The filver-flipper'd Avon flowly rofe, And penfive on her crystal urn reclin'd, Pour'd forth in notes like these her anxious mind. "What frantic train is this whofe noise invades The accuftom'd ftilnefs of my tranquil fhades, • Whose swelling clamors float my banks along, • And drown the sweetness of each rural song, • Fill And fee !-from ITALY's degenerate clime The mottled hero fam'd in Pantomime, 'Leads his exulting crew with impious tread To foil the duft that pillows SHAKESPEAR's head: • With midnight founds they break his facred sleep, And near his tomb opprobrious vigils keep. 'Refounding axes give the folar beam To fcorch the borders of my lucid ftream, • Them it becomes to praise: but 'midst the throng • What honor'd voice is that which joins the fong? • Canft thou whose powers could give this wonder <ing age To fee the foul of SHAKESPEAR grace the ftage, • Canft Canft thou misjudging, praife each cruel blow That lays the fhade by Avon's current low, • Canft thou approve thofe trees untimely doom • That wave their foliage o'er thy SHAKESPEAR'S ⚫ tomb, Or view the motley fons of Masquerade • Infult thy patron's venerable fhade? Ah! let my ear the unhallow'd revels fly, THE Sole beauty of the wintry scene, The fairest daughter of the wood: Close by her fide a Bramble grew, Like other Brambles rude with thorn, Who ficken'd at the pleafing view, Yet what the envied feem'd to fcorn: Full oft to blaft each hated charm She call'd the fiery bolts of JovE; But Jove was too polite to harm Aught facred to the Queen of Love: VOL. I. G Yet Yet was her rage not wholly cross'd, BOREAS was to her wishes kind, And from his magazines of froft He fummon'd forth the keeneft wind. A thousand clouds furcharg'd with rain No more the Myrtle bears the belle, No more her leaves luxuriant fhew, The thorny Bramble looks as well, Powder'd, and perriwig'd with fnow. Sure fome gray antiquated maid, The very Bramble of her fex, To each invidious power has pray'd, Our eyes and fenfes to perplex. 1 Fashion i |