• Inftinct directs-But what is that? Fond man, thou never canft say what :

That down the steep the waters flow,
That weight defcends, we fee, we know ;
But why, can ne'er explain:

Then humbly weighing Nature's laws,
To God's high will afcribe the cause,
And own thy wisdom vain.

• For ftill the more thou know'ft, the more Shalt thou the vanity deplore

• Of all thy foul can find:

• This life a fickly woeful dream, A burial of the foul will feem,

A palfy of the mind,

1

Tho'

• Tho' Knowledge fcorns the peasant's fear, Alas! it points the secret spear

Of many a nameless woe;

Thy delicacy dips the dart

• In rankling gall, and gives a smart

The ftings neglected Merit feels,
The pangs the virtuous foul conceals,
When crush'd by wayward fate;

These are not found beneath his roof;

Against them all fecurely proof,

• Heav'n guards his humble ftate.

• Knowledge or wealth to few are giv'n;
But, mark how just the ways of Heav'n!
True joy to all is free:

• Nor Wealth nor Knowledge grant the boon;
'Tis thine, O Conscience, thine alone,
It all belongs to thee.

Blefs'd in thy fmiles the fhepherd lives,
Gay is his morn, his ev'ning gives

• Content and sweet repose.

• Without them-ever, ever cloy'd,
To fage or chief, one weary void
• Is all that life bestows.

• Then

Then wouldft thou, mortal, rise divine,

• Let innocence of foul be thine,

With active goodness join'd :

Thy heart fhall then confefs thee blefs'd;

And, ever lively, joyful tafte

The pleafures of the mind.'

So fpake the fage. My heart reply'd,
How poor, how blind is human pride!
All joy how false and vain,

But that from confcious Worth which flows,
Which gives the death-bed sweet repose,
And hopes an after reign.'

ANN BOLEYN

TO HENRY VIIÍ:

AN HEROICK EPISTLE.

BY W. WHITEHEAD, ESQ.

Ne quid inexpertum fruftra moritura relinquat.

IF fighs could foften, or diftrefs could move

Obdurate hearts, and bofoms dead to love,
Already fure these tears had ceas'd to flow,
And Henry's fmiles reliev'd his Anna's woe.
Yet ftill I write, ftill breathe a fruitless pray'r,
The last fond effort of extreme despair:
As fome poor fhipwreck'd wretch, for ever loft,
In ftrong delufion grafps the lefs'ning coaft,
Thinks it ftill near, howe'er the billows drive,
And but with life refigns the hopes to live.

You bid me live; but, O how dire the means!
Virtue ftarts back, and confcious pride difdains.

VIRG.

Confefs

Confefs my crime !-what crime fhall I confefs?
In what ftrange terms the hideous falfhood drefs?
A vile adultrefs! Heav'n defend my fame!
Condemn'd for acting what I fear'd to name.

Blaft the foul wretch, whose impious tongue could dare
With founds like thofe to wound the royal ear!
To wound?-alas! they only pleas'd too well,
And cruel Henry fmil'd when Anna fell.

Why was I rais'd, why bade to fhine on high-
A pageant queen, an earthly deity?

This flow'r of beauty, small, and void of art,
Too weak to fix a mighty fov'reign's heart,
In life's low vale it's humbler charms had spread,
While ftorms roll'd harmless o'er it's fhelter'd head:
Had found, perhaps, a kinder gath'rer's hand,
Grown to his breaft; and, by his care fuftain'd,
Had bloom'd a while; then, gradual in decay,
Grac'd with a tear, had calmly pafs'd away!

Yet, when thus rais'd, I taught my chafte defires
To know their lord, and burn with equal fires.
Why, then, thefe bonds? is this that regal state
The fair expects whom Henry bids be great?
Are thefe lone walls and never-varied scenes
The envied manfion of Britannia's queens?
Where distant founds in hollow murmurs die,
Where mofs-grown tow'rs obftruct the trav'ling eye;
Where o'er dim funs eternal damps prevail,
And health ne'er enters wafted by the gale.
How curs'd the wretch, to fuch fad fcenes confin'd,
If guilt's dread fcorpions lafh his tortur'd mind,
When injur'd innocence is taught to fear,
And coward virtue weeps and trembles here!
Nay, e'en when fleep fhould ev'ry care allay,
And foftly steal th' imprison'd foul away,
Quick to my thoughts excurfive fancy brings
Long vifionary trains of martyr'd kings.

There pious Henry, recent from the blow,
There ill-ftarr'd Edward lifts his infant brow *.
Unhappy prince! thy weak, defenceless age,
Might foften rocks, or foothe the tiger's rage:
But not on these thy harder fates depend;
Man, man pursues, and murder is his end.

Such may my child †, fuch dire protectors find,
Thro' av'rice cruel, thro' ambition blind:
No kind condolance in her utmost need,
Her friends all banish'd, and her parent dead!
O hear me, Henry! husband, father, hear,
If e'er thofe names were gracious in thy ear:
Since I must die, (and fo thy ease requires,
For love admits not of divided fires)
O to thy babe thy tend'reft cares extend!
As parent cherish, and as king defend!
Transferr'd to her, with transport I refign
Thy faithless heart-if e'er that heart was mine.
Nor may remorfe thy guilty cheek inflame,
When the fond prattler lifps her mother's name;
No tear ftart conscious when she meets your eye,
No heart-felt pang extort th' unwilling figh;
Left she should find, (and strong is Nature's call)
I fell untimely, and lament my fall;
Forget that duty which high Heav'n commands,
And meet strict juftice from a father's hands.
No, rather fay what malice can invent,
My crimes enormous, fmall my punishment.
Pleas'd will I view from yon fecurer fhore,
Life, virtue, love too loft, and weep no more,
If in your breasts the bonds of union grow,
And, undisturb'd, the ftreams of duty flow.
-Yet can I tamely court the lifted steel,
Nor honour's wounds with ftrong refentment feel?

* Henry VI. and Edward V. both murdered in the Tower.
Afterwards Queen Elizabeth.

Ye