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To break my iron fleep again,
OWEN's praife demands my fong,
Big with hofts of mighty name,
Dauntless on his native fands The dragon-fon of Mona stands; In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thund'ring ftrokes begin, There the prefs, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky fhore Echoing to the battle's roar. Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thoufand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple fpear, Hafty, hafty Rout is there; Marking with indignant eye Fear to ftop, and fhame to fly. There Confufion, Terror's child; Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild; Agony, that pants for breath; Despair, and honourable Death.
81. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment.
From yonder realms of empyrean day
To blefs the place where on their op'ning foul GRAY. First the genuine ardour stole.
'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd fhell;
§ 82. Ode on the Inftallation of the Duke Grafton. Irregular. GRAY.
HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground)! Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, "And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, "Mad Sedition's cry profane, "Servitude that hugs her chain; "Nor in thefe confecrated bow'rs "Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train "flow'rs.
"Nor Envy bafe, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Mufe's walk to stain, "While bright-eyed Science watches round: "Hence away, 'tis holy ground!"
"What is grandeur? what is pow'r? of Heavier toil, fuperior pain.
"What the bright reward we gain ›
in" Welcome, my noble Son (the cries aloud),
"And bid it round heaven's altars shed "The fragrance of its blufhing head: "Shall raife from earth the latent gem "To glitter on the diadem.
"Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band: "Not obvious, not obtrufive, the "No vulgar praise, no venal incenfe flings; "Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd "Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: "She reveres herself and thee.
"With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow
"Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,
$83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE.
Sweet airy being, wanton fprite,
That lurk'ft in woods unfeen, And oft by Cynthia's filver light Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green; If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd, As ancient stories tell,
And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd Thou fought'ft a wondrous fpell;
Oh deign once more t'exert thy pow'r !
I afk no kind return of love,
No tempting charm to please; Far from the heart thofe gifts remove That fighs for peace and cafe :
Nor peace nor case the heart can know,
Far as diftrefs the foul can wound, 'Tis pain in cach degree: 'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;
Beyond, is agony.
Take then this treacherous fense of mine,
To pains new pangs impart.
The nymph Indifference bring.
A form fuperior to the reft
"The regions of the fky I'd trace, "I'd ranfack every earthly place,
"Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r, “To mitigate the pangs of fear,
Dispel the clouds of black despair, "Or lull the reftiefs hour.
"I would be generous as I'm juft; "But I obey, as others must,
"Thofe laws which fate has made. "My tiny kingdom how defend, "And what might be the horrid end,
"Should man my state invade? "'Twould put your mind into a rage, "And fuch unequal war to wage
"Suits not my regal duty! "I dare not change a firft decree : "She's doom'd to pleafe, nor can be free; "Such is the lot of Beauty!"
This faid, he darted o'er the plain,
No glimpse of him I find :
Oh take me to your hofpitable dome!
Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the ftate you fee;
A little farm was my paternal lot;
Then like the lark I fprightly hail'd the morn:
§ 85. The Beggar's Petition. ANON. PITY the forrows of a poor old man,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to
Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Yon house erected on the rifing ground,
THE peaceful evening breathes her balmy
The playful fchool-boys wanton o'er the green: Where (preading poplars fhade the cottage-door, The villagers in ruftic joy convene.
Amid the fecret windings of the wood,
With folemn Meditation let me ftray;
The heavenly maid repays the toils of day.
Whispers the gently-waving boughs among: The ftar of evening glimmers o'er the dale,
And leads the filent hoft of heaven along. How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,
The filver emprefs of the night appears!
And faintly in its breaft the woodland bears.
The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant glade; The bat, low-wheeling, fkims the dufky ground.
Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,
The Gothic abbey rears its fculptur'd tow'rs; Dull through the roofs refounds the whiftling gale, For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! ch Dark folitude among the pillars low'rs. Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves, And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window
And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains; There oft, at datyn, as one forgot behind,
Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd,
Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray'r. High o'er the pines, that with their dark'ning fhade
Surround you craggy bank, the caftle rears Its crumbling turrets; ftill its tow'ry head
A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears. So, 'midft the fnow of age, a boastful air
Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare,
Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends. Wild round the gates the dusky wall-flow'rs creep, Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led,
Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap, Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments fpread. 'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight,
Great in their bloody arms, inarch'd o'er the lea, Eyeing their refcued fields with proud delight! Now loft to them! and, ah! how chang'd
The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,
Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours; But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines, And fainted well have loft their cheering pow'rs;
This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
And modeft cowflips deck the ftreamict's fide;
So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore,
Thefe werethe emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page di'play'd its lore,
To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him with her purcft fames the Mufe endow'd,
Flames net er to th' illiberal thought allied: The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd
In all her charms; he saw, he felt, and died. O partner of my infant griefs and joys!
Big with the Icenes now paft, my heart o'erflows; Bids cach endearment, fair as once, to rile,
And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new,
Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; Oft by the moon have bruth'd the evening dew, When all was fearless innocence and glee.
Where haft thou fled, and left me here behind!
My tend 'reft with, my heart to thee was hare;
Hope falters, and the foul recoiis aghaft!
And fhall thefe stars glow with immortal fire ' Still fhine the lifeless glories of the skies?
And could thy bright, thy living foul expire? Far be the thought! The pleafures moft fublime, The glow of friendship, and the virtuous tear, The tow'ring with that fcorms the bounds of time,
Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,
The languid franger feebly buds, and dies: Yet there's a chime where Virtue thall expand With godlike ftrength beneath her native fkies!
The lonely fhepherd on the mountain's side
With patience waits the roly-opening day;
With cheerful hope expects the morning ray:
In mental vifion view the happy fhore,
Oh that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade,
Who now perhaps frequents this folemn grove,
And from my eyes the mortal film remove!
Man's bofom glows with that celeftial fire Which fcorns earth's luxuries, which smiles at pain,
And wings his fpirit with fublime defire !
Stiil, O my fool! ftill be thy dear employ;
Tho' fainter raptures my cold breaft infpire,
Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn, When fromthe bursting graves the juft fhall rife, All Nature fmiling, and, by angels borne, Meffiah's crois far blazing o'er the skies!
$87. The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET. MOURN, hapiefs Caledonia, mourn
Thy banifh'd peace, thy laurels torn ! Thy fons, for valour long renown'd, Lie laughter'd on their native ground; Thy hofpitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door; In fmoky ruins funk they lie, The monuments of cruelty.
The wretched owner fees, afar,
What boots it, then, in ev'ry clime, Thro' the wide-fpreading wafte of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, Still fhone with undiminifh'd blaze? Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke: What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage and rancour fell. The rural pipe, and merry lay, No more fhall cheer the happy day: No focial fcenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: No ftrains but thofe of forrow flow, And nought be heard but founds of woe; While the pale phantoms of the flain Glide nightly o'er the filent plain. Oh baneful caufe, on fatal morn, Accurs'd to ages yet unborn! The fons against their fathers ftood; The parent fhed his children's blood. Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd, The victor's foul was not appeas'd: The naked and forlorn muft feel Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel! The pious mother doom'd to death, Fortaken, wanders o'er the heath; The bleak wind whistles round her head, Her helplefs orphans cry for bread; Bereft of fhelter, food, and friend, She views the fhades of night defcend;
But whence the gladd'ning beam
O'er the long profpect wide?
With Laughter at her fide.
Fear not now Affliction's pow'r,
Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour,