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To break my iron fleep again,
Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain:
Never, till fubftantial Night
Has re-affum'd her ancient right;
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.

OWEN's praife demands my fong,
Owen fwift, and Owen ftrong;
Fairest flow'r of Roderic's stem,
Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded ftores,
Nor on all profufely pours:
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hofts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by fide as proudly riding,
On her fhadow long and gay
Lochlin plows the wat'ry way;
There the Norman fails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war:
Black and huge along they fwcep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

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.

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From yonder realms of empyrean day
Burfts on my car th' indignant lay:
There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to shine
Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.
Rapt in celeftial transport they;
Yet hither oft a glance from high
They fend of tender fympathy,

To blefs the place where on their op'ning foul GRAY. First the genuine ardour stole.

'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd fhell;
And, as the choral warblings round him fwell,
Meek Newton's felf bends from his ftate fublime,
And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the

§ 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!"

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"What is grandeur? what is pow'r? of Heavier toil, fuperior pain.

"What the bright reward we gain ›
"The grateful memory of the Good.
"Sweet is the breath of vernal fhow'r,
"The bee's collected treafures fweet,
"Sweet mufic's melting fall, but fweeter yet
"The ftill fmall voice of Gratitude."
Forcmoft, and leaning from her golden cloud,
The venerable Margret fee!

in" Welcome, my noble Son (the cries aloud),
"To this thy kindred train, and me:
"Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace
"A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.
"Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye,
"The flow'r unheeded fhall defery,


"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
"The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, he brings,
"And to thy juft, thy gentle hand
"Submits the fafces of her fway,
"While spirits bleft above, and men below,
"Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay.

"Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,
"With watchful eye and dauntlefs mien
"Thy steady courfe of honour keep,
"Nor fear the rocks, nor feek the fhore:
"The Star of Brunswick fmiles ferene,
"And gilds the horrors of the deep."

$83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE.
OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,
And pray'd till I've been weary;
For once I'll try my wish to gain
Of Oberon the Fairy.

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 !
Haply fome herb or tree,
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,
Conceals a balm for me.

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,
Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.

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,
Which dooms me ftill to fmart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,

To pains new pangs impart.
Oh hafte to shed the facred balm !
My fhatter'd nerves new string;
And for my gueft, ferenely cabin,

The nymph Indifference bring.

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A form fuperior to the reft
His little voice to me addrefs'd,
And gently thus began:

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"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,
And after follow'd all his train;

No glimpse of him I find :
But fure I am, the little fprite
These words, before he took his flight,
Imprinted on my mind.

poor !
Hard is the fate of the infirm and
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To feck a fhelter in an humbler fhed.

Oh take me to your hofpitable dome!
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be reprefs'd.
Heaven fends misfortunes; why fhould we re-

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the ftate you fee;
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The Child of Sorrow and of Milery.

A little farm was my paternal lot;

Then like the lark I fprightly hail'd the morn:
But, ah! oppreffion forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide ftage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguifh at the ftern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to defpair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man,
Whole trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the shorteft fpan;
Oh give relief, and Heaven will bless

§ 85. The Beggar's Petition. ANON. PITY the forrows of a poor old man,

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to
your door,

Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh give relief, and Heaven will bless your ftore!
These tatter'd clothes my poverty help ak,
Thefe hoary locks proclain my lengthen'd years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn check
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode,

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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;
This is the hour when to the wife and good

The heavenly maid repays the toils of day.
The river murmurs, and the breathing gale

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!
Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light,

And faintly in its breaft the woodland bears.
The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,
Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound;
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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

to me!

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,
The dear idea of my Pollio bring;
So fhone the moon thro' thefe foft-nodding trees,
When here we wander'd in the eves of fping
When April's fmiles the flow'ry lawn adorn,

And modeft cowflips deck the ftreamict's fide;
When fragrant orchards to the rofcate morn
Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours

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;
Oh now cut off each paffage to my mind!
How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void,
The trackleft fhores that never were repafs'd!
Dread feparation! on the depth untried,

Hope falters, and the foul recoiis aghaft!
Wide round the fpacious heavens I caft my eyes:

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;
The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide

With cheerful hope expects the morning ray:
Thus I, on life's ftorm-beaten ocean tofs'd,

In mental vifion view the happy fhore,
Where Pellio beckons to the peaceful coaft,
Where fate and death divide the friends no

Oh that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade,

Who now perhaps frequents this folemn grove,
Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead,

And from my eyes the mortal film remove!
Vain is the wifh-yet furely not in vain

Man's bofom glows with that celeftial fire Which fcorns earth's luxuries, which smiles at pain,

And wings his fpirit with fublime defire !
To fan this fpark of heaven, this ray divine,

Stiil, O my fool! ftill be thy dear employ;
Still thus to wander thro' the fhades be thine,
And fwell thy breaft with vifionary joy!

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Tho' fainter raptures my cold breaft infpire,
Yet let me oft frequent this folemn fcene;
Oft to the abbey's fhatter'd walls retire,
What time the moon thine dimly gleams between.
There, where the cross in hoary ruin nods,
And weeping yews o'er fhade the letter'd tones.
While midnight filence wraps thefe drear abodes,
And fooths me wandering o'er my kindred


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,
His all become the prey of war:
Bethinks him of his babes and wife;
Then mites his breaft, and curfes life.
Thy fwains are famith'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravish'd virgins fhrick in vain;
Thy infants perish on the plain.

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;

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But whence the gladd'ning beam
That pours his purple

O'er the long profpect wide?
'Tis Mirth. I fee her fit
In majefty of light,

With Laughter at her fide.
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And young Wit flings his pointed dart,
That guiltless strikes the willing heart.

Fear not now Affliction's pow'r,
Fear not now wild Paffion's rage;

Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour,
Save the tardy hand of Age.
Now Mirth hath heard the fuppliant Poet's pray'ı
No cloud that rides the blast shall vex the troubled


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