Thy gentle sweetness thro' my soul diffuse :
Let me thy palm, tho' not thy laurel share,
And copy thee in charity and prayer.
Tho' for the bard my lines are far too faint,
Yet in my life let me transcribe the saint.

TO MISS R----,

ON HER ATTENDANCE UPON HER MOTHER AT

BUXTON.

With lenient arts extend a mother's breath.

POPE.

WHEN blooming beauty in the noon of power,
While offer'd joys demand each sprightly hour,
With all that pomp of charms and winning mien
Which sure to conquer needs but to be seen;
When she, whose name the softest love inspires,
To the hush'd chamber of disease retires,

To watch and weep beside a parent's bed,

Catch the faint voice, and raise the languid head, What mixt delight each feeling heart must warm! An angel's office suits an angel's form.

Thus the tall column graceful rears its head

To prop some mould'ring tower with moss o'erspread,

Whose stately piles and arches yet display

The venerable graces of decay:

Thus round the wither'd trunk fresh shoots are seen To shade their parent with a chearful green,

More health, dear maid! thy soothing presence brings
Than purest skies, or salutary springs.

That voice, those looks such healing virtues bear,
Thy sweet reviving smiles might cheer despair;
On the pale lips detain the parting breath,
And bid hope blossom in the shades of death.
Beauty, like thine, could never reach a charm
So powerful to subdue, so sure to warm.
On her lov'd child behold the mother gaze,
In weakness pleas'd, and smiling thro' decays,
And leaning on that breast her cares asswage;
How soft a pillow for declining age!

For this, when that fair frame must feel decay, (Ye fates protract it to a distant day)

When thy approach no tumults shall impart,
Nor that commanding glance strike thro' the heart,
When meaner beauties shall have leave to shine,
And crowds divide the homage lately thine,

Not with the transient praise those charms can boast
Shall thy fair fame and gentle deeds be lost :

Some pious hand shall thy weak limbs sustain, And pay thee back these generous cares again; Thy name shall flourish by the good approv'd, Thy memory honour'd, and thy dust belov'd.

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JENNINGS.*

Est tamen quieté, et puré, et eleganter actæ aetatis,

placida ac lenis senectus.

CICERO DE SENECT.

'Tis past: dear venerable shade, farewell!
Thy blameless life thy peaceful death shall tell.
Clear to the last thy setting orb has run;
Pure, bright, and healthy like a frosty sun :
And late old age with hand indulgent shed
Its mildest winter on thy favour'd head.

For Heaven prolong'd her life to spread its praise,
And bless'd her with a patriarch's length of days.
The truest praise was hers, a chearful heart,
Prone to enjoy, and ready to impart.
An Israelite indeed, and free from guile,
She show'd that piety and age could smile.
Religion had her heart, her cares, her voice;
'Twas her last refuge, as her earliest choice.

The Author's Grandmother.