The perch, with purple speckled manifold;
The eel, in silver labyrinth self roll'd;

And carp, all-burnish'd o'er with drops of scaly gold.

Or shall the meads invite, with Iris' hues
And nature's pencil gay diversify'd,
(For now the sun has lick'd away the dews);
Fair flushing, and bedeck'd like virgin bride?
Thither (for they invite us) we'll repair ;
Collect and weave whate'er is sweet and fair,
A posy for thy breast, a garland for thy hair.

Fair is the lily, clad in balmy snow;
Sweet is the rose, of spring the smiling eye:
Nipt by the winds, their heads the lilies bow;
Cropt by the hand, the roses fade and die.
Though now in pride of youth and beauty drest,
O think, IANTHE, cruel time lays waste
The roses of the cheek, the lilies of the breast.

Weep not; but rather, taught by this, improve
The present freshness of thy springing prime :
Bestow thy graces on the God of love,
Too precious for the wither'd arms of Time.
In chaste endearments, innocently gay,
IANTHE! now, now love thy spring away;
Ere cold October blasts despoil the bloom of May!

JAMES THOMSON.

1727-40.

Among the illustrious men that Scotland has had the honour of producing, is the Poet of the Seasons, who was born at Ednam, near Kelso, in Roxburghshire, September the 11th, 1700. He studied at Edinburgh, where, perhaps, influenced by the example of his father, who had been minister of Ednam, in the presbytery of Kelso, his attention was directed to theological pursuits; but the ardour of his mind, discovered early in some poetical exercises, soon induced him to relinquish divinity for poetry; and, in the year 1725, Thomson arrived in London, a youthful adventurer, in search of protection and patronage. Here the friendship of Mallet, commenced at the university, enabled him to effect the publication of "Winter," the part that first appeared of his "Seasons." Notwithstanding the celebrity this production has since obtained, it struggled painfully into existence, and remained for some time unnoticed.

But the day of retribution was at hand. Thomson became at length known to those who were qualified to estimate and recompense his talents. A place was conferred on him by Chancellor Talbot, on his return from accompanying the son of that nobleman in his travels : afterwards introduced to Lyttelton, he obtained through him a pension of 100 l. from Frederic Prince of Wales; and received, in addition to this favour, when his Lordship came into power, the appointment of Surveyor General to the Leeward Islands, by which, deducting the payment of a deputy in office, he acquired an income of 3001. per annum. His theatrical reputation induced the Prince to request the "Masque of Alfred," which was acted at Cliefden House, on the birth-day of the Princess Augusta, before his Royal Highness. Though this piece was the joint effort of Mallet and Thompson, to the latter is attributed the national Song of "Rule

Britannia." Thomson died at his house in Kew Lane, August 27, 1748. He has a plain monument in Westminster Abbey, the charge of which was defrayed by the profits arising from a splendid edition of his works, published by Millar. A tablet, with a memorial inscription, has also been placed in the wall of Richmond Church, to denote and preserve the site of his interment. It is to the present Earl of Buchan, in conjunction with Thomas Park, Esq. that the public are indebted for this useful and honourable attention to the memory of an admired bard!

No calumny seems at one period to have been circulated with more malicious industry, than the assertion that Thomson was insensible to the delicacies of love; to the blandishments of that delightful intercourse, which he has described with such beauty, force, and tenderness. His writings must be permitted to vindicate him from this unmerited obloquy; since his raptures, far from being fictitious, were inspired by the impulse of affection. For Miss Stanley, whose perfections are so fondly commemorated in his "Summer," and in the epitaph for her tomb, he may be concluded to have felt a regard something exceeding the limited formality of friendship: -to her appear to allude those affecting stanzas beginning, "Tell me, thou Soul of her I love?" If his AMANDA were Miss Young, of Richmond, he must have loved her with the constancy characteristic of virtuous attachment. She is introduced in the "Summer," published in 1727: in the "Spring," 1728, she is again adverted to, with increasing solicitude

"AMANDA, come! pride of my song!
Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!

Come with those downcast looks, sedate and sweet,
Those looks demure that deeply pierce the soul ;
Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd,
Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
O come! and while the rosy-footed May
Steals blushing on, together let us tread
The morning dews, and gather in their prime

Fresh blooming flowers to grace thy braided hair,
And thy lov'd bosom, that improves their sweets."

The conclusion of this portion of the "Seasons," devoted entirely to love, and anticipations of domestic bliss, sufficiently evince the sincerity of the poet's feelings, and the purity of his views, His attentions to Miss Young are believed to have continued till 1740, if not longer. His personal effect, heavy and uninviting, presented nothing that immediately attracted the regard of women in general; and his notions respecting property seem to have prohibited him from hastily engaging in any union, to the demands of which he considered his resources inadequate,

TELL me, thou Soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled;
To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?

Or dost thou, free, at pleasure roam,
And sometimes share thy lover's woe,
Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?

Oh! if thou hover'st round my walk,
While, under every well-known tree,

I to thy fancied Shadow talk,

And every tear is full of thee:

Should then the weary eye of grief,

Beside some sympathetic stream,

In slumber find a short relief,

Oh, visit thou my soothing dream!

TO AMANDA.

UNLESS with my Amanda blest,

In vain I twine the woodbine bower;
Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower!

Awaken'd by the genial year,

In vain the birds around me sing;
In vain the freshening fields appear:
Without my Love there is no spring,

HARD is the fate of him who loves,
Yet dares not tell his trembling pain

But to the sympathetic groves,
But to the lonely listening plain.

Oh! when she blesses next your

shade;

Oh! when her footsteps next are seen,

In flowery tracts along the mead,
In fresher mazes o'er the green;

Ye gentle Spirits of the Vale,
To whom the tears of love are dear,
From dying lilies waft a gale,

And sigh my sorrows in her ear:

Oh, tell her what she cannot blame,
Though fear my tongue must ever bind;

Oh, tell her, that my virtuous flame
Is as her spotless soul refin'd.