ry 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!

1: The Author had the pleasure of passing a fortnight with Mr. and
Mrs. Erskine at Buxton in August 1796.

TO 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 Striplings;--_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!

[1]TO TITUS VA