O'er Alpine heights that proudly rife
And froud their fummits in the skies,
Or by the Rhine's majestic stream,
The hoftile arms of Gallia gleam;
Fenc'd by her naval hosts that ride
Triumphant o'er her circling tide,
Britannia, jocund, pours the feftive lay,

And hails with duteous voice her George's natal day,

III.

Yet though her eye exulting fees
Valour her daring offspring crown,
And glory wafts on every breeze
The fwelling pæans of renown,
Not from the warrior laurel's leaves
The votive garland now the weaves,
Sweeter than Maia's balmy breath,
Concord perfumes the civic wreath
Of flowers, embued with dew divine,
Which Albion and Jerne twine,

To deck his brow whom each, with grateful fmiles,
Owns heir of Ocean's reign, lord of the British ifles.

Enfeebled by the fcorching ray,
She slept the fultry hours away;
And when the op'd her languid eye,
Found her filver urn was dry.

Heedlefs ftranger, who fo long
Haft liftened to an idle long,
Whilft trifles thus thy notice share,

Haft thou no urn that afks thy care?

LADY CARLISLE's ANSWER to Mrs. Greville's Qde for Indifference.

But then an ev'ning walk's the thing-
Not if you 're hot before-

The man who fweats, when he fits ftill,
Will, when he moves, fweat more.

Well, now the fupper's come and come
To make bad worse,, I wot;

For fupper, while it beats the cool,
Will never cool the hot.

And bed, which cheers the cold man's heart,

Helps not the hot a pin;

For he who fweats when out of bed,

Sweats ten times more when in.

MAD POLL; from Bloomfield's Farmer's Boy.

TH

gay,

HE pride of fuch a party, nature's pride,
Was lovely Poll; who innocently try'd,
With hat of airy fhape and ribbons
Love to infpire, and ftand in Hymen's way:
But, 'ere her twentieth fummer could expand,
Or youth was render'd happy with her hand,
Her mind's ferenity was loft and
gone,
Her eye grew languid, and the wept alone;
Yet caufelefs feem'd her grief; for quick reftrain'd,
Mirth follow'd loud, or indignation reign'd:"
Whims wild and fimple led her from her home,
The heath, the common, or the fields to roam:
Terror and joy alternate rul'd her hours;
Now blithe fhe fung, and gather'd ufeless flow'rs;
Now pluck'd a tender twig from every bough,
To whip the hov'ring demons from her brow.
Ill-fated maid! thy guiding fpark is fled,
And lafting wretchednefs waits round thy bed→→→
Thy bed of ftraw! for mark, where even now
O'er their loft child afflicted parents bow;
Their woe fhe knows not, but perverfely coy,
Inverted cuftoms yield her fullen joy;
Her midnight meals in fecrefy fhe takes,
Low mutt'ring to the moon, that rifing breaks

Through night's dark gloom :-oh how much more forlorn
Her night, that knows of no returning dawn!
Slow from the threshold, once her infant feat,

O'er the cold earth fhe crawls to her retreat;

Quitting