THE WISH. Br MERRICK. How fhort is life's uncertain space ! Alas! how quickly done! How swift the wild precarious chase! : Youth ftops at firft its wilful ears To wifdom's prudent voice; Till now arriv'd to riper years, Experienced age, worn out with cares, What though its prospects now appear Yet groundlefs hope, and anxious fear, Since then falfe joys our fancy cheat Ye guardian powr's that rule my fate, The only wish that I create, Is all compriz'd in this: May I through life's uncertain tide, May all my wants be still supply'd, But should your providence divine May all those bleffings you design, ODE WRITTEN IN THE WALKS AT BRECKNOCK TO DR. SQUIRE, LD. BISHOP OF ST. DAVID'S. BY DR. DODD. I. RUDE romantic fhades and woods, Mountains, that in dusky cloud High your facred fummits fhroud; Whofe variegated fides adorn -Fields, and flocks, and groves, and corn, * As by old Hundy's gurgling fide, In careless fort his limbs he laid, The hoar hill hanging o'er his head. His harp of ancient British found lay by; He feiz'd it rapturous: o'er the ftrings His fingers lightly fly, While thus his voice refponfive fings. ¡II. From that celeftial orb, where, thron'd in light, Thou dwell'ft, of powers angelic first and best; Oh lovely gratitude! divinely bright, Defcend, in all thy glowing beauties drest. Goddefs come, and oh! impart All thy ardours to my heart; Tune my harp, and touch my tongue, Give me melody and fong: Softeft notes and numbers bring, 'Tis Palemon that I fing: Gratitude exalts my lays, 'Tis my benefactor's praife. A river which runs by Brecknock. III. But where can or numbers, or notes, To exprefs the due fenfe of his worth, Who my life with fuch comforts hath crown'd. And he plac'd me still nearer his fight. But fooner this brook at my feet Shall ceafe in foft murmurs to flow; Oh may the great Shepherd of all His life with rich bleffings increase! And fweetly encompass him round With plenty, with health, and with peace. On all that partake of his board Be happiness largely beftow'd; His wife be ftill loving and kind; To the feats of the bleffed remove! No poet more honeft and true. Bishop Squire, made him Prebend of Brecon, May 1764. E L E G Y. WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-Y AR D.. BY GRAY.. THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, |