Ah! would to heaven! ye did not rather fee
How dead to virtue in the public caufe!
How cold, how careless, how to glory deaf,
They fhame your laurels, and belye their birth!
Come, ye great fpirits, Ca'ndifh, Raleigh,
Blake!
And ye of later name your country's pride,
Oh! come, difperse these lazy fumes of floth,
Teach British hearts with British fires to glow!
In wakening whispers rouze our ardent youth,
Blazon the triumphs of your better days,
Paint all the glorious fcenes of rightful war,
In all its fplendors; to their fwelling fouls
Say how ye bow'd the infulting Spaniards pride,
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their proftrate heads,
Say how ye broke their lines and fir'd their ports,
Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes,
Could damp your fouls, or shake the great refolve
For Right and Britain: Then display the joys
The patriot's foul exalting, while he views
Tranfported millions hail with loud acclaim
The guardian of their civil, facred rights.'
How greatly welcome to the virtuous man
Is death for others good! the radiant thoughts
That beam celestial on his paffing foul,
The unfading crowns awaiting him above,
The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme,
Who in his actions with complacence views
His own reflected fplendor; then descend,
Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene;
Paint the juft honours to his reliques paid,
Shew grateful millions weeping o'er his grave;
While his fair fame in each progreffive age,
For ever brightens; and the wife and good
Of every land in univerfal choir
With richest incenfe of undying praise
His urn encircle, to the wondering world
His numerous triumphs blazon; while with awe,
With filial reverence, in his fteps they tread,
And, copying every virtue, every fame,
Tranfplant his glories into fecond life,
And, with unfparing hand, make nations bleft,
By his example. Vaft immenfe rewards!
For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind
Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold?
Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call
Of your poor injur'd countrymen? Ah! no.
I fee ye are not; every bofom glows
With native greatness, and in all its state
The British fpirit rifes: Glorious change!
Fame, Virtue, Freedom, welcome! Oh! forgive
The mufe, that ardent in her facred caufe
Your glory queftion'd: She beholds with joy;
She owns, the triumphs, in her wish'd mistake.
See from her fea-beat throne in awful march
Britannia towers: upon her laurel creft
The plumes majestic nod; behold the heaves
Her guardian fhield, and terrible in arms
For battle fhakes her adamantine fpear:
Loud at her foot the British lion roars,
Frighting the nations; haughty Spain full foon
Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth,
Your country's daring champions: tell your foes,
Tell them in thunders o'er their proftrate land
You were not born for daves: Let all your deeds
Shew that the fons of those immortal men,
The ftars of fhining story, are not flow
In virtue's path to emulate their fires,
To affert their country's rights, avenge her fons,
And hurl the bolts of justice on her foes.
"O Vitæ Philofophia Dux! O Virtutis indagatrix, expultrixque Vitiorum.-Tu Urbes peperifti; tu inventrix Legum, tu magistra Morum & Difciplinæ fuifti: Ad te confugimus, a te "Opem petimus." Cic. Tufc. Quæft.
CIENCE! thou fair effusive ray
From the great fource of mental day,
Free, generous, and refin'd!
Defcend with all thy treasures fraught,
Illumine each bewilder'd thought,
And blefs my labouring mind.
But first with thy refistless light,
Difperfe those phantoms from my fight,
Thofe mimic fhades of thee:
The fcholiaft's learning, fophift's cant,
The vifionary bigot's rant,
The monk's philosophy,
O let thy powerful charms impart
The patient head, the candid heart,
Devoted to thy sway;
Which no weak paffions e'er miflead,
Which fill with dauntless fteps proceed
Where reafon points the way.
Give me to learn each secret caufe;
Let Numbers' Figures' Motion's laws
Reveal'd before me ftand;
Thefe, to great Nature's fcenes apply,
And round the globe, and through the fky,
Difclofe her working hand.
Next, to thy nobler search resign'd,
The bufy, reftlefs, human mind
Through every maze pursue;
Detect Perception where it lies,
Catch the ideas as they rife,
And all their changes view,
Say from what fimple springs began
The vaft, ambitious thoughts of man,
Which
range beyond controul,
Which feek Eternity to trace,
Dive through the infinity of space,
And ftrain to grafp the whole,
O! where the rofy-bofom'd hours, Fair Venus' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, Refponfive to the cuckow's note, The untaught harmony of fpring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Wheree'r the oak's thick branches stretch A broader browner fhade;
Where'er the rude and mofs-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade*,
Befide fome water's rushy brink
With me the Muse shall fit, and think
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care:
The panting herd's repofe :
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The bufy murmur glows!
The infect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noont:
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some fhew their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the fun .
To contemplation's foher eye §
Such is the race of Man :
O'er-canopied with luscious roodbine,”
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Bufy and the Gay
But flutter through life's little day.
In Fortune's varying colours dreft:
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mifchance,
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in duft to rest.
Methinks I hear in accents low
The fportive kind reply;
Poor Moralift! and what art thou?
A folitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive haft thou of hoarded fweets,
No painted plumage to difplay:
On hafty wings thy youth is flown
Thy fun is fet, thy fpring is gone-
We frolick while 'tis May.
WAS on a lofty vase's fide,
There China-vaeft art had dy'd
The azure flowers that blow;
Demuret of the tabby kind,
The penfive Selima reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.
Her confcious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the fnowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Shakefp. Midf. Night's Dream. Her coat, that with the tortoife vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She faw; and purr'd applaufe.
ተ "Nare per eflutem liquidam ---”
Virg. Georg. lib. iv. Sporting with quick glance Sher to the fun be'r waved coats drop'd with gold." Milton's Paradife Loft, book vii. S" While infelis from the threshold preach, &c." M. Green, in the Grotto. Dodley's Mifcellanics, vol. v. p. 161.
Still had she gaz`d; but midst the tide
Two angel forms were feen to glide,
The Genii of the ftream:
Their fcaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapless Nymph with wonder faw : A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent with,
She ftretch'd in vain to reach the prize} What female heart can gold defpife?
What Cat's averfe to fish?
Prefumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again the stretch'd, again fhe bent,
Nor knew the gulph between.
(Malignant Fate fate by, and fmil'd)
The flippery verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every watery god,
Some fpeedy aid to fend.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid ftirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Sufan heard,
A favourite has no friend!
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Say, Father Thames, for thou haft feen
Full many a fprightly race
Difporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny fucceed
To chace the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?
While fone on earnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply
'Gainft graver hours, that bring constraint To fweeten liberty;
Some bold adventurers difdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defcry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.
Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing, when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funfhine of the breast:
Theirs, buxom health, of rofy hue;
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively chear, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No fenfe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day.
Yet fee how all around them wait
The minifters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train,
Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand
To feize their prey, the murtherous band!
Ah, tell them, they are men!
Thefe fhall the fury paflions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Difdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that fkulks behind;
Or pining Love fhall wafte their youth,
Or Jealoufy, with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a facrifice,
And grinning Infamy,
The flings of Falfhood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorfe, with blood deal'd,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid fevereft woe.
Madness laughing in his ireful mood.” Dayden's Fable of Palamon and Araite,
Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grifly troop are feen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen :
This racks the joints, this ares the veins,
That every labouring finew strains,
Thof in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming Age.
To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
The unfeeling for his own.
Yet all! why should they know their fate!
Since Sorrow never co nes too late,
And Happiness too fwiftly flies.
Thought would deftroy their paradife.
No more; where Ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.
Still on thy folemn steps attend ;
Warm Charity, the general Friend,
With Justice, to herfelf fevere,
And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.
Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread goddefs, 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 mein,
With fcreaming Horror's funeral cry,
Defpair, and fell Disease, and ghaftly Poverty.
Thy form benign, oh Goddess wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philofophic train be there
To foften, not to wound my heart.
The generous fpark extinct revive.
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to fean,
What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.
Τὸν φρονεῖν βροτὰς ὁδώ
σαλα, τῷ πάθει μαθὼν
HE Curfew tolls* the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind flowly oe'r the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, ESCHYLUS, in AGAMEMNONE. And leaves the world to darknefs and to me.
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 taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied, and alone.
When first thy fire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurfe; thy rigid lore
With patience many a year the bore:
What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know,
And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleating Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leifure to be good.
Light they difperfe, and with them go
The fummer friend, the flattering foe;
By vain profperity ręceiv'd,
Now fades the glimmering landfcape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn ftillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowfy tinklings lull the distant folds,
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of fuch as, wandering near her fecret bower,
Moleft her ancient folitary reign.
Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet fleep..
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
The fwallow twittering from the ftraw-built shed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more fhall rouze them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lifp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield.
To her they vow their truth, and are again be- Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke;
Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,
imers'd in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, filent maid,
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
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