ODE XXXIV.

то

MIRTH.

BY T. SMOLLETT, M. D.

PARENT of Joy! heart-easing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born,
Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth,
Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn :
Thy glittering colours gay,
Around him, Mirth, display;
And o'er his raptur'd sense
Diffuse thy living influence:

So shall each hill in purer green array'd,

And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow; The grove shall smooth the horrors of his shade, And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow. Shine, Goddess, shine with unremitted ray, And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day.

Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged Poverty can smile with thee,
If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
And weak the uplifted arm of Tyranny.

The morning opes on high
His universal eye;

And on the world doth pour

His glories in a golden shower.

Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray
Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn;
The brood obscene, that own her gloomy sway,
Troop in her rear, and fly th' approach of morn.
Pale shivering ghosts, that dread th' all-chearing
light,

Quick, as the lightning's flash, glide to sepulchral night.

But whence the gladdening beam
That pours his purple stream

O'er the long prospect wide?

'Tis Mirth, I see her sit
In majesty of light,

With laughter at her side.

Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And

young Wit flings his pointed dart,
That guiltless strikes the willing heart.

Fear not now Affliction's power,

Fear not now wild passion's rage,

Nor fear ye aught in evil hour,

Save the tardy hand of Age.

Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant Poet's

prayer;

No cloud, that rides the blast,shall vex the troubled air.

ODE XXXV.

MORTALITY.

BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.

'Twas the deep groan of death That struck th' affrighted ear!

The momentary breeze,-the vital breath
Expiring sunk!-Let Friendship's holy tear-
Embalm her dead, as low he lies.-
To weep another's fate, oft teaches to be wise.

Wisdom! set the portal wide,-
Call the young, and call the vain,
Hither lure presuming Pride,

With Hope mistrustless at her side,

And Wealth, that chance defies, and greedy Thirst of Gain.

Call the group, and fix the eye,—
Shew how aweful 'tis to die.-

Shew the portrait in the dust :

Youth may frown-the picture's just,—

And tho' each nerve resists-yet yield at length they must.

Where's the visage, that awhile

Glow'd with glee and rosy smile?
Trace the corpse,-the likeness seek-
No likeness will you own.

Pale's the once social cheek,

And wither'd round the ghastly bone.

Where are the beamy orbs of sight,
The windows of the soul?

No more with vivid ray they roll-
Their suns are set in night.

Where's the heart, whose vital power
Beat with honest rapture high,—
That joy'd in many a friendly hour,
gave to mis'ry many a sigh ?—

And

Froze to a stone !-And froze the hand
Whose grasp
affection warm convey'd ;
Whose bounty fled the suppliant band,
And nourish'd Want with timely aid.

Ah! what remains to bring relief,-
To silence agonizing grief,—

To soothe the breast in tempest tost,
That thrilling wails in vain the dear companion lost?

'Tis the departed worth, tho' sure

To gash the wound, yet works the cure :—

'Tis Merit's gift alone to bloom

O'er the dread horrors of the tomb;
To dry the mourner's pious stream,
And soften sorrow to esteem.

Does Ambition toil to raise

Trophies to immortal praise ?

Trust not, tho' strong her passions burn,
Trust not the marble's flattering stile,
-Tho' Art's best skill engrave the urn-

Time's cank'ring tooth shall fret the pile.