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In glittring arms and glory drest,

That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare, High he rcars his ruby creít.

And Anjou's heroine, and the paler Role, There the thund’ring strokes begin,

The rival of her crown and of her woes, There the prefs, and there the din ;

And either Henry there, Talymalfra's rocky shore

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord Echoing to the battle's roar.

That broke the bonds of Rome. Where his glowing eye-balls turn,

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Thousand banners round him burn :

Their human passions now no more, Where he points his purple spear,

Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb) Hitty, hafty Rout is there;

All that on Granta's fruitful plain Marking with indignant eye

Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, Fear to stop, and thame to fly.

And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise, There Confusion, Terror's child;

To hail their Fitzroy's fefal morning come; Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild ;

And thus they speak in foft accord Agony, that parts for breath;

The liquid language of the skics:
Pulpair, and Honourable Death.

“ t'hat is grandeur ? what is pow'r ?
“ Heavier toil, superior pain.
“ What the bright reward we gain ?

“ The grateful mem’ry of the Good. $ 82, Ode on the Installation of the Duke of

“ Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r, Grafion. Irregular. GRAY.

“ The bee's collected treasures sweet,

“ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet HENCE, avaunt 'tis holy ground) Comus, and his midnight crew,

" The ftill finall voice of Gratitude.” “ And Ignorance with looks profound,

Foremost, and Icaning from her golden cloud, And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

The venerable Marg’ret fee ! " Mad Sedition's cry profane,

“ Welcome, my noble Son (she cries aloud) “ Servitude that hugs her chain,

To this, thy kindred train, and me : « Norinthate confecrated bow'rs [How'rs.

“ Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace

" A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. “ Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent - train in “ Nor Envy base, nor crecping Gain,

“ Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging cye, « Dare the Muse’s walk to Itain,

“ The How'r unlieeded shall defcry, " While bright-ey'd Science watches round:

“ And bid it round heav'n's altars thed “ Hence, away, 'tis holy ground !”

“ The fragrance of its blushing head :

- Shall raise from earth the latent gem From vonder realins of empyrean day

“ To glitter on the diadem. Burits on my ear th'indignant lay :

“ Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, There fit the tainted Sage, the Bard divine,

“ Not obvious, not obstrusive, she The few whom Genius gave to thine

“ No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.

“ Nor dares, with courtly tongue refin’d, Rapt in celcftial transport they,

“ Profane thy inborn royalty of mind : Yet bither oft a glance from high

“ She reveres herself and thee. They send of tender sympathy

“ With modeft pride to grace thy youthful bror To bless the place, where on their op’ning soul

“ The laureate wreath, that Cecil ore, the First the genuine ardor stole.

“ And to thy just, thy gentle hand [brings, •Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd shell,

“ Submits the fasces of her sway, And, as the choral warblings round him well,

“ While fpirits bleft above, and men below (lay. Meek Newton's relf bends from his itate fublime,

Join with glad voice the loud symphonius And nods his hoary head, and liitens to the

“Thro’the wild waves as they roar “ Ye brown o'er-arching gro:es, (rhyme.

" With watchful eye and dauntless mien " That contemplation loves,

“ Thy steady course of honour keep, “ Where willowy Camus lingers with delight !

“ Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore : « Oft at the bluth of dawn

“ The Star of Brunrivick fmiles serene, “ I trod your level lawy,

“ And giids the horrors of the decp." “ Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright “ In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, “ With Freedom by my side, and soft - ey'd § 83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLI, " Melancholy."

OFI

FT I've implor'd the gods in vain, But hark! the portals found, and pacing forth

And pray'd till I've been weary : With folemn steps and flow,

For once I'll try my with to gain, High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth,

Of Oberon the Fairy. And mitred Fathers in long order go:

Sweet airy being, wanton (prite, Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow That lurk’li in woods unfcen, From haughty Callia torn,

And oft by Cynthia's filver light And sad Chatillon, on her bridal mom

Tripp'st gaily o'er the green ;

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f e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As ancient ftories tell,
And for th'Athenian maid who lov'd,
Thou fought'ft a wond'rous 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 ease :

Nor peace nor eafe 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 each degree:

'Tis blifs but to a certain bound

Bevond is agony.

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Take then this treach'rous fenfe of mine,
Which doors me ftill to fmart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine;

To pains new pangs impart.

Oh! hafte to fhed the facred balm !
My fhatter'd nerves new ftring;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,

The nymph Indiff'rence bring.
At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly;
And Difappointment in the rear,
That blafts the promis'd joy.
The tear which pity taught to flow,
The eye fhall then difown;

The heart that melts for others woe,
Shall then fearce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,

Each moment then thall clofe;

And tranquil days fhall ftill fucceed

To nights of calm repose.

O fairy clf but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;

And fo may never-fading blifs
Thy flow'ry paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead

To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread.

And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd

With heav'n's ambrofial dew;
From fivecteft, fretheft low'rs diftill'd,
That faed fresh foeets for
you.

And what of life reinaius for me
I'll pafs in fober cafe ;.

Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,

Content but half to pleafe.

$84. The Fairy's Anfwer to Mrs. Greville's Praver for Indifference.

By the Countess of C▬▬.

WITHOUT preamble to my friend,
Thele hatty lines I'm bid to fend,

Or give, if I am able:

I dare not hesitate to say,
Tho' I have trembled all the day-
It looks fo like a fable.

Laft night's adventure is my theme;
And fhould it ftrike you as a dream,
Yet foon its high import
Muft make your own the matter fuch,
So delicate, it were too much
To be compos'd in fport.

The moon did fhine ferenely bright,
And ev'ry ftar did deck the night,
While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
No more affail'd my mind's repose,
Save that yon ftream, which murm'ring flows,
Did echo to the breeze.

Enwrapt in folemn thoughts, I fate,
Revolving o'er the turns of fate,

Yet void of hope or fear;

When lo! behold an aëry throng,
With lighteft fteps, and jocund fong,
Surpriz'd my eye and ear.

A form, fuperior to the reft,
His little voice to me addreft,

And gently thus began:

"I've heard strange things from one of you; "Pray tell me if you think 'tis true;

66

Explain it if you can.

"Such incenfe has perfum'd my throne!
"Such eloquence my heart has won !
"I think I guefs the hand :

"I know her wit and beauty too;
"But why the fends a pray'r fo new,
"I cannot understand.

"To light fome flames, and fome revive,
"To keep fome others juft alive,

"Full oft I am implor'd;

"But, with peculiar pow'r to please, "To fupplicate for nought but eafe→ "'Tis odd, upon my word!

"Tell her, with fruitlefs care I've fought, "And tho' my realms, with wonders fraught "In remedies abound,

"No grain of cold Indifference "Was ever yet ally'd to fenfe "In all my fairy round.

"The regions of the fky I'd trace, "I'd ranfack ev'ry earthly place,

"Fach le tf, each herb, each flow'r, “To mitigate the pangs of fear, "Difpel the clouds of black defpair, "Or lull the reftiefs hour.

"I would be gen'rous as I'm juft, "But I obey, as others muft,

"Thofe laws which fate has made. "My tiny kingdom how defend, "And hat might be the horrid end,

"Should man my fate invade ?

"Twould put your mind into a rage; "And fuch unequal war to wage

Suits not my regal duty!
"I dare not change a first decree,
"She's doom'd to please, nor can be free ;
"Such is the lot of beauty!"

This said, he darted o'er the plain,
And after follow'd all his train;
No glimpfe of him I find :
But fure I am, the little fpright
Thefe words, before he took his flight,
Imprinted on my mind.

$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 Heav'n will blefs your store.
Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak;
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

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

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !
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 shed.

Oh take me to your hofpitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my palage 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 breaft,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.

Heav'n fends misfortunes; why fhould we re-
pine?

'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the ftate you fee;
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The Child of Sorrow and of Mifery.
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 dy'd, 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 itern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to defpair,

And left the world to wretchednefs and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man, [door.;
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the shorteft fpan.
Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will biefs your
flore.

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Hac Jovem fentire, Deofque Cun&tos
Spem bonam certamque domum reporto. Hos
THE peaceful ev'ning breathes her hair
ftore,
[green
The playful fchool boys wanton o'er the
Where fpreading poplars fhade the cottage-doc
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 heav'nly maid repays the toils of day. The river murmurs, and the breathing gale

Whispers the gently-waving boughs among: The ftar of ev'ning glimmers o'er the dale, And leads the filent hoft of Heav'n along. How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-cal height,

The filver empress 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 refcard, The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant gla The bat, low-wheeling, skims the dufky ground Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale

The Gothic abbey rears its fculptur'd town, Dull through the roofs refounds the whi

Dark folitude among the pillars lowrs. [gal Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of grat And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the wind

waves,

And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftam, There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,

Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his ftaff reclin'd, Por

Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray
High o'er the pines,that with their dark'ning f

Its crumbling turrets: ftill its tow'ry head
Surround yon craggy bank, the calle rears

A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears.
So, midft the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn vet'ran's brow attends;
Still his big bones his youthful prime declare,
Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he berdi
Wild round the gates the dusky wall - flow
[have led;
Where oft the knights the beauteous dans
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 froin the fight,

creep,

Great in their bloody arms, march'do'er the lea, Eying their refou'd fields with proud delight! Now loft to them! - and ah! how chang't

to me!

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,

The dear idea of my Pollio bring; [trees So fhone the moon through thefe foft nodds When here we wander'd in the eves of fre

WE

When April's fimiles the flow'ry lawn adorn, And modeft cowflips deck the ftreamlet's fide; When fragrant orchards to the roseat morn Unfold their bloom, in heav'n's own colours dy'd,

So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore ;

Thefe were the emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page difplay'd its lore;

To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him, with her pureft flames the Mufe endow'd, Flames never to th'illib'ral thought ally'd; The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charins: he faw, he felt, and dy'd. Oh, partner of my infant griefs and joys!

Big with the fcenes now paft, my heart o'erBids each endearment, fair as once, to rife, [flows; 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 ev'ning dew; When all was fearlefs innocence and glee. 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 powers;

For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh,
where,
[hind!
Where haft thou fled, and left me here be-
My tend'reft wifh, my heart to thee was bare,
Oh, now cut off each paffage to thy mind!
How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void,
The tracklefs fhores that never were repass'd!
Dread feparation! on the depth untry'd,

Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghaft!
Wide round the spacious heav'ns I caft my eyes:
And fhall thefe ftars glow with immortal fire!
Still fhine the lifelefs 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 fcorns the bounds of
time,

Chill'd in this vale of death, but languifh here. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,

The languid ftranger feebly buds, and dies:
Yet there's a clime where Virtue fhall expand
With godlike ftrength beneath her native fkies!
The lonely fhepherd on the mountain's fide,
With patience waits the rofy op'ning day:
The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide,
With cheerful hope expects the morning ray:
Thus I, on life's form-beaten ocean tofs'd,

In mental vifion view the happy fhore
Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coaft,
Where Fate and Death divide the friends no
more !

Oh, that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade,
Who now, perhaps, frequents this folemn
Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead, [grove,
And from my eyes the mortal film remove!

Vain is the wish-yet furely not in vain

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

And wings his fpirit with fublime defire ! To fan this fpark of Heav'n, this ray divine, Still, O my foul! ftill be thy dear employ; Still thus to wander thro' the fhades be thine, And swell thy breast with visionary joy ! So to the dark-brow'd wood, or facred mount, In ancient days, the holy feers retir'd, And, led in vifion, drank at Siloe's fount, While rifing extafies their bofoms fir'd: Reftor'd creation bright before them rofe;

The burning defarts fmil'd as Eden's plains; One friendly fhade the wolf and lambkin chofe; The flow'ry mountain fung, Melliah reigns!' Tho' fainter raptures my cold breaft infpire,

Yet let me oft frequent this folemn fcene; Oft to the abbey's fhatter'd walls retire, [tween: What time the moonthine dimly gleams be There, where the cross in hoary ruin nods,

And weeping yews o'erfhade the letter'd ftones, While midnight filence wraps thefe drear abodes, And foothes me wand'ring o'er my kindred

bones,

Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn When from the burfting graves the just shall All Nature fmiling, and by angels borne, [rife Melliah's crofs far blazing o'er the fkies.

$87. The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET. MOURN, haplefs Caledonia, mourn

Thy fons, for valour long renown'd,
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn !
Lic flaughter'd on their native ground;
Invite the ftranger to the door;
Thy hospitable roofs no more
In fmoky ruins funk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.
The wretched owner fees, afar,
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
His all become the prey of war;
Then finites his breaft, and curfes life.
Thy fwains are famish'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravifh'd virgins fhrick in vain,
Thy infants peril on the plain.
What boots it then, in ev'ry clime,
Thro' the wide-fpreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praife,
Still thone with undiminifh'd blaze?
Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke:
What foreign arms could nes er 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:

* Ec

No

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, oh, fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The fons against their fathers stood;
The parent fhed his childrens 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,
Forfaken, wanders o'er the heath;
The bleak wind whiftles round her head;
Her helpless orphans cry for bread!
Bereft of fhelter, food, and friend,
She views the fhades of night defcend,
And, ftretch'd beneath th'inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies!
Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns,
Refentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breaft fhall beat;
And, fpite of her infulting foe,
My fympathizing verfe fhall flow,
"Mourn, haplets Caledonia, mourn
"Thy banifh'd peace, thy laurels torn!"

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SMOLLET.

$88. Ode to Mirth.
ARENT of joy! heart-eafing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born!
Yet Goddefs fure of heav'nly birth,
Vifit benign a fon of Grief forlorn:
Thy glittring colours gay
Around him, Mirth, diplay;
And o'er his raptur'd fenfe
Diffufe thy living influence:

So fhall each hill, in purer green array'd,
And flow'r adorn'd in new-born beauty glow:
The grove fhall fmooth the horrors of the
fhade,

And ftreams in murmurs fhall forget to flow. Shine, Goddefs, fhine with unremitted ray, [day. And gild (a fecond fun) with brighter beam our

Labour with thee forgets his pain, And aged Poverty can fmile with thee; If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, And weak th'uplifted arm of Tyranny. The morning opes on high

His univerfal eye;

And on the world doth

pour

[ray,

His glories in a golden fhow'r.
Lo! Darkness, tranbling 'fore the hoftile
Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn:
The brood obfcene, that own her gloomy
fway,
Troop in her rear, and fly th'approach of morn.

Benjamin Stillingfleet was the only fon of Edward and grandson to Dr. Stillingtieet, Bishop of Worcester.

Pale fhiv'ring ghoits, that dread th'all ther light,

Quick as the lightnings flafh, glide to fe

But whence the gladd'ning beam

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

With Laughter at her fide.
Bright-ey'd Fancy hov'ring near,
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And Wit flings his pointed dart,
young
That guiltless ftrikes the willing hear
Fear not now Affliction's pow'r,
Fear not now wild Paflion's rage,

Nor fear ye aught in evil hour,
Save the tardy hand of Age.
Now Mirth hath heard the fuppliant Poet's pr
No cloud that rides the blaft fhall ves
troubled air.

ΟΝ

$89. Ode to Leven Water. SMOLLET.
Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envy'd not the happieft fwain
That ever trod th'Arcadian plain.

Pure ftream! in whofe tranfparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents ftain thy limpid fource,
No rocks impede thy dimpling courfe,
That fweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles fpread;
While, lightly pois'd, the fcaly brood
In myriads cleave thy cryftal flood.
The fpringing trout, in fpeckl'd pride;
The falmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthlefs pike, intent on war;
The filver cel and mottled par,
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
And hedges, flow'r'd with eglantine.
By bow'rs of birch, and groves of pine,

Still on thy banks, fo gaily green,
And laffes, chanting o'er the pail;
May num'rous herds and flocks be feen;
And thepherds, piping in the dale;
And ancient faith, that knows no guile,
And induftry, imbrown'd with roil;
And hearts refolv'd, and hands prepar'd,
The bleflings they enjoy to guard !

§ 90.
An Efay on Converfatisa.
* STILLINGFLEET.
Oderunt hilarem triftes, triftemque incef,
Sedatum celeres, agilem gnocumque rer

Het.

THE art of Converse, how to footh the fo
Of haughty man, his paffions to control,
Stillingflect, a clergyman in the

County

of North |

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