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Ambition this fhall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
The ftings of Falsehood those shall try,
Lo, in the vale of years beneath A griefly troop are feen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen :
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming Age.
To each his fufferings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Madness laughing in his ireful mood.
Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcite.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate!
H Y M
Τὸν φρονεῖν βρολὰς ὁδώ
σαλα, τῷ πάθει μαθών
ÆSCHYLUS, in Agamemnone.
AUGHTER of Jove, relentless Power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whofe iron fcourge, and torturing hour,
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to tafte of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied, and alone.
When first thy fire to fend on earth
What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know,
And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others woe.
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they difperfe, and with them go.
The fummer friend, the flattering foe;
By vain prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapturous thought profound,
And Melancholy, filent maid,
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn steps attend :
Warm Charity, the general Friend,
With Juftice, to herself fevere,
And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.
Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread goddess, lay thy chaftening hand!
Not in thy gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art feen)
With thundering voice, and threatening mien,
Thy form benign, oh goddess wear,
To foften, not to wound my
The generous spark extinct revive.
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.
E LE G
WRITTEN IN A
THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind flowly o'er the lea,
Now fades the glimmering landfcape on the fight,
Beneath thofe rugged elins, that yew-tree's shade,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet fleep.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
"fquilla di lontano
"Che paia 'l giorno pianger, che fi muore.”
DANTE. PURGAT: 1. 3.