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can know.

Then, fondly stealing to thy father's side, How oft, when fondling in my arms,
Whene'er thou secit the soft distress,

Gazing enraptur’d on its angel-face,
Which I would vainly seck to hide,

My soul the maze of Fate would vainly trace, Say, wilt thou strive to inake it lefs?

And burn with all a father's fond alarms! To footh my forrows all thy cares employ, And oh what Hatt’ring scenes had fancy feign’d! And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy ? How did I rave of bleilings yet in store !

Till ev'ry aching sense was liveetly pain’d,

And my full heart could bear, nor tongue $ 100. An Evening Address to a Nightingale.

could utter more. SHAW.

Just Heaven!” I cried, with recent hopes elate, SWEET bird! that, kindly perching near, “ Yet will I live-will live, tho'Emma's diad; Pourest thy plaints melodious in mine car,

“ So long bow'd down beneath the storms of Not, like bale worldlings, tutor'd to forego

* fate, The melancholy haunts of woe;

“ Yet will I raise my woe-dejected head! Thanks for thy sorrow-foothing strain :

“ My little Emma, now my all, For, surely, thou haft known to prove,

“ Will want a father's care ; Like me, the pangs of hapless love;

“ Her looks, her wants, my rash resolves recal, Else why so feelingly complain, [grove :

" And for her fake the ills of life I'll bear: And with thy piteous notes thus fadden all the

“ And oft together we'll complain, Say, dost thou mourn thy ravith'd mate,

“ Complaint the only bliss my soul That oft enamour'd on thy strains has hung? “ From me my child thall Icarn the mournful Or has the cruel hand of Fate

“ strain, Bercft thee of thy darling young?

“ And prattle tales of woe. Alas! for both I weep :

“ And, oh! in that auspicious hour, In all the pride of youthful charms,

“ When Fate resigns her perfecuting pow's, A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms ! " With duteous zcal her hand shall close, A lovely babe that should have liv’d to bless, “ No more to weep, my forrow-streaming eyes, And fill my doating eyes with frequent " When death gives mifery repose, tears,

“ And opes a glorious passage to the skies.” At once the source of rapture and diftress,

Vain thought! it must not be-hc too is dead; The flattering prop of my declining years !

The flatt’ring scene is o'er;
In vain froin death to rescue I eslay'd,

My hopes for ever, ever Aled;
By ev'ry art that science could devise;

And vengeance can no more.
Alas! it languifh'd for a mother's aid,

Crush'd by misfortune, blasted by dife:fe, And wing'dits flight to feck her in the skies.

And none--none left to bcar a friendly part ! Then, oh! our comforts be the same,

To meditate iny welfare, health, or eati, At evening's peaceful hour,

Or footh the anguish of an aching heart ! To Thun the noily paths of wealth and fame,

Now all one gloomy scene, till welcome death, And breathe our furrows in this lonely

With lenicnt hand (oh falfely decm'd fevere), bow'r.

Shall kindly hop my grief-exhausted breath, But why, alas ! to thee complain,

And dry up ev'ry tear. To thec-unconscious of my pain ?

Perhaps, obfequious to my will,
Soon shalt thou cease to mourn thy lot fevere, But, ah! from my affections far remov'd!
And hail the dawning of a happier year: The last fad office strangers may fulfil,

The genial warmth of joy-renewing spring As if I ne'er had been belor'd;
Again Thall plume thy shatter'd wing;

As if, unconscious of poctic fire,
Again thy little heart fall transport prove, I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre;

Again thall flow thy notes relponlive to thy As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief, But, oh! for me in vain may seasons roll, [love. Nor my heart melted at another's grief. Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears:

Yct, while this weary life shall last, Deploring still the comfort of my soul,

While yet my tongue can forin th' impaffion'i I count my sorrows by increasing years.

Itrain, Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, say,

In piteous accents shall the muse complain, Where is the promis d period of my woes? And dwell with fond delay on blessings paft: Full three long, lingering years have rolld away, For oh how grateful to a wounded hcart, And yet I weep, a stranger to repose :

The tale of nifery to impart ! o what delusion did thy tongue employ! From others eyes bid a tless forrow's fow, “ That Emma's fatal pledge of love,

And raise esteem upon the bale of voe! “ Her last bequcft, with all a mother's care, Even He “, the noblest of the tuncful throng, « The bitterness of sorrow should remorc,

Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear, 8. Soften the horrors of despair,

Shall catch the soft contagion of iny tong, “ And cheer a heart long lost to joy !" And pay my penfivc Mute the tribute of a tear. Lord Lyttleton,

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§ 101. An Ode to Narcisa. SMOLLET. No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, THY fatal shafts unerring move;

Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard; I bow before thine altar, Love!

Nor grateful cglantine regales the smell I feel thy soft, rcfiftless flame

Of those that walk at ev'ning where ye

dwell : Glide swift through all my vital frame !

But winter, arm’d with terrors here unknown,

Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; For while I gaze my bosom glows,

Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, My blood in tides impetuous flows;

And bids the mountains he has built stand fast; Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll,

Beckons the legions of his storms away And floods of transport whelm iny foul!

From happier icenes, to make your land a prey; My fault'ring tongue attempts in rain

Proclaims the soil a conquist he has won, In soothing murnurs to complain ;

And scorns to share it with the diftant sun. My tongue fome fecret inagic ties,

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ille; My murmurs fink in brukci bylis!

And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile: Condeinn'd to nurse eternal

The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds

care, And ever drop the silent tcar;

In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;

That decks with all the splendour of the truc Unheard I mouin, unknown I sigh,

A falte religion is unknown to you. Unfriended live, unpitied die !

Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight

The sweet vicissitudes of day and night; § 102. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer

SMOLLET. Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here i WHERE now are all my flattering dreams of But brighter beams than his who fires the skies joy?

Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes, Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest : That shoot into your darkest caves the day Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,

From which our nicer optics turn away.
Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast !

$104.On Slavery, and the Slave Trade.CowPER.
Lét happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With festive songs beguile the Hecting hour, BUT, ah! What with can profpcr, or whas
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,

pray'r,

For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, Or press her wanton in love's roscate bow'r.

Who drive a loathsome traffic, gage and span, For me, no more I'll range th’empurpled mead, And buy the muscles and the bones of man ? Where thepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, The tender ties of father, husband, friend, Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, All bonds of nature, in that moment end ; To hear the music of the grove rcfound.

And each endurcs, while yet he draws his breach I'll seek fome lonely church, or drcary hall,

A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue,

The fable warrior, frantic with regret Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall, of her he loves, and never can forget, And heeted ghosts drink up the ruidnight dow: Loses in tears the far-receding fore, There, leagued with hopeless anguish and despair, Deprived of her and freedom at a blow,

But not the thought that they must mect no more;
Awhile in silence o'er my fate repine :

What has ho left that he can yet forego?
Then, with a long farewel to love and care,
To kindred dutt my weary limbs conlign.

Yes, to deep sadnets fullenly refign'd,

He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tcar Puts off his gen'rous nature; and, to suit
On the cold grave where all my forrows reft; His manners with his fate, puts on the bruts.
Strew vernal How'rs, applaud my love fincerc, Oh most degrading of all iils that wait
And bid the turf lie cały on my

breast ?

On man, a mourner in his beft eftate!!
All other forrows virtue may endure,

And find submission more than half a cure ; $ 103: The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland. Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd

CowPER.

T'improve the fortitude that bears a load; AND Ntill it spreads: Sce Germany fend forth To teach the wand'rer, as his woes incrcafe,

Her sons to pour it on the farthest north * : The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace. Fir’d with a zcal peculiar, they defy

But Nav'ry!- virtuc drcads it as her grave; The rage and rigour of a polar sky,

Patience itself is meanness in a slave :
And plant fuccessfully fweet Sharon's rose Or if the will and sovereignty of God
On icy plains, and in eternal snows.

Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod;
Oh bleft within th’inclosure of your rocks, Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating docks, And snap the chain the moment when you may:
No fertilizing streams your ficlds divide, Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That shew revers'd the villas on their fide; That has a hcart and life in it, Be free!
* The Moravian miffionarics in Greenland. Vide Krantz,

The

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The beasts are charter'd-neither age nor force That grief, fequester'd from the public stage,
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : Might Imooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage.
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack, Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
And, conscious of an unencumber'd back, The boldest patriot might be proud to fcel.
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein, Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane; That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Rcfponfive to the distant neigh 'he neighs, Were hush'd in favour of thy gen'rous plea,
Nor stops till, overleaping all delays,

The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee!
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze.

§ 106. On Domeftic Happiness, as the Friend of § 105. On Liberty, and in Praise of Mr. Howard, Virtue, and of the false Good-nature of the COWPER. Age.

Cow PER. could I worship aught beneath the skies, DOMESTIC happiness, thou only bliss

That earth hath seen or fancy cuuld devise, Of Paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
Thine altar, facred Liberty, should stand, Tho' few now taste thee unimpair’d and pure,
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,

Or tasting, long enjoy thce; too infirm
With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect
Duly as ever on the mountain's height Or temper theds into thy crystal cup.
The peep of morning shed a dawning light;

Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms
Again, when evening in her fober vest

She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Drew the grey curtain of the fading West; Heaven-born, and destin'd to the skies again.
My foul should yield thee willing thanks and Thou art not known where pleasure is ador’d,
praise

That reeling goddess with the zonclefs waist
For the chief blessings of my fairest days: And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm
But that were facrilege-praise is not thine, Of novelty, her fickle frail support;
But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine: For thou art mcek and constant, hating change,
Else I would say, and as I spake bid Ay And finding in the calm of truth-tied love
A captive bird into the boundless sky,

Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.
This triple realm adores thee—thou art come Forsaking thee, what thipwreck have we made
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;

Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,
We feel thy force still active, at this hour Till prostitution elbows us aside
Enjoy immunity from priestly pow'r;

In all our crowded streets, and senates seem
While conscience, happier than in ancient years, Conven’d for purposes of empire less
Owns no superior but the God the fears. Than to release th’adultrefs from her bond !
Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong

Th’adultrcfs! what a theme for angry versen
Thy rites have suffer'd, and our land, too long; What provocation to th’indignant heart
Tcach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share That feels for injur'd love! But I disdain
The fears and hopes of a commercial care: The nauseous task to paint her as the is,
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame.
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt;

No. Let hier pass; and, charioted along,
But thipwreck, carthquake, battle, fire, and food, In guilty fplendour shake the public ways;
Are mighty mischiefs not to be withstood; The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white;
And honest merit stands on flipp'ry ground,

And verie of inine shall never brand the wretch
Where covert guile and artifice abound : Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd,
Let just restraint, for public peace design’d,

And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own.
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind; Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time
The foc of virtue has no claim to thee,

Not to be pass'd : and the that had renounc'd
But let insolvent innocence go free.

Her fex's honour, was renounc'd herself
Patron of else the most defpis'd of men,

By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fake,
Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen;

But Dignity's, resentful of the wrong.
Verse, like the laurel its immortal meed, 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif
Should be the guerdon of a noble dced :

Desirous to return, and not receiv’d;
1
may alarm thee, but I fear the shame

But was an wholesome rigour in the main,
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim) And taught th’unblemilh'd to prcserve with care,
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. That purity, whose loss was lots of all.
Bleft with all wealth can give thec-to resign Men too were nice in honour in those dars,
Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine; And judg'd offenders well: and he that sharp'd,
To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,
To seek a nobler amidit scenes of woe;

Was mark'd and shuni'd as odious. He that fold
To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home, His country, or was flack when the requir’d
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,
But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, Paid with the blood that he had bafely spar'd
And only fympathy like thine could reach; The price of his defaulto But now-yes, now,

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We are become so candid and so fair,

True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, So liberal in construction, and fo rich

Yet careless what he brings, his one concern In Christian charity, a good-narur'd age! Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn; That they are fafe; finners of either sex And, having dropt th’expected bag, pass on. Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well dress d, He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, well bred,

Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief Well equipagd, is ticket good enough

Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to tome; To pals us readily through ev'ry door.

To him indiff'rent wicther grief or joy. Hypocrisy, deteft her as we may,

Houses in alhes, and the fall of stocks, (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet? May claim this merit fill, that the admits With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks The worth of what the inimics with such care, Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, And thus gives virtue indirect applaule. Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of abfint swains, But he has burnt her marks, not needed here, Or nymphs responsive, equally affect Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts His hortc and him, unconscious of them all. And specious semblanas have lost their use. But oh th'important budget ! uther'd in

With such heart-thaking music, who can say § 107.

On the Employments of what is called What are its ridings : have our troops awak'd: an Idle Life.

CowPER. Or do thev still, as if with opium drugg d, HOW various his employments when the world Snore to the murmurs of th Atlantic wave Calls idle, return

Is India wear her plum'd Efteems that busy world an idler too!

And jewell'd turban with a sinile of

peace, Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Or do we grind her still? The giand debate, Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,

The popular harangue, the tart reply, And nature in her cultivated trim

The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad And the loud laugh-I long to know them all ; Can he want occupation who has these :

I burn to set th' imprison d wranglers frce, Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy? And give them voice and utt'rance once again. Me therefore, studious of laborious tali,

Now stir the fire and close the shutters fait, Not forhful; happy to deceive the time, Let fall the curtains, wheel the fofa round, Not wafcit; and aware that human life And while the bubbling and loud hilfing urn Is but a loan to be repaid with use,

Throws up a ftcamy column, and the cups When He shall call his debtors to account That cheer but not incbriate, wait on each, From whom are all our bleflings-bufiness finds So let us welcome peaceful ev’ning in. Ev’n here. While fedulous I fcek t'improve, Not such his ev'ning who with shining face At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeez'd, The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack And bor'd with elbowv-points thro'both his fides, Too oft, and much impeded in its work Outícolds the ranting actor on the stage. By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,

Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, To its just point-the service of mankind. And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath He that attends to his interior felf,

Of patriots bursting with heroic rage,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind Or placemen all tranquillity and smiles.
That hungers, and supplies it; and who locks This folio of four pages, happy work!
A social, not a dissipated life-

Which not ev’n critics criticitc, that holds
Has butiness; feels himself engag’d t'achieve Inquisitive attention while I read
No unimportant, though a silent task.

Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,
A life all turbulence and noile may fecm Though eloquent themselves, yet fcar to brcak
To him that leads it wife, and to be prais'd; What is it but a map of busy life,
But wisdom is a pearl with most success

Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge He that is ever occupied in storms

That tempts ambition. On the summit, fee, Or dives not for it; or brings up instead, The feals of office glitter in his eyes ; [heols, Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.

He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his

Close at his heels, a demagogue afcends, § 108. The Post comes in--the News-paper is And with a dextrous jerk toon twists himn down, read-The World contemplated at a dijiance. And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.

Cowper. Here rills of oily cloquence in foft HARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder Mcanders lubi icate the courte they take: bridge,

The modest speaker is alham'd and griev'd That with its wearifome but needful length T'engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, Bestrides the wint’ry food, in which the moon Begs a propitious car for his poor thoughts, Sces her unwrinkled face reflected bright, However trivial all that he conceives. He comes, the herald of a noisy world, [locks, Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise, With fpatter'd boots, ftrapp'd waist, and frozen The dearth of information and good sense News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. That it forctelj us, always comes to pass.

Cataracts

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Cataracts of declamation thunder here,

Here are thy walks, O sacred Health !
There forests of no meaning spread the page

The Monarch’s blifs, the Beggar's wealth ;
In which all comprehension wanders loit; The feas'ning of all good below,
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there, The fou’reign friend in joy or woe.
With merry descants on a nation's woes. O Thoa, most courted, most despis'd,
The rest appears a wilderness of strange And but in absence duly priz'd !
But
gay
confusion-roses for the cheeks

Pow'r of the soft and rosy face !
And lilies for the brows of faded age,

The vivid pulse, the vermil grace,
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, The spirits, when they gayeft shine,
Heaven, earth, and ocean plunder'd of their sweets, Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine !
Nectareous effences, Olympian dews,

O sun of life, whose heavenly ray
Sermons and city feasts, and fav’rite airs, Lights up and cheers our various day,
Æthereal journeys, submarine exploits,

The turbulence of hopes and fears,
And Katterfelto with his hair on end

The storm of fate, the cloud of years,
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. Till nature, with thy parting light,

'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat Repofes late in Death's calm night:
To peep at such a world. To see the stir Fled from the trophicd roofs of state,
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd. Abodes of splendid pain and hate;
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates Fled from the couch, where, in 1weet scep,
At a fafe distance, where the dying found Hot Riot would his anguish steep,
Falls a soft murmur on th’uninjur'd ear. But tosses through the midnight ihade,
Thus fitting, and surveying thus at ease

Of death, of life, alike afraid;
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd For ever Aed to shady cell,
To some secure and more than mortal height, Where temp’rance, where the Muses dwell,
That lib'rates and exempts me from them all. Thou oft art seen, at early dawn,
It turns submitted to my view, turns round Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn:
With all its generations; I behold

Or, on the brow of mountain high,
The tumult, and am still. The sound of war In silence feasting car and eye,
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me;

With song and prospect which abound
Grieves but alarms me not. I mourn the pride From birds, and woods, and waters round.
And av'rice that makes man a wolf to man, But when the sun, with noon-tide ray,
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats Flames forth intolerable day;
By which he speaks the language of his heart,

While Heat fits fervent on the plain,
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. With Thirst and Languor in his train
He travels and expatiates, as the bee

(All nature fick’ning in the blaze),
From flow'r to fow'r, so he from land to land; Thou in the wild and woody maze
The manners, customs, policy of all

That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,
Pay contribution to the store he gleans;

Impendent from the neighb'ring steep,
He sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,

Wilt find betimes a calm retrcat,
And spreads the honey of his deep research Where breathing Coolness has her seat.
At his return, a rich repast for me!

There plung'd amid the lhadows brown,
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Imagination lays him down;
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes

Attentive, in his airy mood,
Discover countries, with a kindred heart To ev'ry murmur of the wood :
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes; The bee in yonder flow'ry nook;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock, The chidings of the headlong brook;
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. The green leaf quiv'ring in the gale;

The warbling hill, the lowing vale ;

The distant woodman's echoing stroke;
§ 109. A Fragment. MALLET.

The thunder of the falling oak.
F AIR morn ascends : fresh zephyrs breath From thought to thought in vifion led,

Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath: He holds high converse with the Dead;
Where, fown profusely, herb and flow'r Sages or Poets. See, they rite!
Of balmy smell, of healing pow'r,

And shadowy skim before his eyes.
Their fouls in fragrant dews exhale,

Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,
And brtathe freth life in ev'ry gale.

That foften'd savages to men:
Here spreads a green expanse of plains,

Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven,
Where, fwectly-penfive, Silence reigns; To whom its moral will was given.
And there, at utmost stretch of eye,

Fathers and Friends of human kind!
A mountain fades into the sky;

They form'd the nations, or refin'd,
While, winding round, diffus'd and deep, With all that mends the head and heart,
A river rolls with founding sweep.

Enlight’ning truth, adorning art.
Of human art po traces near,

Thus muling in the folemn shade,
I feem alone with nature here)

At once the founding breeze was laid:
G g 2

And