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When lab'ring paffions, in his bofom pent,
Convulfive rage, and ftruggling heave for vent;
Spectators, with imagin'd terrors warm,
Anxious expect the bursting of the ftorm:
But, all unfit in fuch a pile to dwell,
His voice connes forth, like Echo from her cell;
To fwell the tempeft needful aid denies,
And all a-down the ftage in feeble murmurs dies.
What man, like Barry, with fuch pains, can er
In elocution, action, character?

What man could give, if Barry was not here,
Such well-applauded tenderness to Lear?
Who elte can fpeak fo very, very fine,
That fente may kindly end with ev'ry line?
Some dozen fires before the ghoft is there,
Behold him for the folenin icens prepare.
See how he frames his sycs, poifes each limb,
Puts the whole body into proper trim.- [art,
From whence we learn, with no great ftretch of
Five lines hence comes a ghott, and, ha! a fiat.)
When he appears moit perfeét, ftill we find
Something which jars upon, and hurts the mind.
Whatever lights upon a part are thrown,
We fee too plainly they are not his own.
No flame from nature ever yet he caught;
Nor knew a feeling which he was not taught;
He rais'd his trophies on the bafe of art,
And con'd his pallions as he conn'd his part.
Quin, from afar lur'd by the fcent of fanie,
A ftage Lettathan, put in his claim,
Faph of Betterton and Booth. Alone,
Sullen he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his own.
For how thould moderns, mushrooms of the day.
Whone'er thofe malters knew, know how toplay?
Grey-bearded vet rans, who, with partial tongue,
Extol the times when they themfelves were young,
Who having foft all relifh for the stage,
See not their own defects, but lath the age,
Receiv'd with joyful muriners of applaute
Their darling chief, and lin'd his fav'rite caufe.
Far be it from the candid mufe to tread
Infulting o'er the ashes of the dead,
But, just to living merit, the maintains,
And dares the teft, whilft Garrick's genius reigns;
Ancients in vain endeavour to excel,
Happily prais'd, if they could act as well.
But though prefeription's force we difallow,
Nor to antiquity fubmiffive bow;
Though we deny imagmary grace,
Founded on accidents of time and place;
Yet real worth of ev'ry growth fhail bear
Due praife, nor muft we, Quin, forget thee there.
His words bore fterling weight, nervous and
In manly tides of fenfe they roll'd along. [ftrong
Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence
To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit fenfe.
No actor ever greater heights could reachi
In all the labour'd a tifice of speech.
Speech! Is that all And half an actor found
An univerfal fame on partial ground ›
Parrots themfelves fpeak properly by rote,
And, in fix months, my dog fhall howl by note.
I laugh at thofe, who, when the ftage they tread,
Neglect the heart, to compliment the head;

With ftrict propriety their care's confin'd
To weigh our words, while paffion halts behind.
To fyllable-diffe&tors they appeal,

Allow them accent, cadence,--fools may feel;
But, fpite of all the criticiling cives,

Thofe who would make us feel, muft feel them-
felves.

His eyes, in gloomy focket taught to roll,
Proclaim'd the fullen habit of his foul.
Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the ftage,
Too proud for tenderness, too doll for rage.
When Hector's lovely widow fhines in tears,
Or Rowe's gay rake dependant virtue jeers,
With the fine caft of features he is feen
To chide the libertine, and court the queen.
From the tame feene, which without paffion ilows,
With juft defert his reputation refe;

Nor lefs he pleas'd, when, on fome farly plan,
He was, at once, the actor and the man.

In Brute he thone unequall'd: all agree
Garrick's not half fo great a brute as he.
When Cato's labour'd fcenes are brought to view,
With equal praife the actor labour'd too;
For fill you'll find, trace paflions to their root,
Small differce twixt the Stoic and the brute.
la faucied fcenes, as in life's real plan,
He could not for a mement fink the man.
In whate'er caft his character was laid,
Self ftili, ke oil, upon the fun face play'd.
Nature, in fpite of all his fkill, crept in :
Horatio, Dorax, Falftaff,-Bill 'twas Quin.

Next follows Sheridan-a doubtful name,
As yet unfettled in the rank of fame.
This, fondly lavith in his praifes grown,
Gives him all merit: That allows him nore.
Between them both we'll fteer the middle courfe,
Nor, loving praife, rob judgment of her force.
Jutt his conceptions, naural and great:
His feelings fiong, his words enforc'd with
weight.

Was fpeech-fan'd Quin him felf rohear him speak,
Envy ould drive the colour from his check:
But tep-dame nature, niggard of her grace,
Deny'd the focial pow'rs of voice and face.
Fix'd in one frame of features, glare of eye,
Patlions, like chaos, in confufion lie:
In vain the wonders of his skill are trv'd
To form diftinctions nature hath deny'd.
His voice no touch of harmony admits,
Irregularly deep and thrill by fits:
The two extremes appear like man and wife,
Coupled together for the fake of ftrife.

His action's alwats ftrong, but fometimes fuck,
That candour must declare he acts too much.
Why muft impatience fall three paces back?
Why paces three return to the attack?
Why is the right-leg too forbid to ftir,
Unlfs in motion femicircular?
Why moft the hero with the Nailor vic,
And hurl the clofe-clench'd fift at nofe or eye!
In royal John, with Philip angry grown,
I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies
Inhuman tyrant was it not a fhame, [down.
To fright a king fo harmless and fo tame?

But,

But, fpite of all defects, his glories rife;
And art, by judgment form'd, with nature vics:
Behold him found the depth of Hubert's foul,
Whilft in his own contending paffions roll;
View the whole fcene, with critic judgment fcan,
And then deny him menit if you can.
Where he falls fhort, 'tis nature's fault alone;
Where he fucceeds, the merit's all his own.
Laft Garrick came.--Behind him throng a train
Of fnarling critics, ignorant as vain.

One finds out, He's of ftature fomewhat
low,

"Your hero always fhould be tall, you know.— "True natural greatnefs all confifts in height."

And, in their fentence happily agreed,
In name of both, Great Shakespear thus decreed:
"If manly fenfe; if nature link'd with art;
If thorough knowledge of the human heart;
If pow'rs of acting vaft and unconfind;
If feweft faults with greatest beauties join'd;
If ftrong expreflion, and ftrange pow'rs which lig
Within the magic circle of the eye;

if feelings which few hearts, like his, can know,
And which no face to well as his can thew;
Deferve the pref 'rence;-Garrick, take the chair;
Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there."

BOOK I,

WITH what attractive charms this goodly

frame

Produce your voucher, critic." Serjeant Kite." 35. The Pleasures of Imagination. AKENSIDE.
Another can't forgive the paltry arts
By which he makes his way to allow hearts;
Mere pieces of fineffe, traps for applaufe-
"Avaunt, unnatural ftart, affected paule."
Forme,by nature forin'd to judge with phlegm,
I can't acquit by wholefale, nor condemn.
The beft things carried to excefs are wrong:
The tart may be too frequent, paufe too long:
But, only us'd in proper time and place,
Severeft judgment must allow them grace.

If bunglers, form'd on imitation's plan, Jutt in the way that monkies mimic man, Their copied feene with mangled arts difgrace, And pause and start with the fame vacant face; We join the critic laugh; thofe tricks we scorn, Which fpoil the fcenes they mean them to adorn. But when, from nature's pure and genuine fource, Thefe ftrokes of acting flow with gen'rous force; When in the features all the foul's pourtray'd, And patlions, fuch as Garrick's, are display'd; To me they feem from quickeft feelings caught: Each start is nature; and cach paufe is thought.

When reafon yields to paffion's wild alarms, And the whole ftate of man is up in arms; What but a critic could condemn the player, For pausing here, when cool fenfe pauies there? Whilft, working from the heart, the fire I trace. And mark it strongly flaming to the face; Whilft, in each found, I hear the very man; I can't catch words, and pity thofe who can. Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain; The gods, a kindness! with thanks must pay,Have form'd me of a courfer kind of clay; Nor ftung with envy, nor with fpleen difeas'd, A poor dull creature, ftill with nature pleas'd; Hence to thy praifes, Garrick, I agree, And, pleas'd with nature, must be pleas'd with

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Of nature touches the confenting hearts
Of mortal men; and what the pleasing stores
Which beauteous imitation thence derives
To deck the poet's, or the painter's toil;
My verfe unfolds. Attend, ye gentle powers
Of mufical delight! and while I fing
Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.
Thou, finiling queen of ev'ry tuneful breast,
Indulgent Fancy from the fruitful banks
Of Avon, whence thy rofy fingers cull
Fresh flowers and dews to fprinkle on the turf
Where Shakespear lies, be present: and with thee
Let Fiction come, u; on her vagrant wings
Wafting ten thousand colours through the air,
Wh ch, by the glances of her magic eye,
She blends and fhifts at will, through countless
forms,

Her wild creation. Goddefs of the lyre,
Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony! descend
And join this feftive train for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,
Majestic Truth; and where Truth deigns to come,
Her fifter Liberty will not be far.

Be prefent, all ye Genii, who conduct
The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard,
New to your fprings and fhades: who touch his

ear

With finer founds: who heighten to his eye
The bloom of nature, and before him turn
The gayeft, happieft attitude of things.

Oft have the laws of each poetic train
The critic-verfe employ'd; yet ftill unlung
Lay this prime fubject, though importing inoft
A poet's name: for fruitlefs is the attempt,
By dull obedience and by creeping toil
Obleure to conquer the fevere afcent

Of high Parnaffus. Nature's kindling breath
Muft fire the chofen genius; nature's hand
Muft ftring his nerves, and imp his cagle wings
Impatient of the painful fteep, to foar
High as the fumipit, there to breathe at large
Ætherçal air; with bards and fages old,
Immortal fons of praife. Thefe flattering scenes
To this neglected labour court my fong;
Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task
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To paint the finest features of the mind,
And to moft fubtile and myfterious things
Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love
Of nature and the mutes bids cplore,
Through fecret paths erewhile untrod by man,
The fair poetic region, to detect

Untafted fprings, to drink infpiring draughts,
And fhade my temples with unfading flowers
Cull'd from the laureate vale's profound recefs,
Where never poct gain'd a wreath before.
From heaven my ftrains begin: from heaven
defcends

The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love and beauty, and poetic joy
And infpiration. Ere the radiant fun
Sprang from the eaft, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon fufpended her ferener lamp;
Ere mountains, woods, or ftreams adorn'd the
globe,

Or Wildom taught the fons of men her lore;
Then liv'd the Almighty One: then, deep-retir'd
In his unfathom'd effence, view'd the forms,
The forms eternal of created things;
The radiant fun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,
The mountains, woods and streams, the rolling
globe,

And wildom's mien celeftial. From the first
Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd,
His admiration: till in time complete,
What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital fmile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,
Hence the green earth, and wild refounding waves;
Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold:
And clear autumnal fkies and vernal fhowers,
And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to every mortal eye

Is this great fcene unveil'd. For fince the claims
Of focial life to different labours urge
The active powers of man; with wife intent
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a different bias, and to each
Decrees its province in the common toil.
To fome the taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of heaven: to fome she gave
To weigh the moment of eternal things,
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain,
And will's quick impulfe: others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue fwells the tender veins
Of herbs and flowers; or what the beams of morn
Draw forth, diftilling from the clifted rind
In balmy tears. But fome to higher hones
Were deftin'd; fome within a finer mould
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.
To thefe the Sire omnipotent unfolds
The world's harmonious volume, there to read
The tranfcript of himself. On every part
They trace the bright impreffions of his hand :
In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
Blooming with rofy fimiles, they fee portray'd
That uncreated beauty, which delights

The mind fupreme. They alfo feel her charms Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Of Titan's ray, with each repulfive string
Confenting, founded through the warbling air
Unbidden trains; even fo did Nature's hand
To certain fpecies of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind;
So the glad impulfe of congenial powers,
Or of tweet found, or fair proportion'd form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,
From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive
They catch the fpreading rays: till now the foul
At length difclofes every tuneful fpring,

To that harmonious movement from without
Refponfive. Then the inexpreffive ftrain
Diffufes its enchantment: Fancy dreams
Of facred fountains and Elyfian groves,
And vales of blifs: the intellectual power
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
And imiles: the paffions, gently footh'd away,
Sink to divine repofe, and love and joy
Alone are waking; love and joy, ferene
As airs that fan the fummer. O attend,
Whoe'er thou art, whom thefe delights can touch,
Whole candid bofom the refining love
Of Nature warms, O! liften to my fong;
And I will guide thee to her favourite walks,
And teach thy folitude her voice to hear,
And point her lovelieft features to thy view.

Knowthen, whate'er of nature's pregnant stores,
Whate'er of mimic art's reflected forms
With love and admiration thus inflame
The powers of fancy, her delighted fons
To three illuftrious orders have referr'd;
Three fifter-graces, whom the painter's hand,
The poet's tongue confeffes; the fublime,
The wonderful, the fair. I fee them dawn!
I fee the radiant vifions, where they rife,
More lovely than when Lucifer difplays
His beaming forehead through the gates of morn,
To lead the train of Phoebus and the fpring.
Say, why was man fo eminently rais'd
Amid the vaft creation; why ordain'd
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;
But that the Omnipotent might fend him forth
In fight of mortal and immortal powers,
As on a boundlefs theatre, to run
The great career of juftice; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner deeds;
To chafe cach partial purpofe from his breaft;
And through the mifts of paffion and of fenfe,
And through the tolling tide of chance and pain,
To hold his couric unfaltering, while the voice
of truth and virtue, up the fteep afcent
Of nature, calls him to his high reward,
The applauding fimile of heaven? Elfe wherefore
burns

In mortal bofoms this unquenched hope,
That breathes from day to day fublimer things,
And mocks poffeffion? wherefore darts the mind,

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Or, yok'd with whirlwinds and the northern blaft,

Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high the foars
The blue profound, and hovering round the fun
Behoids him pouring the redundant stream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting fway
Bend the reluctant planets to abloive
The fated rounds of time. Thence far effus'd
She darts her fwiftnefs up the long career
Of devious comets; through its burning figns
Exulting measures the perennial wheel
Of nature, and locks back on all the ftars,
Whole blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invetts the orient. Now amaz'd the views
The empyreal wafte, where happy fpirits hold,
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abcde;
And fields of radiance, whofe unfading light
Has traveli'd the profound fix thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in fight of mortal things.
Even on the barriers of the world untir'd
She meditates the eternal depth below;
Till half recoiling down the headlong fteep
She plunges; foon o'erwhelm'd and fwallow'd up
In that immenfe of being. There her hopes
Reft at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the fov'reign maker faid,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Power's purple robes, nor pleature's flowery lap,
The foul fhould find enjoyment: but from thefe
Turning difdainful to an equal good,
Through all the afcent of things inlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.

Call now to mind what high capacious powers
Lie folded up in man: how far beyond
The praife of mortals, may the eternal growth
Of nature to perfection half divine,
Expand the blooming foul? What pity then
Should floth's unkindly fogs deprefs to earth
Her tender bloffom; choak the ftreams of life,
And blaft her fpring! Far otherwife defign'd
Almighty wifdom; nature's happy cares

The obedient heart far otherwife incline,
Witnefs the sprightly joy when aught unknown
Strikes the quick fente, and wakes each active
power

To brifker measures: witnefs the neglect
Of all familiar profpects, though beheld
With tranfport once; the fond attentive gaze
of young aftonishment; the fober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
For fuch the bounteous providence of heaven,
In every breast implanting this defire
Of objects new and firange, to urge us on
With unremitted labour to purfue
Thole facred stores that wait the ripening foul,
In Truth's exhauftlefs bofom. What need words
To paint its power? For this the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove; the penfive fage,
Heedlets of fleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the fickly taper; and untir'd
The virgin follows, with inchanted step,
The mazes of fome wild and wondrous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
Uninindful of the happy drefs that ftole
The wifhes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin'd. Hence, finally, by night,
The village-matron round the blazing hearth
Sufpends the infant-audience with her tales,
Breathing astonishment! of witching rhimes,
And evil fpirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet fouls
Rifen from the grave to cafe the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of fhapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and

wave

The torch of hell around the murderer's bed.
At every folemn paufe the crowd recoil
Gazing each other fpeechlefs, and congeal'd
With fhivering fighs; till eager for the event
Around the beldame all arrect they hang,
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.
But lo! difclos'd in all her fmiling pomp,
Where Beauty onward moving claims the verse
Her charms infpire: the freely-flowing verfe
In thy immortal praise, O form divine,
Smooths her mellifluent ftream. Thee, Beauty,

thee

The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray
The moffy roofs adore: thou, better fun!
For ever beamelt on the enchanted heart
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight
Poetic. Brightest progeny of heaven!
How fhall I trace thy features? where felect
The rofeate hues to emulate thy bloom?
Hafte then, my fong, through nature's wide ex-
panfe,

Hafte then, and gather all her comelicft wealth,
Whate'er bright fpoils the florid earth contains,
Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,
To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly
With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic ities,
And range with him the Hefperian field, and fee
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,

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The branches fhoot with gold; where'er his ftep | Confefs'd in aught, whose most peculiar ends

Marks the glad foil, the tender clusters grow
With purple ripenes, and inveft each hill
As with the blushes of an evening sky?
Or wilt thou rather floop thy vagrant plume,
Where, gliding through his daughter's honour'd
fhades,

The fmooth Peneus from his glaffy flood
Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene?
Fair Tempe haunt belov'd of fylvan powers,
Of nymphs and fauns; where in the golden age
They play'd in fecret on the fhady brink
With ancient Pan: while round their choral steps
Young hours and genial gales with conftant hand
Shower'd bloffoms, odours, fhower'd ambrofial
dews,

And Spring's Elyfian bloom. Her flowery ftore
To thee nor Tempe fhall refufe; nor watch
Of winged Hydra guard Heiperian fruits
From thy free fpoil. O bear then, unreprov'd,
Thy finiling treafures to the green recets
Where young Dione ftays. With fweeteft airs
Entice her forth to lend her angel-form
For Beauty's honour'd image. Hither turn
Thy grateful footsteps; hither, gentle maid,
Incline thy polith'd forehead: let thy eyes
Effufe the mildnefs of their azure dawn;
And may the fanning breezes waft afide
Thy radiant locks: difclofing, as it bends
With airy foftnefs from the marble neck,
The cheek fair-blooming, and the roty lip,
Where winning finiles and pleasures sweet as
love,

With fancity and wifdom, tempering blend
Their foft allurement. Then the pleafing force
Of nature, and her kind parental care
Worthier I'd fing: then all the enamour'd youth,
With each admiring virgin, to my lyre
Should throng attentive, while I point on high
Where Beauty's living image, like the morn
That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May,
Moves onward; or as Venus, when the food
Effulgent on the pearly car, and fmit'd,
Fresh from the deep, and confcious of her form,
To fee the Tritons tune their vocal shells,
And each coerulean fifter of the flood
With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves,
To feck the Idalian bower. Ye fmiling band
Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze
Of young defire with rival-fteps purfue
This charm of beauty; if the pleating toil
Cau yield a moment's refpite, hither turn
Your favourable ear, and trust my words.
I do not mean to wake the gloomy form
Of Superftition drefs'd in Wildom's garb,
'To damp your tender hopes; I do not mean
To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
Or fhapes infernal rend the groaning earth
To fright you from your joys; my cheerful fong
With better omens calls you to the field,
Pleas'd with your generous ardour in the chafe,
And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know,
Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where Health
And active Ufe are ftrangers? Is her charm

Are lame and fruitlefs? Or did Nature mean
This pleafing call the herald of a lie;
To hide the fhame of difcord and disease,
And catch with fair hypocrify the heart
Of idle Faith O no! with better cares
The indulgent mother, confcious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
By this illuftrious image, in each kind
Still more illuftrious where the object holds
Its native powers moft perfect, the by this
Illumes the headstrong impulse of Defire,
And fanctifies his choice. The generous glebe
Whofe bolom fmiles with verdure, the clear tract
Of streams delicious to the thirsty foul,
The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,
And every charm of animated things,
Are only pledges of a ftate fincere,
The integrity and order of their frame,
When all is well within, and every end
Accomplish'd.. -Thus was Beauty sent from
heav'n;

The lovely miniftrefs of Truth and Good
In this dark world: for Truth and Good are one,
And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her,
With like participation. Wherefore then,
O fons of carth! would ye diffolve the tie ?
O wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim,
Seek ye thofe flowery joys with which the hand
Of lavish Fancy paints each flattering scene
Where Beauty feems to dwell, nor once inquire
Where is the fanction of eternal Truth,
Or where the feal of undeceitful Good,
To fave your fearch from folly! Wanting these,
Lo! Beauty withers in your void embrace,
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy
Did fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleam
Of youthful hope that fines upon your hearts,
Be chill'd or clouded at this awful task,
To learn the lore of undeceitful Good,
And Truth eternal. Though the poisonous

charms

Of baleful Superftition guide the feet
Of fervile numbers, through a dreary way
To their abode, through deferts, thorns and mire;
And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn
To mule at laft, amid the ghoftly gloom

Of
graves, and hoary vaults, and cloifter'd cells;
To walk with spectres through the midnight
fhade,

And to the screaming owl's accursed song
Attune the dreadful workings of his heart;
Yet be not ye difinay'd. A gentler ftar
Your lovely fearch iilumines. From the grove
Where Wisdom talk'd with her Athenian fons,
Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,
Then fhould my powerful verse at once difpel
Thofe monkish horrors: then in light divine
Difclofe the Elyfian profpect, where the fteps
Of those whom nature charms, through blooming
walks,

Through fragrant mountains and poetic ftreams,
Amid the train of fages, heroes, þards,

Led

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