How, when fond thoughts the pleafing theme pursue,
Does anxious Doubt thus terminate the view* !
Yet still to God let pure devotion rise,
All powerful, juft, all merciful, and wife;
Whose piercing eye each fecret fraud detects ;
Whose wisdom governs, and whofe care directs;
That Time nor Fate hath in confufion hurl'd
The beauty, order, grandeur of the world.

Hence, where fome mountain, awful to the fight †,
Rears it's rude fummit to yon realms of light,
Let humble prayer, propitiating the sky,
The body proftrate, or uplift the eye;
There glad thanksgiving grateful altars raife!
There choral Pæans fwell the fong of praise!.
Let no corruption near thy palace spread,
Nor dire Oppreffion rear her iron head.
There heaven-born virtues fhall attract the fight,
Peace, Love, and Charity, divinely bright;
There Bounty, guided by Difcretion's hand ‡,
Shall deal her favours to a grateful land;

There Truth fhall fmile, in awful state enfhrin'd,
The fair refemblance of th' Eternal Mind;
There Mercy fhall vouchfafe her milder word,
There Juftice brandifh her impartial fword;

The notions of the wifet heathens concerning a future ftate were mixed with such doubts and uncertainties, that the strongest expreflions of their philofophers upon this fubject are little better than mere scepticism, when compared to the difcoveries of the gospel, which alone has brought life and immortality to their fulleft light.

The Perfians generally performed their religious exercifes in the open air, on high places; thinking it derogatory from the majefty of the Deity, to fhut that God up within walls, who fhould have the earth for his altar, and the whole world for his temple.

It is a fine compliment that Pliny pays to the munificence of the Emperor Trajan: Augeo principis munus, quum oftendo liberalitati ejus ineffe rationem.

Shall

Shall right the injur'd, and the weak defend,
Each orphan's guardian, and each widow's friend.
Purfue, great prince, pursue th' important plan;
Be fear'd as monarch, but be lov'd as man.

And when my foul, fair tenant, flies away
From this frail manfion mould'ring to decay,
No coftly pile with funeral grandeur burn,
Nor cull my afhes for the pompous urn;
Far other honours let these relicks have;
The low-delv'd chamber of fome filent grave:
Where, when our gloomy long abode we fix,
The human particles with earthly mix,
Whilft beyond Fate and Fortune's fartheft line,
For ever lives the particle divine.

Yet make my tomb to future ages known,
And with a modest verse infcribe the ftone *
The verse shall preach fome moral truth to man-
That fortune's various, or that life's a span;
That vain the pomp and pageantry of state,
That weak the mighty, and that frail the great;
Grandeur a bubble! honours empty all!
That heroes perish, and that monarchs fall.

And now, my friends, receive the parting view!
Prefs my chill'd hand, and bid the last adieu!
Call my dear Perfians round the folemn bier,
And you, my fellow-foldiers †, you be there!

* Plutarch tells us, that Alexander, upon his first coming into Afia, found the fepulchre of Cyrus inscribed with an epitaph; and was exceedingly affected with fo serious a leffon upon the inftability of all human affairs.

+ Cyrus's remarkable humanity, munificence, and affability, to his foldiery, are frequently mentioned by Xenophon; his harangues to them, before any military enterprize, are particularly fine; himself and his whole army went to prayers, fung an hymn, and performed other duties to Heaven, before and after battle, and always made the firft onfet in the name of Esus Zwing zaι ilyeμov; that is, his country god, the protector and leader.

With me who brav'd Arabia's pathlefs lands,
Bleak Scythia's coafts, and India's burning fands;
While ftrew'd on heaps around the foaming fteed,
Or groan'd th' Affyrian, or expir'd the Mede.
Brave troops! by whom, as Heaven protecting led,
Great Crofus fell, and proud Belshazzar bled.

But now, frajl Health, how wan thy roses seem!
In flower currents flows the purple stream:
No more this breaft with martial rage shall glow,
Nor rush all vengeance on the adverse foe;
No more this arm the flaming faulchion wield,
Or gather laurels from the well-fought field!
No more for fee the dire difeafe prevail,
My nerves all tremble, all my spirits fail!
Ah! why thofe cries? fee lovely Reason near
To calm the foul, and wipe off every tear!
O! rather all your wonted joys renew!
If life I leave, I leave it's troubles too:
For, if my happy foul to God afcends,
Or in mere nothing if my being ends,

Death foon fhall waft me to fome unknown fhore,
Where labours end, and forrows are no more:
Where patriot heroes in the peaceful shade,
No factions threaten, and no foes invade;
Where long oblivion, ending anxious ftrife,
Stills the wild hurry of a noify life;

Or where all joys with heart-felt ease abound,
Whilft youthful fpring for ever blooms around.

Come then, dear pledges of connubial joy;
Come, give the fond embrace, and let me die:
Next, to your mother all this fcene impart *;

How will it wound, fad tale! her tender heart!

Cyrus married the daughter of Cyaxares; who was a very beautiful young princess, and had the kingdom of Medea for her portion.

Her

Her heart by grief too delicately mov'd,
For ever loving, and for ever lov'd.

Ah! now what ease employs her fofter hours,

Near murm'ring fountains, or in cooling bowers,
At Sufa's royal court? what princely care

Far from her dying lord detains my fair?

Where now that tongue, that never ceas'd to charm?
Where the foft fmile that fickness could difarm?
Or where the hands my weary eyes to close,
The last kind office in my last repofe?

How oft I nam'd her with my latest breath,
How blefs'd her abfent, in the midft of death,
Ye confcious fkies, ye lights celestial, tell!
Farewel, O lovelieft of thy fex, farewel!
Farewel, my chiefs, in my example fee

What monarch, general, patriot, friend, fhould be.

ROXANA TO US BECK.

FROM LES LETTRES PERSANNES.

BY LORD HERVEY.

Roxana, one of Ufbeck's wives, was found (whilft he was in Europe) in bed with her lover, whom she had privately let into the feraglio. The guardian eunuch who discovered them had the man murdered on the fpot, and her clofe guarded till he received inftructions from his master how to dispose of her. During that interval she swallowed poifon, and is fuppofed to write the following letter whilft fhe is dying.

T

HINK not I write my innocence to prove,
To fue for pity, or awake thy love;

No mean defence expect, or abject prayers,

Thou know'ft no mercy, and I know no tears:

I laugh

I laugh at all thy vengeance has decreed,
Avow the fact, and glory in the deed.

Yes, tyrant! I deceiv'd thy fpies and thee;
Pleas'd in oppreffion, and in bondage free;
The rigid agents of thy cruel laws.
By gold I won to aid my jufter caufe;
With dext'rous fkill eluded all thy care,
And acted more than jealoufy could fear:
To wanton bow'rs this prifon-house I turn'd,
And blefs'd that abfence which you thought I mourn'd.
But fhort thofe joys allow'd by niggard Fate,

Yet fo refin'd, fo exquifitely great,

That their excefs compenfated their date.

I die; already in each burning vein

I feel the pois'nous draught, and bless the pain :
For what is life unless it's joys we prove?
And where is joy, depriv'd of what we love?
Yet, ere I die, this juftice I have paid
To my dear murder'd lover's injur'd fhade:
Thofe facrilegious inftruments of power,
Who wrought that ruin these fad eyes deplore,
Already with their blood their crimes atone,
And for his life have facrific'd their own.

Thee, tho' refraint and abfence may defend
From my revenge, my curfes ftill attend:
Defpair like mine, barbarian! be thy part;
Remorfe afflict, and forrow fting thy heart.

Nor think this hate commencing in my breaft, Tho' prudence long it's latent force fupprefs'd; I knew those wrongs that I was forc'd to bear, And curs'd thofe chains injuftice made me wear.

For couldst thou hope Roxana to deceive With idle tales, which only fools believe? Poor abject fouls, in fuperftition bred,

In ignorance train'd, by prejudice mifled;