For my distracted mind,
What comfort can I find;
O best of grannams! thou art dead and gone,
And I am left behind to weep and moan,
To sing thy dirge in sad and funeral lay,
Oh! woe is me! alack! and well a-day! 40


[Footnote 1: Smollett, imagining himself ill-treated by Lord
Lyttelton, wrote the above burlesque on that nobleman's Monody on the
death of his lady.]

* * * * *


ODE TO MIRTH.

Parent of joy! heart-easing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born,
Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth,
Visit benign a son of grief forlorn:
Thy glittering colours gay,
Around him, Mirth, display,
And o'er his raptured sense
Diffuse thy living influence:
So shall each hill, in purer green array'd,
And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow, 10
The grove shall smooth the horrors of the shade,
And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow.