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Meanwhile betake thee to the fields of bliss,
Th’Elysian plains no cloud can e'er eclipse :
Nor pitchy Phlegeton shall soil thy lips.
No grey-beard judge shall now thy cause decide ;
Impartial Minos here the balance holds :
His tongue the ready plaudit thus unfolds:
“ Fear not, pure shade! thy sufferings all, we know;
“ These Hermes long has hastened to reveal :
“ Substantial justice, here, alone we deal.
• 'Tis VIRTUE, VIRTUE only can avail.
“ All, all is thíne, plain, woodland, hill and dale.
« Wouldst thou with Wisdom's sons divide the scene
“ Lo! PHERECYDES, Solon at thy will;
Stagira’s sage, and Plato sager still.
“ Brutus and Pliny, TULLY sweet of sound;
“ By tank imperial less than virtue crowned. • Compatriot with thyself, amid the throng,
“ See Locke, see Bacon, of coequal boast; “ See Newton, first the sapient train among,
“ The fame and glory of the British coast. « Or does thine ear sweet oratory please,
“ With soothing sound, and soul-compelling power ; " Lo! where ÆOLIDEs suspends the breeze ;
“ The honeyed stream from Nestor's lip devour : « Feast on the tones that PERICLES of old,
“ Like thunder, threw o'er deep-distracted Greece; “ The torrent of DEMOSTHENES behold;
“ The golden periods, none would wish to cease : " Drink from the CICERONIAN fount that flows
“ Copious and calm : there Fox, in future time, “ Not meanly seated, mid them shall repose,
“ Or break in tones as cogent and sublime.
« Or wouldst thou mid thy favorite bards retreat,
“ And hear them still their melodies resume ? « Lo! Linus, Hesiod, Moschus, Bion sweet,
“ Homer divine, and Pindar bold of plume. « EURIPEDES, the drama's perfect type,
“ Æschylus there, and SOPHOCLES resort ; “ The swain Sicilian tunes his oaten pipe,
“ And, mid his snows, ANACREON still would sport. “ There Maro, Flaccus, and the bard who fell
« Victim to love to love the art he taught ; « Sublime LUCRETIUS whom thy toils, so well
“ Spent while on earth, with splendor new have fraught. “ There roam they all consociate ; and with these
“ The British bards, ethereal Milton, Pore, “ Dryden, and he, who most the soul could seize
“ With mimic terror, or celestial hope. “ Immortal SHAKESPERE: nor remotely roves
“ Pale Cowper, still by many a friend bewailed; u Whom melancholy to th' infernal groves
“ Sent immature, e'er nature half had failed. “ Bards, sages, patriots-go, attend at will;
“ For thee the train of heroes boasts no charm: “ Spurn them-a race whom basest passions fill,
“ Vain, proud, perverse, intent on human harm.” He ceased. And straight thy favored shade, I thought,
Thus, GILBERT ! to the righteous judge replied: “ Since mine the boon to choose my future lot,
“Oh! mid the sages let me e'er reside : « Mid genuine sages, not the sophist race,
“ Whom now, as ever, from my heart I hate ; " Nor give me oft mid orators a place,
“ Vain, senseless wranglers, full of fume and prate.
“ Such, mid the senate, seemed loquacious Pitt;
“ To pour the wordy torrent never loth: “ Such WINDHAM, when, by passion roused, he spit
“ His bursting vomica of bilious froth. « O! let me oftener mid the bards renowned
My station take and join their dulcet lay: “ O! let the bards, with soft melodious sound,
* Soothe me, revive, and all my bosom sway.
“ But from your heroes ever let me fly
“ Arms, impious arms, their hands barbarian wield; “ Unawed by all the terrors of the sky,
“ To all the charities of Nature steeled.
“ Struck by their spear, lo! heavenly freedom falls,
“ And countless burdens crush the crowds around:
“ Let never tyrant near my paths be found.”
Should fate vouchsafe, thy harpings I will join ;
And strike, with trembling hand, the strings divine.
Sweet Terpsicore, Erato sweeter still:
Hear them, my friend! and with them oft unite;
Soon shall I join thee, as these tremors tell ;
But, 'tis enough-respected shade, farewell !
SOLILOQUY of the Royal Bride. [From Mr. Good's TRANSLATION of the Song of Songs.]
TWAS my beloved's voice.-With rapture new,
Light as a hart, o'er heights and hills he flew.
« Root out the foxes from each felon lair;
“ Save the young vines, the vineyards, from their spoil,
I am my love's, and my beloved mine :
COLLOQUY between King Soloman and his Royal Bride.
[From the same.]
ET dreams or dangers menace as they may,
Still shall these arms, my love! the tempest stay.
That my beloved through its bowers may roam,
Into thy garden am I come, my love !
Eat, O my friend! O drink with ample draught,
To an UNKNOWN Fair.
(Translated by Mr. Good, from the Persian of KHAKANI.)
[From the same Work.]
Soft, jasmine neck, but flinty heart :
O tell me who thou art ?