AN ODE

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF

ANNE DUCHESS OF HAMILTON.

WHY founds the plain with fad complaint?
Why hides the fun his beams?
Why fighs the wind fae black and cauld?
Why mourn the swelling streams?

Wail on, ye heights! ye glens, complain!
Sun, wear thy cloudy veil !

Sigh, winds, frae frozen caves of fnaw!
Clyde, mourn the rueful tale!

She's dead!-the beauteous Anna 's dead!All nature wears a gloom :

Alas! the comely budding flower

Is faded in the bloom.

Clos'd in the weeping marble vault,

Now cauld and blae fhe lies;

Nae mair the fmiles adorn her cheek,

Nae mair fhe lifts her eyes.

Too

Too foon, O fweetest, fairest, best,
Young parent, lovely mate,

Thou leaves thy lord and infant-fon,
To weep thy early fate.

But let thy cheerfu' marriage-day
Give gladness all around;
But late in thee the youthful chief
A heaven of bleffings found.

His bofom fwells, for much he lov'd;
Words fail to paint his grief:

He starts in dreams, and grafps thy fhade,
The day brings nae relief.

The fair illufion skims away,

And grief again returns ;
Life's pleasures make a vain attempt,
Difconfolate he mourns.

He mourns his lofs, a nation's loss,
It claims a flood of tears,
When fic a lov'd illuftrious ftar
Sae quickly disappears.

With roses and the lily buds,

Ye nymphs, her grave adorn,

And weeping tell-thus fweet fhe was,
Thus early from us torn.

VOL. I.

Το

To filent twilight shades retire,

Ye melancholy fwains,
In melting notes repeat her praise,
In fighing vent your pains.

But hafte, calm reason, to our aid,
And paining thoughts subdue,

By placing of the pious Fair
In a mair pleasing view:

Whose white immortal mind now fhines,
And fhall for ever, bright,

Above th' infult of death and pain,
By the First Spring of Light.

There joins the high melodious thrang,
That strike eternal strings:

In prefence of Omnipotence

She now a feraph fings.

Then cease, great James, thy flowing tears,
Nor rent thy foul in vain :
Frae bowers of blifs fhe 'll ne'er return
To thy kind arms again.

With goodness ftill adorn thy mind,
True greatness still improve;

Be ftill a patriot juft and brave,
And meet thy faint above.

AN ODE

TO THE MEMORY OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

GREAT Newton 's dead!-full ripe his fame;
Cease vulgar grief, to cloud our fong:
We thank the Author of our frame,
Who lent him to the earth fo long.

The godlike man now mounts the sky,
Exploring all yon radiant spheres;
And with one view can more descry,
Than here below in eighty years:

Tho' none with greater strength of foul
Could rife to more divine a height,

Or range the orbs from pole to pole,
And more improve the human fight.

Now with full joy he can furvey

These worlds, and ev'ry shining blaze,
That countless in the milky way
Only thro' glaffes fhew their rays.

Thousands in thousand arts excell'd,
But often to one part confin'd:
While ev'ry science stood reveal'd
And clear to his capacious mind.

His penetration, most profound,

Launch'd far in that extended sea,

Where human minds can reach no bound,
And never div'd fo deep as he.

Sons of the east and western world,
When on this leading ftar ye gaze,
While magnets guide the fail unfurl'd,
Pay to his memory due praise.

Thro' ev'ry maze he was the guide;
While others crawl'd, he foar'd above:
Yet modefty, unftain'd with pride,
Increas'd his merit, and our love.

He fhun'd the fophiftry of words,
Which only hatch contentious fpite;
His learning turn'd on what affords
By demonstration moft delight.

Britain may honourably boast,
And glory in her matchless son,
Whofe genius has invented most,
And finish'd what the reft begun.

Ye Fellows of the Royal Clafs,
Who honour'd him to be your head,

Erect in fineft ftone and brass

Statues of the illuftrious dead:

Altho'