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So, when destruction lurks unseen,
And break the hidden snare.
THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.
BY DR. WATTS.
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;
And urg'd the schools in vain :
A bright inftructive scene.
D'er the wide land, and cross the tide,
Sweet rapture of the mind!
For sacred use design'd.
Hard by, a venerable priest,
Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream;
And half divine his tongue.
He sang th'eternal rolling flame;
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;
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,
7. Or diftant feas detain-;!
ROM lofty themes, from thoughts that foar'd on high,
My Muse, descend ! indulge my fond defire;
Hear, ye fair daughters of this happy land!
Fam'd female virtue did this ille adorn
3 H 2
When now Maria's pow'rful arms prevail'd,
But how will Guilford, her far dearer part,
At length, with troubled thought, but look serene,
• 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,
her tongue ;