WRITTEN

AFTER HAVING VISITED MISS MORE, AND HER SISTERS AT COWSLIP GREEN, NEAR BRISTOL,

IN AUGUST 1791.

FAIR, silent scene, soft rising in the vale,
By mountains guarded from each stormy gale,
Long, 'mid thy sloping lawn, and winding glade,
And mossy cell, for contemplation made,

Be seen, in health and peace, the virgin train,
Led by the boast of Britain's tuneful plain,
Where Genius oft has fed its kindling fires,
Roll'd the rapt eye, and struck the golden wires,
Bristol; that hears her MORE's distinguish'd name
Wafted, by echoes, round the shrine of Fame.

On whose mild brow she sees bright laurels twine,
Cull'd from their choicest bowers by all the nine,
Enwreath'd with charity's assuasive balm,
And faith, and virtue's never-dying palm.

And ye, sweet satellites, that gently bea
Your lesser radiance round this beamy star,
Aiding her pious efforts to impart
Religion's lustre to the youthful heart,
That else in lightless ignorance must stray,
Where guilt's fell snares the indigent betray,
Ye fair examples of an heedless age,
Ye glowing votaries of the sacred page,
O! may your virtues wake the just desire,
"To live like you, and be what we admire !”

1. 4. Religion's lustre-Mrs H. More established Sunday schools in her neighbourhood.

TRANSLATION

OF

GRAY'S APOSTROPHE,

TO THE MEMORY OF

HIS YOUNG FRIEND, WEST,

IN HIS UNFINISHED LATIN POEM,

De principiis cogitandi. *

THUS far my youth has labour'd to explore

The springs of thought, and Nature's mystic lore; No languid votary of the Muse I came,

To trace her footsteps up the steeps of Fame;

To bid the streams, that Roman fountains yield,
Flow in full currents o'er Britannia's field.

* See Mason's quarto edition of Gray's Poems and Letters, published 1775, page 168.

Ah, lov'd Favonius, who those labours shared, Whose voice could animate, whose praise reward; The prop, the stimulus of all my powers,

On thee the rayless cloud incumbent lours;
There, my fond grasp thy fading form evades,
Sunk, and involv'd in death's eternal shades.

Friend of my youth, O! with what pangs I found The gloomy mists of sickness gathering round! Saw thy heart struggling with convulsive throes, That heart, so quick to feel for others' woes! Saw, in dire progress, fell disease prevail, Dim thy clear eye, thy vivid colour pale; Saw numbing languor steal each youthful grace, From those light limbs, from that expressive face, Where piety sublime, affections mild, And all the soul of truth ingenuous smiled.

Yet once, O once! the flattering foe of life
Seem'd to recede, and quit the cruel strife;
Then did my grateful vows ascend the skies,
Then did bright hopes anticipating rise,
That we again thro' classic groves shou'd stray,
And mutually deceive the tardy day.

Ah, hopes presumptuous !—ah ungranted pray❜rs! Ah, helpless efforts!-and ah, wasted cares!

Ah, mournful hours, condemn'd to lasting pain,
To sighs incessant, and to anguish vain!

But thou, dear shade, to whom superfluous flows This bitter flood of unavailing woes,

Full bliss enjoy the starry plains among,

In the

pure ether whence thy essence sprung!
And if, beyond misfortune's icy blight,
Pitying, thou bendest from thy throne of light,
To view the turbulence of human fate,

Rash love, and envy, fear, and pride, and hate,
Behold these griefs! that, desolate of heart,
Pierc'd by deprived affection's rankling dart,
Amid the silence of the lonely hour,
To thee, O long belov'd! to thee I pour!
More is not mine to give, since now remains
But the sad luxury of these cherish'd pains,
Casting their fruitless wail, their hopeless tear.
To thy dumb ashes, and thy timeless bier!