So the young author, panting after fame, More false, more cruel, than the seas or wind. This thought once form'd, all counsel comes too late, Where no sour critics snarl, no sneers molest, FRIENDSHIP: AN ODE. PRINTED IN THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 17. To men and angels only given, While love, unknown among the blest, With bright, but oft destructive gleam, Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys, Directress of the brave and just, O guide us through life's darksome way: Nor shall thine ardours cease to glow, FINIS, Horace, Lib. 4. Ode VII. translated, On seing a Bust of Mrs. Montague, Lines written in Ridicule of certain Poems, &c. Parody of a Translation from the Medea of To Mrs. Thrale, on her completing her thirty- fifth year, Lines written under a Print representing Per- sons skaiting, ib. ib. |