She prompted Dryden's hand profuse,
To sprinkle pure Castalian dews

O'er Hastings' tomb, and mock the dire disease*. She too in Akenside's majestic lay †

Did the true glories of thy race display,
With classic elegance and Attic ease.
If I, the humblest of the tuneful train,
May unreprov'd combine with these,
O goddess! let me add my uncouth strain:
Though rude it be, and void of varnish'd art,
From a fond breast it flows, and from a feeling heart.

"'T is not the regal honours of thy line,

Nor all the gallant deeds that shine

In Fame's long list of thy heroic sires,

The muse of nobler aim admires :
But Bounty's ray, diffusing wide

Its genial influence, claims the poet's praise;
A tender heart, a love to raise
Dejected merit from Oblivion's cell,

Claim the blest tribute of immortal lays:
And virtues such as those shall ever swell
Futurity's record, and MOIRA's goodness tell.

pox.

Dryden's Elegy on Lord Hastings, who died of the small

+ Akenside's Ode to the Earl of Huntingdon,

"When Fashion turn'd the sated eye,
With sullen lip, from my ill-fated page;
When Party's ruffian-rage grew high,
And fiercely threaten'd to engage

My sinking bark; then didst thou come,
Like some meek angel from the sky:

Thy brightness chas'd the gathering gloom; Thy presence aw'd the rude tumultuous crew, And Malice to her cave infernal flew.

So large a debt? For poor the lay

Which Milton heard, entranc'd in nightly dream,

To thy compassion's dazzling beam.

Thy guardian care, thy sympathetic sense,
Can find in heav'n alone an equal recompence."

The concluding lines from a descriptive poem of considerable length entitled Montalto, and inscribed to his patroness, convey the same grateful sentiments:

"SUCH are the joys, unting'd with worldly strife,
That gild the tenor of a rural life:

When all the soul imbibes sublimest food,
And learns the noblest art of doing good;
When all the fancy soars on loftiest wing,
And all the passions tune th' accordant string.

All hail, ye days of happiness so bright!
All hail, ambrosial visions of the night!
When dreams that break the guilty murd'rer's rest
Fly unavailing from the blameless breast;
When storms that beat against the storied hall,
Contemptuous turn, and spare the cottage-wall;
When rose-lip'd Health,that leaves the rich man's bed,
Waves her soft wing around, the peasant's head,
Pours richest fragrance on his rosy cheek,
Bought with the labours of full many a week,
Refines with sweet'ning touch his slender meal,
And draws upon his life her brightest veil.

"Such are the charms that I was wont to see; And sure those charms, Montalto, rest in thee! Where MOIRA, princely MOIRA, leads the way, And beauteous Granard vindicates thy sway. With fav'ring eye they read my poorest lays; Nor check my flights, but sometimes deign to praise. And may the lyre forget its wonted sound, With barren wreaths my aged brow be crown'd, When their continued fame shall cease to fire, And cold neglect untune the warbling wire, Who gave me here to trace the dewy lawn, Or shake the spangled copse at rosy dawn; Who gave my Muse the classic grace to please; Who gave me all this competence and ease! Full many a pang their gen'rous deeds impart, Pangs that denote my unrequiting heart.

"But hark! what music floats along the gale? What sorrowing sounds of sympathy assail My list'ning ear? I know that pensive groan: My soul must join the ringdove's melting moan. Ev'n she can tell her patron's tender care,

What hand has wove her willow mansion there, What voice has bid the mourner cease to grieve, What ear attends her song at sober eve.

In every note that tells her fate so blest,
'Tis MOIRA's name that swells her little breast.
"Ah! deeds of tenderness, to earth unknown,
Felt by her keener sense and heav'n alone,
'Tis you that raise the mind with joy sincere,
And pour to God rich incense in a tear;
At Pity's shrine with diffidence impart
That noblest hecatomb, a feeling heart;
And in one sigh the mockeries outdo

Of those that, saint-like, mourn to sin anew;
That treat the human ties with ranc'rous sport,
And quit the temple to adorn a court."

To the Right Hon. the Countess of Moira.

"MADAM,

"Ir is from your bounty I breathe, and your benevolence supplies the want of a father and a mother; permit me, then, to address you without any fear of reprehension. My idea of life is not poor and frivolous; I therefore should wish to employ any talents I may have, while youth inspires them. God has endowed you with the capacity to relieve the son of sorrow, and to introduce uncultivated merit to the light, I know I shall never rest till I try the grand theatre of literature, London; and would wish then to have my own free will. I therefore implore your ladyship to favour my entrance with some introductory letters, which might be of most essential service to me. How soon might you, from the welldeserved wealth you possess, bestow some untransitory possession on the humblest of your creatures, and smooth the road of life for ever! How soon, by only your