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Meanwhile betake thee to the fields of bliss,

Th’Elysian plains no cloud can e'er eclipse :
For not for thee yawns Ereb's dread abyss,

Nor pitchy Phlegeton shall soil thy lips.

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No grey-beard judge shall now thy cause decide ;

Impartial Minos here the balance holds :
Hark! as he sees thy spirit onward glide,

His tongue the ready plaudit thus unfolds:

“ Fear not, pure shade! thy sufferings all, we know;

“ These Hermes long has hastened to reveal :
“ Though right and wrong be oft misnamed below,

“ Substantial justice, here, alone we deal.
“ Here rank is nought, and nought imperious power;

• 'Tis VIRTUE, VIRTUE only can avail.
Go-choose thy lot-command each future hour,

“ All, all is thíne, plain, woodland, hill and dale.

« Wouldst thou with Wisdom's sons divide the scene

“ Lo! PHERECYDES, Solon at thy will;
“ The Samian, THALES, EPICURUS keen,

Stagira’s sage, and Plato sager still.
Thete, pride of Rome! th' illustrious Catos shine ;

“ Brutus and Pliny, TULLY sweet of sound;
“ There SENECA and MARCUS named dicine

“ 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

« 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.

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“ 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.

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“ 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:
“ Hence, ye prophane! your sight my soul appals;

“ Let never tyrant near my paths be found.”
Most wise thy choice, dear WAKEFIELD! Such to me

Should fate vouchsafe, thy harpings I will join ;
Yes, to thy heavenly harpings will I flee,

And strike, with trembling hand, the strings divine.
Loud will I strike them if the Muses smile,

Sweet Terpsicore, Erato sweeter still:
The Muses-every grief that best beguile,
To me an antidote for



Hear them, my friend! and with them oft unite;

Soon shall I join thee, as these tremors tell ;
Faint are my limbs-already Death's in sight-

But, 'tis enough-respected shade, farewell !

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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.
Lo! through the window, through the lattice green,
Hard by the door, right early was he seen.
« Arise, my love !" 'twas thus I heard him say,
« Arise, my love! my fair one, come away!
“ Gone is the winter, and the rains are o'er,
« And the fresh fields their yearly blossoms pour ;
“ The birds their songs resume through every grove,
“ The glossy turtle wakes his voice to love;
“ Her figs the fig-tree sweetens-o'er the vine,
“ Fragrant and fresh, the lucid clusters shine,-,
“Woods, hills, and valleys, all their charms display,
" Arise, my love! my fair one, come away.
“O! from thy clefts, thy fastnesses appear ;
“ Here bend thy voice, my dove! thy visage here:
“ Look through the lattice, bid my heart rejoice,
“ For dear to me thy visage, and thy voice.
“ And you, companions ! haste--the way prepare,--

« Root out the foxes from each felon lair;

" Save

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“ Save the young vines, the vineyards, from their spoil,
“ And to my love present a fertile soil.”

I am my love's, and my beloved mine :
The sweets of lilies on his lips combine;
Till breathe the morning, and the shadows fly,
Blest in my beating bosom shall he lie.
Return! return! let eve thy love bestow!
Haste as, o'er Bether's hill, the bounding roe!

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.
Look down from Amana, from Shenir's height,
Where savage howls disturb the drowsy night ;
From tangled Lebanon, from Hermon come,
From pards, from lions---here behold thy, home.
My heart is thine, my sister-spouse! my dove!
My panting heart is ravished by thy love!
Thine eye but glances, and my spirit burns ;
Thy graceful neck subdues me as it turns.
How dear to me the thought that thou art mine!
How more delicious than the choicest wine!
How sweet thy fragrance ; to my soul that yields
A balm beyond the spices of the fields.
Thy lips with dropping honey-combs are hung,
Milk, milk and honey dwell beneath thy tongue ;
And Lebanon, in luscious odours drest,
Pours all his incense o'er thy bridal vest.
My bride! my love! in thee perfection meets;
A garden art thou, filled with matchless sweets ;
A garden walled, those matchless sweets to shield;
A spring inclosed, a fountain fresh and sealed;
A paradise of plants---where all unite,
Dear to the smell, the palate, or the sight:
Of rich pomegranates, that at random blow;
Cyprus and nard, in fragrant gales that flow;
Nard, saffron, cinnamon, the dulcet airs,
Deep through its canes, the calamus prepares;
The scented aloes, and each shrub that showers
Gums from its veins, and spices from its flowers ;---
O pride of gardens ! fount of endless sweets !
Well-spring of all in Lebanon that meets' !

Awake, O North-wind! come, thou southern breeze!
Blow on my garden, and refresh its trees;

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That my beloved through its bowers may roam,
Feast on its fruits, and here elect his home.


Into thy garden am I come, my love !
And gather balsams from each spicy grove:
On milk I banquet, on the honied comb,
Rills of rich wine, and here I fix my home.


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Eat, O my friend! O drink with ample draught,
Deep be the bowl by my beloved quaffed.

To an UNKNOWN Fair.

(Translated by Mr. Good, from the Persian of KHAKANI.)

[From the same Work.]
THO art thou ?-say:-wih cypress shape,

Soft, jasmine neck, but flinty heart :
Tyrant! from whom ’tis vain to escape-

O tell me who thou art ?


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