And as they tread the sacred ground,
Aerial music breathes around,

ain

And choral streams, distinctly clear,
Thus break upon the ravish'd ear:-

"Ye lofty oaks, who long have stood,
Majestic sovereigns of this wood,
"All hail! and may you still defy
"The anger of the frowning sky.

"Though other groves are often broke,
"And bow beneath the woodman's stroke;
"The ruthless clown shall ne'er intrude,
"Nor pierce your peaceful solitude.

"For here the NEVILLES and the GREYS "Protection to the wood-nymphs raise;

"Who hail the blest auspicious hour,
"When first they chose this sacred bow'r.

"And though ye can recall no more
"Your Druid Bards' prophetic lore,
"Ye still the Poet shall inspire,
"And harmonize the British Lyre!"

[ 9 ]

A LETTER IN VERSE

ΤΟ

A FRIEND,

ON HAVING HIS HAIR CUT OFF PREVIOUS TO HIS TAKING ORDERS.

Now COURTOIS opes the glittering forfex wide
T' inclose the locks-now joins it to divide;
The meeting points the parting hair dissever
From WILLIAM's head for ever and for ever!

ACCEPT, my Friend, this motley lay,
That's partly grave, and partly gay;
Nor blame me, if a theme I choose,

Though odd, no stranger to the Muse;
A theme, by which e'en POPE thought fit
T'immortalize his classic wit,

BELINDA's hair-severe event !—

Was cut without the nymph's consent;
But you, the shock however rude,
Submit with decent fortitude;

For the catastrophe prepare,

While COURTOIS comes to cut your
Yet tell me, ere the fatal sheers

In dread array were open'd wide,
To crop this nurtur'd growth of years,
And rob thy head of half its pride;
Didst thou not then-(for nature still
Shrinks at the near approach of ill,
And, spite of philosophic lore,'
Tremblingly feels at every pore)—
Say, didst thou not, ere yet too late,
Claim a short respite of thy fate;
And with involuntary sighs,

Thus mournfully soliloquise?

hair.

Is it decreed? and must I never Regain the locks these sheers will sever? Must I then bid a long adieu

To length of hair in bag and queue?

[ 11 ]

No longer in a tail descending,
(Thus sublunary joys have ending,)
Or in a ribbon twisted neat,

With perfum'd powder smelling sweet,
Or in a bag, you will be seen,

That so adorns the wearer's mien;
And still, e'en more improves his air,
When join'd with graceful solitaire.
But in their stead, a slender row
Of curls will mar me for a beau;
Buckled with formal grave precision,
Close, uniform, without division,
Which, when or damp or rain descends,
Will hang as strait as candle-ends;

Or lank as flax from distaff feel,
When housewives ply the spinning-wheel.
Ah! what will powder then avail,
If I must lose the bag and tail?
Or COURTOIS, all thy curling art,
If I from these long locks must part?

When clad in black, from top to toe, (Dismal reverse of dress and shew)

My whispers will no more, I fear,
Be welcome to the female ear.

And thus with all my stock of knowledge,

And lively parts improv'd at college,
I shall be disregarded quite,

My round snug curl be call'd a fright;
And the poor parson be deserted,

Because he is not ruffle-shirted.

Here quit, fond Muse, the sportive style, Pleas'd if it raise a cheerful smile:

But do not think it strange that I

Pen for you this soliloquy :

Since first the Muse on Pindus dwelt,

In fiction bards have ever dealt,

And both in late and early ages,

With thoughts and speeches fill'd their pages, Which often, if the truth were known,

Though palm'd on others, are their own.

Yet ere I take my leave, permit Plain truth a word, as well as wit;