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Flush'd with a purple grace,
He shows his honest face :
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Bacchus's blessings are a treasure ;
Rich the treasure ;
Sweet the pleasure ;
(slain. And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice the slew the
The master saw the madness rise ;
He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse :
By too severe a fate,
Fall’n from his high estate,
With downcast look the joyless victor sat,
The various turns of fate below;
And tears began to flow.
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying.
If the world be worth thy winning,
Lovely Thais sits beside thee;
Take the good the gods provide thee.
Gaz'd on the fair,
Who caus'd his care ;
Sigh'd and look’d, and sigh'd again :
Now, strike the golden lyre again ;
Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead;
See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand !
And, unbury'd, remain
Inglorious on the plain.
How they point to the Persian abodes,
Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey :
Thus long ago,
Ere heaving, bellows learn’d to blow,
And sounding lyre,
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame.
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
mother wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown:
She drew an angel down.
The House of Sloth-by Dr. DWIGHT.
BESIDE yon lonely tree, whose branches bare, Rise white, and murmur to the passing air : There, where the twining briars the yard enclose, The house of Sloth stands hush'd in long repose. In a late round of solitary care, My feet instinct to rove, they knew not where, I thither came. With yellow blossoms gay, The tall rank weed begirt the tangled way: Curious to view, I forced a path between, And clim'd the broken stile, and gaz'd the scene. O'er an old well, the curb half fallen spread, Whose boards, end loose, a mournful creaking made ; Pois'd on a leaning post, and ill-sustain'd, In ruin sad, a mouldering swepe remain'd; Useless, the crooked pole still dangling hung, And tied with thrums, a broken bucket swung. A half made wall around the garden lay, Mended, in gaps, with brushwood in decay. No culture through the woven briars were seen, Save a few sickly plants of faded green:
The starv'd potatoe hung its blasted seeds, And fennel struggled to o'er top the weeds. There gaz'd a raged sheep with wild surprise, And two lean geese upturn'd their slanting eyes. The cottage gap'd with many a dismal yawn, Where, rent to burn, the covering boards were gone. Or, by one nail, were others endwise hung. The sky look'd through, and winds portentous rung. In waves the yielding roof appeared to run, And half the chimney.top was fallen down. The ancient cellar-door, of structure rude, With tattered garments caulk'd, half open stood. There as I peeped, I saw the ruin'd bin ; The sils were broke, the walls had crumbled in ; A few long emptied casks lay mould'ring round, And wasted ashes sprinkled o'er the ground; While, a sad sharer in the household ill, A half starv'd rat crawld out and bade farewell. One window dim, a loop-hole to the sight, Shed round the rooin a pale, penurious light: Here rags gay-coloured eked the broken glass : There panes of wood supplied the vacant space. As, pondering deep, I gaz’d, with gritty roar The hinges creak'd, and open stood the door. Two little boys, half naked from the waist, With staring wonder, ey'd me as I pass’d. The smile of pity blended with her tearAh, me! how rarely comfort visits here ! On a lean hammock, once with feathers fill'd, His limbs by dirty tatters ill conceal'd, Though now the sun had rounded half the day, Stretch'd at full length the lounger snoring lay ; While his sad wife beside her dresser stood, And wash'd her hungry household's meagre food. His aged sire, whose beard and flowing hair Wav'd silvery o'er his antiquated chair, Rose from his seat; and, as he watch'd my eye, Deep from his bosom heav'd a mournful sigh
Stranger, (he cried) once better days I knew,
And, trembling, shed the venerable dew.
A Tea Party.SALMAGUNDI.
But Tea, that enlivener of wit and of soul,