TO THE HONOURABLE

THOMAS ERSKINE.

HORACE, BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE THIRD, IMITATED.

OCTOBER, 1796.

CONSCIOUS the mortal stamp is on thy breast,
O, ERSKINE! still an equal mind maintain,
That wild Ambition ne'er may goad thy rest,
Nor Fortune's smile awake thy triumph vain,

Whether thro' toilsome tho' renowned years
'Tis thine to trace the law's perplexing maze,
Or win the Sacred Seals, whose awful cares
To high decrees devote thy honour'd days.

Where silver'd poplars with the stately pines
Mix their thick branches in the summer sky,
And the cool stream, whose trembling surface shines,
Laboriously oblique, is hurrying by;

There let thy duteous train the banquet bring,
In whose bright cups the liquid ruby flows,
As life's warm season, on expanded wing,
Presents her too, too transitory rose ;

While every Muse and Grace auspicious wait,
As erst thy handmaids, when, with brow serene,
Gay thou didst rove where Buxton views elate
A golden palace deck her savage scene.

At frequent periods woo th' inspiring band
Before thy days their summer-course have run,
While, with closed shears, the Fatal Sisters stand,
Nor aim to cut the brilliant thread they spun.

Precarious tenant of that gay retreat,

Fann'd by pure gales on Hampstead's airy downs, Where filial troops for thee delighted wait,

And their fair mother's smile thy banquet crowns!

Precarious tenant!-shortly thou may'st leave These, and propitious Fortune's golden hoard; Then spare not thou the stores, that shall receive, When set thy orb, a less illustrious lord.

1. 8. Savage scene-The author had the pleasure of passing a fortnight with Mr and Mrs Erskine at Buxton, in August 1796.

What can it then avail thee that thy pleas Charm'd every ear with TULLY's periods bland? Or that the subject passions they could seize, And with the thunder of the Greek command ?

What can it then avail thee that thy fame
Threw tenfold lustre on thy noble line?
Since neither birth, nor self-won glory, claim
One hour's exemption from the sable shrine.

E'en now thy lot shakes in the urn, whence Fate Throws her pale edicts in reverseless doom! Each issues in its turn, or soon, or late,

And lo! the great man's prize!—a silent Tomb!

ΤΟ

BARINE.

BOOK THE second, odE THE EIGHTH.

BARINE, to thy always broken vows
Were slightest punishment ordain'd;
Hadst thou less charming been

By one grey hair upon thy polish'd brows;
If but a single tooth were stain'd,

A nail discolour'd seen,

Then might I nurse the hope that, faithful grown, The Future might, at length, the guilty Past atone.

But ah! no sooner on that perjur'd head,
With pomp, the votive wreaths are bound,

In mockery of truth,

Than lovelier grace thy faithless beauties shed; Thou com❜st, with new-born conquest crown'd, The care of all our youth,

Their public care;-and murmur'd praises rise

Where'er the beams are shot of those resistless eyes.

Thy mother's buried dust ;-the midnight train
Of silent stars, the rolling spheres,

Each God, that list'ning bows,

With thee it prospers, false-one! to profane.
The nymphs attend ;-gay Venus hears,

And all deride thy vows;

And Cupid whets afresh his burning darts

On the stone, moist with blood, that dropt from wounded hearts.

For thee our rising youth to manhood grow,
Ordain'd thy powerful chains to wear ;

Nor do thy former slaves

From the gay roof of their false mistress go,
Tho' sworn no more to linger there;

Triumphant Beauty braves

The wise resolve ;-and, ere they reach the door,
Fixes the faltering step to thy magnetic floor.

Thee the sage matron fears, intent to warn
Her stripling;-thee the miser dreads,
And, of thy power aware,

Brides from the Fane with anxious sighs return,
Lest the bright nets thy beauty spreads,

Their plighted lords ensnare,

Ere fades the marriage torch; nay even now,

While undispers'd the breath, that form'd the nuptial vow!