sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow, not friendship softer was, nor love more kind. And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons, the generous victim to that vain attempt, to save a rotten State, AGIS, who saw even Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk. The two Achaian heroes close the train. ARATUS, who awhile relum'd the soul of fondly-lingering liberty in Greece: and he her darling as her latest hope, the gallant PHILOPOMEN; who to arms turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure; or toiling in his farm, a simple swain; or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field. Of rougher front, a mighty people come!

a race of heroes! in those virtuous times
which knew no stain, save that with partial flame
their dearest country they too fondly lov'd:
her better founder first, the light of Rome,
NUMA, who soften'd her rapacious sons:
SERVIUS the king, who laid the solid base
on which o'er earth the vast republic spread.
Then the great consuls venerably rise.
The Public Father* who the Private quell'd,
as on the dread tribunal sternly sad.

He, whom his thankless country could not lose,
CAMILLUS, only vengeful to her foes.
FABRICIUS, SCorner of all-conquering gold;
and CINCINNATUS, awful from the plough.
Thy willing Victim,† Carthage, bursting loose
from all that pleading Nature could oppose,
from a whole city's tears, by rigid faith
imperious call'd, and honour's dire command;
Marcus Junius Brutus. + Regulus.

SCIPIO, the gentle chief, humanely brave, who soon the race of spotless glory ran, and, warm in youth, to the Poetic shade with Friendship and Philosophy retir'd. TULLY, whose powerful eloquence awhile restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome: Unconquer'd CATO, virtuous in extreme. And thou, unhappy BRUTUS, kind of heart; whose steady arm, by awful virtue urg'd, lifted the Roman steel against thy friend. Thousands besides the tribute of a verse demand; but who can count the stars of heaven? who sing their influence on this lower world? Behold, who yonder comes! in sober state, fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun: 't is Phœbus' self, or else the Mantuan Swain! great HOMER too appears, of daring wing, parent of song! and equal by his side,

the British Muse; join'd hand in hand they walk, darkling, full up the middle steep to fame.

Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch pathetic drew th' impassion'd heart and charm'd transported Athens with the moral scene; nor those who, tuneful, wak'd th' enchanting lyre. First of your kind! society divine!

still visit thus my nights, for you reserv'd, and mount my soaring soul to thoughts like your's. Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine; see on the hallowed hour that none intrude, save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign to bless my humble roof, with sense refin'd, learning digested well, exalted faith, unstudy'd wit, and humour ever gay. Or from the Muses' hill will POPE descend,

R

to raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, and with the social spirit warm the heart: for tho' not sweeter his own HOMER sings, yet is his life the more endearing song.

Where art thou, HAMMOND? thou the darling pride, the friend and lover of the tuneful throng! ah why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime of vernal genius, where disclosing fast

each active worth, each manly virtue lay,
why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon?
what now avails that noble thirst of fame,
which stung thy fervent breast? that treasur'd store
of knowledge, early gain'd? that eager zeal
to serve thy country, glowing in the band
of youthful Patriots, who sustain her name?
what now, alas! that life-diffusing charm
of sprightly wit? that rapture for the Muse,
that beart of friendship, and that soul of joy,
which bade with softest light thy virtues smile?
ah! only shewed, to check our fond pursuits,
and teach our humbled hopes that life is vain!
Thus in some deep retirement would I pass
the winter glooms, with friends of pliant soul,
or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspir'd:
with them would search, if Nature's boundless frame
was call'd, late-rising from the void of night,
or sprung eternal from th' eternal Mind;
it's life it's laws, it's progress and it's end.
Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole
would, gradual, open on our opening minds;
and each diffusive harmony unite

in full perfection, to th' astonish'd eye.
Then would we try to scan the moral World,
which, tho' to us it seems embroil'd, moves on

in higher order; fitted, and impell'd,

by wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all in general Good. The sage historic Muse should next conduct us through the deeps of time; shew us how empire grew, declin'd, and fell, in scatter'd states; what makes the nations smile, improves their soil, and gives them double suns; and why they pine beneath the brightest skies, in Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd, our hearts would burn within us, would inhale that portion of divinity, that ray

of purest heaven, which lights the public soul of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd, in powerless humble fortune, to repress these ardent risings of the kindling soul; then, even superior to ambition, we would learn the private virtues; how to glide through shades and plains, along the smoothest stream of rural life: or, snatch'd away by hope,

through the dim spaces of futurity,

with earnest eye anticipate those scenes
of happiness and wonder; where the nind,
in endless growth and infinite ascent,

rises from state to state, and world to world.
But when with these the serious thought is foil'd,
we, shifting for relief, would play the shapes
of frolic fancy; and incessant form
those rapid pictures, that assembled train
of fleet ideas, never join'd before,
whence lively wit excites to gay surprise;
or folly-painting Humour, grave himself,
calls Laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve.

RUSTIC AMUSEMENTS,

Meantime the village rouses up the fire; while well attested, and as well believ'd, heard solemn, goes the goblin-story round; till superstitious horror creeps o'er all. Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake the rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round; the simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart, easily pleas'd; the long loud laugh, sincere; the kiss, snatch'd hasty from the side-long maid, on purpose guardless, or pretending sleep: the leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes of native music, the respondent dance.

Thus jocound fleets with them the winter-night.

DRAMATIC AMUSEMENTS.

The city swarms intense. The public haunt, full of each theme, and warm with mixt discourse, hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow down the loose stream of false enchanted joy to swift destruction. On the rankled soul the gaming fury falls; and in one gulph of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace,

friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink.
Up-springs the dance along the lighted dome,
mix'd, and evolv'd, a thousand sprightly ways.
The glittering court effuses every pomp;
the circle deepens; beam'd from gaudy robes,
tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes,
a soft effulgence o'er the palace waves:
while, a gay insect in his summer-shine,

he fop, light-fluttering, spreads his mealy wings.
Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of HAMLET stalks;
No. 81.
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