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fhare ;

So, when destruction lurks unseen,
Which men like mice

may
May some kind angel clear thy path,

And break the hidden snare.

THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.

BY DR. WATTS.

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HY should our joys transform to pain?

Why gentle Hymen's filken chain,

A plague of iron prove! • Good Gods! ?tis frange, the chain that binds 5 Millions of hands, fhould leave their minds

7 At such a loose from love !"

In vain I fought the wond'rous cause;
Search'd the wide fields of nature's laws,

And urg'd the schools in vain :
Till deep in thought, within my breast
My soul retir'd, and flamber dress'd

A bright inftructive scene.

D'er the wide land, and cross the tide,
On Fancy's airy wing I ride;

Sweet rapture of the mind!
Till on the banks of Ganges' flood,
In a tall ancient grove I stood,

For sacred use design'd.

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Hard by, a venerable priest,
Ris'n with his god, the fun, from reft; "..
Began his morning song:

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Thrice

Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream;
The birth of fouls was all his theme,

And half divine his tongue.

He sang th'eternal rolling flame;
That vital mass that's still the same,

Does all our minds compose: Whence shap'd in twice ten thousand frames, Whence differing fouls of different names

And different passions rose.

7 The mighty Pow'r that form'd the mind, One mould for ev'ry two defign'd;

• Then bless’d the new-born pair : « This be a match for this,” he faid; · Then down he sent the souls he made,

• To seek them bodies here.

• But parting from their warm abode's, They lost their fellows on the roads,

And never join'd their hands: • O cruel chance, and crossing fates ! • Our Eastern souls have lost their matės

• On Europe's barbarous lands !'

Thus fang the wond'rous Indian bard;
My listening ear attentive heard,

Whilft Ganges ceas'd to flow: · Sure, then,' said I could I but fee The gentle nymph that twin'd with me,

I might be happy too!'

Some courteous angel tell me where,
What diftant lands the unknown fair,

7. Or diftant feas detain-;!

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ROM lofty themes, from thoughts that foar'd on high,

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My Muse, descend ! indulge my fond defire;
With fofter thoughts my melting foul inspire,
And smooth my numbers to a female's praise :
A partial world will listen to my lays,
While Anna reigns, and sets a female name.
Unrivall'd in the glorious lifts of Fame.

Hear, ye fair daughters of this happy land!
Whose radiant eyes the vanquish'd world command:
Virtue is beauty ; but when charms of mind
With elegance of outward form are join'd;
When youth makes such bright objects ftill, more bright,
And Fortune sets them in the strongeft light,
'Tis all of heav'n that we below may view,
And all but adoration is your due.

Fam'd female virtue did this ille adorn
Ere Ormond, or her glorious queen, was born:

When

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When now Maria's pow'rful arms prevail'd,
And haughty Dudley's bold ambition fail'd,
The beauteous daughter of great Suffolk's race,
In blooming youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
Who gain'd a crown by treason not her own,
And innocently fill'd another's throne,
Hurl'd from the summit of imperial ftate,
With equal mind sustain'd the stroke of Fate.

But how will Guilford, her far dearer part,
With manly reason fortify his heart?
At once she longs, and is afraid to know ;
Now swift the moves, and now advances slow,
To find her lord; and, finding, passes by,
Silent with fear, nor dare she meet his eye,
Left that, unask'd, in speechless grief disclose
The mournful secret of his inward woes.
Thus, after fickness, doubtful of her face,
The melancholy virgin shun's the glass.

At length, with troubled thought, but look serene,
And sorrow foften’d by her heav'nly mien,
She clasps her lord, brave, beautiful, and young,
While tender accents melt

upon
Gentle and sweet as 'vernal Zephyr blows,
Fanning the lily or the blooming rofe.

• Grieve not, my Lord ; a crown indeed is loft! • What far outshines a crown we still may boast; A mind compos'd, a mind that can difdain A fruitless forrow for a loss fo vain.

Nothing is loss, that virtue can improve • To wealth eternal, and return above ; · Above, where no distinction fhall be known < Twixt him whom storms have shaken from a throne, • And him who, balking in the smiles of Fate,

Shone forth in all the splendour of the great: • Nor can I find the diff'rence here below; • I lately was a queen-I ftill am fo,

• While

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her tongue ;

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