
Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crown-
ing his Bust, at Ednam, Roxburghshire,
with Bays,
ib.
226
On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which
a Fellow had just shot at,
ib. 227
On Miss J. Scott, of Ayr,
ib. 227
The Fakenham Ghost,
Bloomfield, 228
The Mansion of Rest,
Fox, 247
The Tears of Scotland,
Smollett, 249
Ode to Leven Water,
ib. .
251
The Spleen,
Green, 255
Lucy and Colin,
Tickell, 281
A Night Piece,
Carter, 297
Inscription in a Hermitage, &c. T. Warton, 299
TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY,
WHAT beckoning ghost, along the moonlight shade, ,
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ?
'Tis she -but why that bleeding bosom gored ?
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ?
Oh! ever beauteous, ever friendly, tell,
Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well ?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a lover's, or a Roman's part ?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think or bravely die ?
Why bade ye else, ye Powers ! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire ?
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods :
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Most souls,
'tis true, but peep
out once an age,
Dull, sullen prisoners in the body's cage :
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres;
B
Like eastern kings, a lazy state they keep,
And, close confined to their own palace, sleep.
From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die)
Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer spirits flow,
And separate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the soul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou mean deserter of a brother's blood! See on those ruby lips the trembling breath, Those cheeks now fading at the blast of death ; Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall ; On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent herses shall besiege your gates ; There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long funerals blacken all the way) Lo these were they whose souls the furies steeld, And cursed with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all whose breasts ne'er learn’d to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
What can atone (oh ever injured shade!) Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid ? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear, Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier ; By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
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