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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.

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:

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“Fear not, pure shades 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 thine, plain, woodland, hill and dale.

“Wouldst thou with Wisdom's sons divide the scene :
“. Lo! PHERE cydes, Solon at thy will;

“The SAM1AN, THALEs, EP1c U R Us keen,
St AGIRA's sage, and Plato sager still.

“There, pride of Rome! th’ illustrious Catos shine; “ Brutus and Pliny, Tully sweet of sound;

* There SENEcA and MARcus named divine “By rank imperial less than virtue crowned.

“Compatriot with thyself, amid the throng,
“See Locke, see BAcox, 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 PER1cles of old,
“Like thunder, threw o'er deep-distracted Greece;

“The torrent of DeMost HEN Es behold;
“The golden periods, none would wish to cease:

, “ Drink from the Cice Ros IAN fount that flows
“Copious and calm : there Fox, in future time,
“ Not meanly seated, hid them shall repose,
“Or break in tones as cogent and sublime.

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* Or wouldst thou mid thy favorite bards retreat, “And hear them still . melodies resume?

“ Lo! Linus, Hesiod, Moschus, BioN sweet, “Homer divine, and Pindar bold of plume.

“ Euripepes, the drama's perfect type,
“ MEschylus 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 Luck Etius 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, Pop E,

* DRY DEN, and he, who most the soul could seize “With mimic terror, or celestial hope.

Immortal SHAkes per E: nor remotely roves
“Pale Cowper, still by many a friend bewailed;
Whom melancholy to th’ infernal groves
“ Sent immature, e'er nature half had failed.

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“ Bards, sages, patriots—go, attend at will;
“ For thee the train of heroes boasts no charm :
“Spurn them—a race whom basest passions fill,
“Wain, 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 #. 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, -
“Wain, 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


“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 WAKE Field | 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 every ill.

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 I

Soliloquy of the Royal Bride.

[From Mr. Good's Translation of the Song of Songs.]

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> WAS my beloved's voice.—With rapture new,
T 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 the young vines, the vineyards, from their spoil,
“And to inv love presen: 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!

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I FT 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 1
My panting heart is ravished by thy lovel
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,
I)eep 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

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Awake, O North-wind come, thou southern breeze!
Elow 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.


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


(Translated by Mr. Good, from the Persian of KHAKAN1.) [From the same Work.]

HO art thou?—say:—with cypress shape,
W Soft, jasmine neck, but flinty heart:
Tyrant from whom 'tis vain to escape—
O tell me who thou art?

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Drunk with the wine thy charms display,
Thy slave Khakani hails his smart:
I'd die to know thy name!--then say
What deity thou art?

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