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TO GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.

PREFIXED TO THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THEODOSIUS

AND CONSTANTIA.

To live beneath the golden star of love,
With happier fancy, passions more refin'd,
Each softening charm of tenderness to prove,
And all the finer movements of the mind-

From gifts like these say, what the boasted gain
Of those who exquisitely feel or know?
The skill from pleasure to extract the pain,
And open all the avenues of woe..

Yet shall we, Colman, at these gifts repine?
Implore cold apathy to steel the heart?
Would you that sensibility resign,

And with those powers of genius would you part.

Ah me! my friend! nor deem the verse divine

That weakness wrote in Petrarch's gentle strain; When once he own'd at love's unfavouring shrine, 'A thousand pleasures were not worth one pain.'

The dreams of fancy sooth the pensive heart,
For fancy's urn can new delights dispense :
The powers of genius purer joys impart;
For genius brightens all the springs of sense.

O charm of every muse-ennobled mind,
Far, far above the grovelling crowd to rise!-
Leave the low train of trifling cares behind;
Assert its birthright, and affect the skies!

O right divine, the pride of power to scorn!
On fortune's little vanity look down!
With nobler gifts to fairer honours born,

Than fear, or folly, fancies in a crown!

As far each boon that Nature's hand bestows, The worthless glare of fortune's train exceeds, As yon fair orb, whose beam eternal glows, Outshines the transient meteor that it feeds.

To Nature, Colman, let thy incense rise,
For, much indebted, much hast thou to pay;
For taste refin'd, for wit correctly wise,

And keen discernment's soul prevading ray.

To catch the manners from the various face,
To paint the nice diversities of mind,
The living lines of character to trace,
She gave thee powers, and the task assign'd.

Seize, seize the pen; the sacred hour departs ! Nor, led by kindness, longer lend thine ear: The tender tale of two ingenuous hearts

Would rob thee of a moment and a tear.

ΤΟ

RICHARD BURN, LL. D.

ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S JUSTICES OF THE PEACE FOR THE COUNTIES OF WESTMORELAND AND CUMBERLAND.

DEAR SIR,

A POEM written professedly at your request, naturally addresses itself to you. The distinction you have acquired on the subject, and your taste for the arts, give that address every kind of propriety. If I have any particular sstisfaction in this publication, beside what arises from my compliance with your commands, it must be in the idea of that testimony it bears to our friendship. If you believe that I am more concerned for the duration of that than of the Poem itself, you will not be mistaken; for I am,

DEAR SIR,

Your truly affectionate brother,

and faithful humble servant,

THE AUTHOR.

Somersetshire,
April 25, 1774.

THE

COUNTRY JUSTICE.

INTRODUCTION.

IN Richard's days, when lost his pastur'd plain,
The wandering Briton sought the wild wood's reign,
With great disdain beheld the feudal horde,
Poor life-let vassals of a Norman Lord;
And, what no brave man ever lost, possess'd
Himself-for Freedom bound him to her breast.

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Lov'st thou that Freedom? By her holy shrine,
If yet one drop of British blood be thine,
See, I conjure thee, in the desert shade,
His bow unstrung, his little household laid,
Some brave forefather; while his fields they share,
By Saxon, Dane, or Norman banish'd there!
And thinks he tells thee, as his soul withdraws,
As his heart swells against a tyrant's laws,
The war with Fate, though fruitless to maintain,
To guard that liberty he lov'd in vain.

Were thoughts like these the dream of ancient time?
Peculiar only to some age, or clime?

And does not Nature thoughts like these impart, Breathe in the soul, and write upon the heart?

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