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Who lead fair Virtue's train along,
Moral Truth, and myftic Song !
To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendlefs, fhall ye fly?
Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore?
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?
When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore,
See Arts her favage fons controul,
And Athens rifing near the pole !
"Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.
ANTIS TROPHE II.
Ye Gods! what juftice rules the ball!
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,
In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!
Still, when the luft of tyrant pow'r fucceeds,
Some Athens perifhes, fome Tully bleeds.
CHORUS of YOUTHS and VIRGINS.
H Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft
The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast?
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,
And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, foft intruder, enters here,
But entring learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, Virtue, doft thou blame defire,
Which Nature has impreft?
Why, Nature, doft thou fooneft fire
The mild and gen'rous breast?
flames the Gods approve;
The Gods and Brutus bend to love :
Brutus for abfent Porcia fighs,
And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes,
What is loofe love? a tranfient guft,
Spent in a fudden storm of luft,
A vapour fed from wild defire,
A wand'ring, felf-confuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;
And burn for ever one;
Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.
Oh fource of ev'ry focial tye,
United wifh, and mutual joy!
What various joys on one attend,
As fon, as father, brother, husband, friend?
Whether his hoary fire he fpies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arife;
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his fmiling progeny;
Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes, Hence falfe tears, deceits, disguises, Dangers, doubts, delays, furprizes;
What tender paffions take their turns,
What home-felt raptures move?
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With rev'rence, hope, and love.
Fires that fcorch, yet dare not shine:
Pureft love's unwasting treasure,
Conftant faith, fair hope, long leifure,
Days of eafe, and nights of pleafure;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
APPY the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread; 5
Whofe flocks fupply him with attire,
Whofe trees in fummer yield him fhade,
In winter fire.
Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease,
Together mixt; fweet recreation :
And innocence, which most does please
Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone,
Tell where I lie.
a This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old.
The dying Chriftian to his SouL.
ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame :
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, ceafe thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my fenfes, thuts my fight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With founds feraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting?