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her relish of that peculiar fpecies. For this reason the works of those great masters, whofe performances have long and generally been admired, supply a farther criterion of fine taste, equally fixed and certain as that which is derived from Nature herself. The truth is, fine writing is only the art of raifing agreeable fenfations of the intellectual kind: and therefore, as by examining those original forms which are adapted to awaken this perception in the mind, we learn what those qualities are which conftitute beauty in general; fo, by obferving the pecu·liar construction of those compositions of genius which have always pleased, we perfect our idea of fine writing in particular. It is this united approbation, in perfons of different ages and of various characters and languages, that Longinus has made the test of the true fublime; and he might with equal justice have extended the fame

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criterion to all the inferior excellencies of elegant compofition. Thus the deference paid to the performances of the great masters of antiquity, is fixed upon juft and folid reafons: it is not because Ariftotle and Horace have given us the rules of criticism. that we submit to their authority; it is because those rules are derived from works that have been diftinguished by the uninterrupted admiration of all the more improved part of mankind, from their earliest appearance down to this prefent hour. For whatever, through a long feries of ages, has been. univerfally esteemed beautiful, cannot but be conformable to our juft and natural ideas of beauty.

MELMOTH.

VERSES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S SHER

LOCK UPON DEATH *.

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Iftaken fair, lay Sherlock by,
His doctrine is deceiving;

For whilft he teaches us to die,
He cheats us of our living.

To die's a leffon we shall know
Too foon, without a master;

Then let us only study now
How we may live the fafter.

To live's to love, to blifs, be bleft,
With mutual inclination;

Share then my ardour in your breast,
And kindly meet my passion.

But if thus bleft I may not live,

And pity you deny,

To me at least your Sherlock give,

"Tis I must learn to die.

* By the Earl of Chesterfield.

HYMN

HYMN TO ADVERSITY.

Daughter of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breast,

Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,

The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied, and alone.

When first thy Sire to fend on earth,
Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern, rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year fhe bore:

What forrow was thou bad'ft her know,

And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' woe.

* By Mr. Gray.

Scar'd

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leifure to be good.
Light they difperfe, and with them go

The fummer friend, the flatt'ring 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 rapt'rous thought profound,

And Melancholy, filent maid

With leaden eye, that loves the ground, Still on thy folemn steps attend!

Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,

With Juftice to herfelf fevere,

And Pity, droping soft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh! gentle on 'thy fuppliant's head,

Dread goddess! lay thy chaft'ning hand!

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band,

(As by the impious thou art seen)

With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mein,
With screaming Horror's fun'ral cry,
Despair, and fell disease, and ghaftly poverty.

Thy

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