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For oh, how grateful to a wounded heart
The tale of misery to impart !
From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow,
And raise esteem upon the base of woe!
Ev'n He, the noblest of the tuneful throng,
Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear,
Shall catch the soft contagion of my song.
And pay my pensive Muse the tribute of a tear.

$104. Ar Ode to Narcissa. SMOLLET.
THY fatal shafts unerring move;
1 bow before thine altar, Love!
I feel thy soft resistless flame
Glide swift thro' all my vital frame!
For while I gaze my bosom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy, alternate roll,
And floods of transport whelm soul!
My fault'ring tongue attempts in vain
In soothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue some secret magic ties,
My murmurs sink in broken sighs!
Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the silent tear;
Unheard 1 mourn, unknown I sigh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die !

$105. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. SMOLLET. WHERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of joy?

Fir'd with zeal peculiar, they defy


rage and rigor of a polar sky,
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose
On icy plains, and in eternal snows.
Oh, blest within th' inclosure of your rocks,
For herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide.
That show revers'd the villas on their side;
No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those that walk at ev'ning where you dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne;
Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste,
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast;
Beckons the legions of his storms away
From happier scenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won,
And scorns to share it with the distant sun.

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle;
And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile:
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks with all the splendor of the true
A false religion-is unknown to you.
Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here,
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day
From which our nicer optics turn away.

§ 107. On Slavery, and the Slave Trade. CowPER.
Bur, ah! what wish can prosper, or what

Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest :
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast.
Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour,
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball, For merchants, rich in cargoes of despair,
Or press her wanton in love's roseate 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 shepherds 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 resound.
And each endures while yet he draws his breath,
A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death.
I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall, The sable warrior, frantic with regret
Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue,Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall, Loses in tears the far receding shore,
And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew: But not the thought, that they must meet no
There, leagu'd with hopeless anguish and des- Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, [more.
Awhile in silence o'er ny fate repine: [pair, What has he left that he can yet forego?
Then, with a long farewel to love and care,
Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd,
To kindred dust my weary limbs consign.
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen rous nature, and to suit
Wilt thon, Monimia, shed a gracious tear
On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest;
His manners with his fate, puts on the brutė. -
Oh most degrading of all ills that wait

Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud iny love sincere,On man, a mourner in his best estate!
And bid the turf lie easy on my breast?

All other sorrows virtue may endure,
And find submission more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd
T improve the fortitude that bears a load;
To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase,
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.

106. The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland.
AND still it spreads. See Germany send forth
Her sons, to pour it on the farthest north † :
Lord Lyttleton.
The Moravian missionaries in Greenland. Vide Krantz.'


But slav'ry!-virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meanness, in a slave:
Or if the will and sovereignty of God
Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod;
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And snap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That has a heart, and life in it, Be free !
The beasts are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack,
And, conscious of an unencumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein,
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane ;
Responsive to the distants neigh he neighs,
Nor stops till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze..
§ 108. On Liberty, and in Praise of Mr. Howard.

On could I worship ought beneath the skies
That earth had seen, or fancy could devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand.
With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air.
Duly as ever on the mountain's height
The peep of morning shed a dawning light;
Again, when evening in her sober vest
Drew the grey curtain of the fading West;
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and
For the chief blessings of my fairest days: [praise
But that were sacrilege- praise is not thing,
But his who gave thee,and preserves thee mine:
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundless sky,
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;
We feel thy force still active, at this hour
Enjoy immunity from priestly pow'r;
While conscience, happier than in antient years,
Owns no superior but the God shé fears.
Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rites have suffer'd, and our land, too long;
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share
The fears and hopes of a commercial care :
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt;
Butshipwreck, carthquake, battle, fire, and flood,
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood:
And honest merit stands on slipp'ry ground
Where covert guile, and artifice abound:
Let just restraint, for public peace design'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let insolvent innocence go free.

Patron of else the most despis'd of men,
Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen;
Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed,
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed :
1 alarm thee, but I fear the shame
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Blest with all wealth can give thee to resign
Joys, doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine;



To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow
To seek a nobler, amidst scenes of woe; [home,
To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge, such as only dungeons teach,
And only sympathy like thine could reach;
That grief, sequester'd from the public stage,
Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage-
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel.
Oh that the voice of clamor and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Were hush'd, in favor of thy gen'rous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee!
$109. On Domestic Happiness, as the Friend
of Virtue; and of the false Good-nature of
the Age.

DOMESTIC happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
Tho' few now taste the unimpair'd and pure,
Or, tasting, long enjoy thee; too infirm.
Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy chrystal cup.
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heaven-born, and destin'd to the skies again.
Thou art not known where Pleasure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support;
For thou art meek and constant, hating change,
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.
Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made
Of honor, dignity, and fair renown,
Till prostitution elbows us aside

In all our crowded streets, and senates seem
Conven'd for purposes of empire less
Than to release th' adult'ress from her bond!
Th' adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse,
What provocation to the indignant heart
That feels for injur'd love! But I disdain
The nauseous task to paint her as she is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame.
No. Let her pass; and, charioted along,
In guilty splendor shake the public ways:
The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white;
And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch
Whom matrons now, of character unsmirch'd,
And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own.
Virtues and vice had bound'ries in old time
Not to be pass'd: and she that had renounc'd
Her sex's honor, was renoune'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's sake,
But Dignity's resentful of the wrong.
'Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif
Desirous to return, and not receiv'd;
But was an wholesome rigor in the main,
And taught th' unblemished to preserve with
That purity, whose loss was loss of all. [care
Men too were nice in honor in those days,
And judg'd offenders well: and he that sharp'd
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,


Was mark'd, and shugn'd as odious. He that sold | Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
His country, or was slack when she requir'd
His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,
Paid with the blood that he had basely spar'd
The price of his default. Be now-yes, now,
We are become so candid and so fair,
So liberal in construction and so rich
In Christian charity, a good-natur'd age!
That they are safe: sinners of either sex [bred,
Transgress what laws they may. Welldress'd, well
Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough
To pass us readily through ev'ry door.
Hypocrisy, detest her as we may,

(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet)
May claim his merit still, that she admits
The worth of what she mimics with such care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applause :
But she has burnt her masks, not needed here,
Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts
And specious semblances have lost their use.

$110. On the Employments of what is called
an Idle Life.

How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle, and who justly, in return,
Esteems the busy world an idler too!

Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
He comes, the herald of a noisy world, [locks,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn;
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold, and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indiffrent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, marriages, epistles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect,
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget! usher'd in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings: have our troops awak'd?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,
Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd

Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace,

Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trin
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me therefore, studious of laborous ease,
Not slothful; happy to deceive the time,
Nor waste it, and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he shall call his debtors to account
From whom are all our blessings-business finds
Ev'n here. While sedulous I seek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be devulg'd in vain,
To its just point-the service of mankind.
He that attends to his interior self,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks
A social, not a dissipated life-

Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve
No unimportant, though a silent task.

A life all turbulence and noise may seem,
To him that leads it, wise, and to be prais'd;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms
Or drives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly, industrious, a disgraceful prize.
$111. The Post comes in-the News-paper is
read-the World contemplated at a distance.

HARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder

That with its wearisome but needful length

Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh-I long to know them all
I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer not to inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Not such his ev'ning, who, with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeez'd,
And bor'd with elbow-points thro' both his sides,
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage.
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen all tranquillity and smiles.
This, folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticise, that holds
Inquisitive attention, while I read,

Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break
What is it but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge
That tempts ambition. On the summit, see
The scals of office glitter in his eyes; [heels,
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his
Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends,
And with a dextrous jerk soon twists him down,
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.
Here rills of oily cloquence in soft
Meanders lubricate the course they take:
The modest speaker is ashain'd and griev'd


Tengross a moment's notice: and yet begs,
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts,
However trivial all that he conceives.
Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise:
The dearth of information and good sense
That it foretels us, always comes to pass.
Cataracts of declamation thunder here,
The forests of no meaning spread the page
In which all comprehension wanders fost;
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there
With merry descants on a nation's woes.
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confusion-roses for the cheeks
And lillies for the brows of faded age,
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,
Heaven,earth,andocean plunder'd of their sweets,
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews;
Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs,
Ethereal journies, submarine exploits,
And Katterfelto, with his hair on end
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread.
'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat
To peep at such a world: to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd:
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates
At a safe distance where the dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear.
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd
To some secure and more than mortal height,
That lib'rates and exempts me from them all.
It turns submitted to my view, turns round
With all its generations; I behold

The tumult, and am still; the sound of war
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me;
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride
And av'rice that makes man a wolf to man,
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats
By which he speaks the language of his heart,
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound.
He travels and expatiates, as the bee
From flow'r to flow'r, so he from land to land;
The manners, customs, policy of all
Pay contribution to the store he gleans;
He sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return, a rich repast for me!
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes
Discover countries, with a kindred heart.
Suffer his wocs, and share in his escapes:
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.

§ 112. A Fragment. MALLET.
FAIR morn ascends : fresh zephyr's breath
Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath,"
Where, sown profusely, kerb and flow'r,
Of balmy smell, of healing pow'r,
Their souls in fragrant dews exhale,
And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale.
Here spreads a green expanse of plains,
Where, sweetly pensive, Silence reigns;

And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
A mountain fades into the sky;
While winding round, diffus'd and deep,
A river rolls with sounding sweep.
Of human heart no traces near,
I seem alone with nature here!
Here are thy walks, O sacred Health!
The Monarch's bliss, the Beggar's wealth,
The seas'ning of all good below,
The sovereign's friend in joy or wee
O Thou, most courted, most despis d,
And but in absence, duly priz'd!
Pow'r of the soft and rosy face!
The vivid pulse, the vermeil grace,
The spirits, when they gayest shine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!
O sun of life whose heavenly ray
Lights up and cheers our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The storm of fate, the cloud of years,
Till nature with thy parting light,
Reposes late in Death's calm night:
Fled from the trophied roofs of state,
Abodes of splendid pain and hate;
Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep,
Hot Riot would his anguish steep,
But tosses through the midnight shade,
Of death, of life, alike afraid;
For ever fled to shady cell,.

Where Temp'rance, where the Muses dwell,
Thou oft art seen at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn;
Or, on the brow of mountain high,
In silence feasting ear and eye
With song and prospect which abound
From birds, and woods, and waters round,

But when the sun, with noon-tide ray,
Flames forth intolerable day
While Heat sits fervent on the plain,
While Thirst and Langour in his train
(All nature sick'ning in the blaze),
Thon in the wild and woody maze
That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,
Impendent from the neighb'ring steep,
Wilt find betimes a calm retreat,
Where breathing Coolness has her seat.
There plung'd amid the shadows brown,
Imagination lays him down;
Attentive in his airy mood,

To ev'ry murmur of the wood:
The bee in yonder flow'ry nook;
The chidings of the headlong brook;
The green
leaf quiv'ring in the gale;
The warbling hill, the lowing vale;
The distant woodman's echoing stroke;
The thunder of the falling oak.
From thought to thought in vision led,
He holds high converse with the Dead;
Sages or Poets. See, they rise!
And shadowy skim before his eyes,
Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,
That soften'd savages to men:
Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven,
To whom its moral will was given.


Fathers and Friends of human kind!
They form'd the nations, or refin'd,
With all that mends the head and heart,
Enlight'ning truth, adorning art.

Thus musing in the solemn shade,
At once the sounding breeze was laid :
And nature, by the unknown law,
Shook deep with reverential awe;
Dumb silence grew upon the hour;
A brighter night involv'd the bow'r :
When issuing from the inmost wood,
Appear'd fair Freedom's Genius good.
O Freedom! sov'reign boon of Heav'n,
Great Charter with our being giv'n ;
For which the patriot and the sage
Have plann'd, have bled, thro' ev'ry age!
High privilege of human race,
Beyond a mortal monarch's grace:
Who cou'd not give, who cannot claim,
What but from God immediate came!

§ 113. Ode to Evening. Dr. Jos. WARTON. HAIL, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in sober grey, Whose soft approach the weary woodman loves;

As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes
Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves.
When Phoebus sinks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk;
The drooping daisies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk.
The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmost bow'rs and cooling caverns ran,
Return, to trip in wanton ev'ning dance;
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.
To the deep wood the clamorous rocks repair,
Light skins the swallow o'er the wat'ry scene;
And from the sheep-cot, and fresh-furrow'd field,
Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the green.
The swain, that artless sings on yonder rock,
His supping sheep and length'ning shadow spies,
Pleas'd with the cool, the calin, refreshing hour,
And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies.
Now ev'ry Passion sleeps: desponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride;

And holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul,
Anger and mad Ambition's storm subdue.
O modest Evening! oft let me appear
A wandering votary in thy pensive train;
List'ning to every wildly-warbling note
That fills with farewell sweet thy dark'ning plain.

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At well-mark'd distance close the sacred scene.
On this the goddess cast an anxious look,
Then dropp'd a tender tear, and thus she spoke:
Yes, I could once with pleas'd attention trace
The minic charms of this prophetic vase;
Then lift iny head, and with enraptur'd eyes
Yes, Isis! oft hast thou rejoic'd to lead
View on yon plain the real glories rise.
Thy liquid treasures o'er yon fav'rite mead :
Oft hast thou stopp'd thy pearly car to gaze,
While ev'ry Science nurs'd its growing bays;
While ev'ry Youth, with fame's strong impulse
Press'd to the goal, and at the goal untir'd, [fir'd,
Snatch'd cach celestial wreath to bind his brow
The Muses, Graces, Virtues, could bestow.

E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train,
And ranks her troops on Memory's ample plain;
See! the firm leaders of my patriot line,
See! Sidney, Raleigh, Hampden, Somers, shine.
See Hough, superior to a tyrant's doom,
Smile at the menace of the slave of Rome :
Each soul whom truth could fire,and virtue move,
All that to Albion gave their heart or head,
Each breast strong panting with its country's love
All, all appear; on me they grateful smile,
That wisely counsell d, or that bravely bled,
To me with filial reverence they bring,,
The well-earn'd prize of every virtuous toil
And hang fresh trophies o'er my honor'd spring.
Ah! I remember well yon beechen spray,
There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay;
'Twas there great Cato's form first met his
In all the pomp of free-born majesty; [awe,
My son," he cried, "observe this mien with
"In solemn lines the strong resemblance draw;
"The piercing notes shall strike each British ear,
"Each British eye shall drop the patriot tear!



And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain, "Each youth shall spurn at slavery'sabject reign, "Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, $114. Isis. An Elegy. By Mr. MASON, of" And speak, and act, and bleed, in freedom's


FAR from her hallow'd grot, where, mildly


The pointed chrystals shot their trembling light; From dripping moss, where sparkling dew-drops fell, [shell, Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed


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