The Beauties of poetry, British and American: containing some of the productions of Waller, Milton, Addison, Pope, Shirley, Parnell, Watts, Thomson, Young, Shenstone, Akenside, Gray, Goldsmith, Johnson, Moore, Garrick, Cowper, Beattie, Burns, Merry, Cowley, Wolcott, Palmerston, Penrose. Evans, Barlow, Dwight, Freneau, Humphreys, Livingston, J. Smith, W.M. Smith, Ladd, Bayard, Hopkinson, James, Markoe, Prichard, Fentham, Bradford, Dawes, Lathrop, Osborne.

2006-06

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BOOKS and PAMPHLETS Lately printed and published by M. CAREY, No. 118, Market-street.

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VI. POEMS by col. Humphreys, containing, among others, [Page] his address to the armies of the united states—and his poem on the happiness of America.

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THE BEAUTIES OF POETRY, BRITISH AND AMERICAN

CONTAINING SOME OF THE PRODUCTIONS OF

Waller,
Milton,
Addison,
Pope,
Shirley,
Parnell,
Watts,
Thomson,
Young,
Shenstone,
Akenside,
Gray,
Goldsmith,
Johnson,
Moore,
Garrick,
Cowper,
Beattie,
Burns,
Merry,
Cowley,
Wolcott,
Palmerston,
Penrose.
Evans,
Barlow,
Dwight,
Freneau,
Humphreys,
Livingston,
J. Smith.
W. M. Smith,
Ladd,
Bayard,
Hopkinson,
James,
Markee,
Prichard,
Fentham,
Bradford,
Dawes,
Lathrop,
Osborne.

PHILADELPHIA: FROM THE PRESS OF M. CAREY. NO. 118, MARKET-STREET. M.DCC.XCI.

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ADVERTISEMENT.

IN the compilation of this volume, it has been the editor's object, while he provided an elegant fund of rational and innocent entertainment, to fix upon such pieces of poetry as have a tendency to enlarge the understanding, and resine the heart. He only hopes for the public approbation in proportion as he has succeeded in this. He has carefully guarded against the admission of such productions as might

"Make Virtue blush—give Innocence a fear—

"Or from the soft-ey'd virgin draw a tear."

He hopes that to Americans this worl [...] will be mo [...]e acceptable than those on the same plan from G [...]eat Britain as, besides the a [...]med pieces of British poetry, they will [...]e [...]e f [...]nd [...]pious extracts from the most celeb [...]ated American ba [...]ds.

Philadelphia, Dec. 1, 1791.

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CONTENTS.

ESSAY on criticism,	Pope,	Page 1
Deserted village,	Goldsmith,	19
Edwin and Angelina,	Goldsmith,	29
The hermit,	Pa [...]nell,	33
Elegy written in a country church yard,	Gray,	39
Adam and Eve's morning hymn,	Milton,	43
Hymn,	Addison,	44
Hymn on the seasons,	Thomson,	45
Despondency,	Burns,	48
Shortness of human life,	Anon.	50
Epitaph on a poor but honest man,	Anon.	51
Nightingale and glow-worm,	Cowp [...]r,	ibid.
The natural beauty,	Johns [...]n,	52
Song,	Wal [...]er,	53
Song,	Ak [...]de,	ibid.
Song,	Moore,	54
So [...] ▪	Ca [...]i [...]k,	55
Death [...]al conquest,	Shi [...]ley,	ibid.
The last day▪	Yo [...]ng,	56
The [...]seller,	Wolco [...]t,	83
Elegy w [...]en in the plain of Fentenoy,	Merry,	84
The [...]laves,	Merry,	86
Adieu and recall to love,	Merry,	8 [...]
The pen,	Mrs. Cowley,	90
To Anna Matilda,	[...]e [...]y,	ibid.
To [...]ella Crusca,	Mrs. Cowley,	92
To Anna Matilda,	Merry,	93
The hermit,	Beattie,	95
Pastoral ballad,	Shenstone,	96
On [...]gen. Washington,	Anon.	102
The preference,	Anon.	ibid.
Address under a lady's skull,	Anon.	103
Address under a gentleman's skull,	Anon.	104
Two blanks to a prize,	Anon.	105
The rose,	Anon.	ibid.
How cold it is,	Anon.	106
Advice from a matron to a young lady,	Anon.	108
Apology for vagrants,	Anon.	109
Few happy matches,	Watts,	110
The Indian philosopher,	Watts,	111
On beauty,	Palmerston,	113
The beggar's petition,	Anon.	115
Hero's school of morality,	Watts,	116
Freedom,	Anon.	117
Prospect of the arts and sciences in America,	Berkley,	110
Mortality,	Penrose,	ibid.
Madness,	Penrose,	121
Song,	Thomson,	123
Address to mr. Wilberforce,	Anon.	124

AMERICAN POETRY.

Columbia,	Dwight,	125
Benevolence,	Dawes,	126
Woman's sate,	Bayard,	127
Future state of the western territory,	Humphreys,	130
American winter,	Humphreys,	13 [...]
On love and the American fair,	Humphreys,	13 [...]
Depredations and destruction of the Algerines,	Humphreys,	137
Excellent logic,	Trumbull,	146
British favours to America,	Trumbull,	148
Ex [...]eme humanity,	Trumbull,	151
Omens,	Trumbull,	153
Nobility anticipated,	Trumbull,	154
Description of the first American congress,	Barlow,	155
American revolution,	Barlow,	157
American sages,	Barlow,	170
American painters,	Barlow,	171
American poets,	Barlow,	173
Eulogium on rum,	J. Smith,	174
Faith,	Markoe,	176
Hope,	Markoe,	177
Charity,	Markoe,	178
On a lady's birth day,	W. M. Smith,	180
Description of Jehovah,	Ladd,	181
The country meeting,	T. C. James,	182
On the birth day of gen. Washington,	Markoe,	183
Art and nature,	W. M. Smith,	187
The old soldier,	Fentham,	190
The war-horse,	Ladd,	191
On the migration to America and peopling the western country,	Frenea [...],	192
Pastoral song,	Bradford,	193
Seasons moralised,	Dwight,	195
Character of St. Tamany,	Prichard,	196
Song,	Dwight,	197
Federal convention,	Anon.	198
A fair bargain,	Hopkinson,	ibid.
Song on St. Andrew's day,	Anon.	199
Address to the red breast,	Bayard,	201
Win [...]er piece,	Lathrop,	204
Elegi [...] epistle,	Osborne,	206
Hymn on easter day▪	Anon.	208
The Deity and his dispensations,	Dwight,	209
Creation,	Dwight,	211
Original state of man,	Dwight,	214
Threefold state of man, emblematised,	Dwight,	215
Prospect of America,	Dwight,	217
Progress of science,	Evans,	219
Philosophie solitude,	Livingston,	220
Sketches of American history,	Freneau,	237
An Indian eclogue,	J. Smith.	244

[Page]

BEAUTIES OF POETRY.

FIRST PART. FROM BRITISH POETS.

AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM. POPE.'TIS hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing, or in judging ill:
But, of the two, less dang'rous is th'offence,
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong, for one who writes amiss.
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments, as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In poets, as true genius is but rare,
True taste as seldom is the critic's share;
Both must alike from heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others, who themselves 
 [...]el,
And censure freely, who have written 
 [...].
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true;
But are not critics to their judgment too?
Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.

[Page 2]But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd,
So by false learning is good sense defac'd.
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs nature meant but fools.
In search of wit, these I se their common sense,
And then turn critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's, or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Maevius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are, who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for wits, then poets past,
Turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last:
Some neither can for wits nor critics pass;
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle,
A
 [...] half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's so equivocal:
To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.
But you, who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic's noble name,
Be sure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth; but be discreet,
And mark that point where sense and dullness meet.
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,
And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains;
Th
 [...] in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid pow'r of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away.
One science only will one genius fit;
So vast is art, so narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those confin'd to single parts.
Like kings, we lose the conquests gain'd before,
By vain ambition still to make them more:

[Page 3]Each might his servile province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.
First follow nature, and your judgment fram
 [...]
By her just standard, which is still the same.
Unerring nature, still divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart—
At once the source, and end, and test of art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides;
Works without show, and without pomp presides:
In some fair body thus th' informing soul
With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains;
Itself unseen, but in th'effects, remains.
Some, to whom heav'n in wit has been profuse,
Want as much more, to turn it to its use;
For wit and judgment often are at strife,
Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife,
'Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed;
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed:
The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse,
Shows most true mettle when you check his course▪
Those rules, of old discover'd, not devis'd,
Are Nature still, but Nature methodiz'd:
Nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd
By the same laws which first herself ordain'd.
Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules indite
 [...] ▪
When to repress, and when indulge our flights:
High on Parnassus' top her sons she show'd,
And pointed out those arduous paths they trod;
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize,
And urg'd the rest by equal steps to rise.
Just precepts thus, from great examples giv'n,
She drew from them what they deriv'd from heav'n.
The gen'rous critic fann'd the poet's fire,
And taught the world with reason to admire.
Then criticism the muse's hand-maid prov'd,
To dress her charms, and make her more belov'd:
But following wits from that intention stray'd,
Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid;
Against the poets their own arms they turn'd;
Sure to hate most the men from whom they learn'd▪

[Page 4]So modern 'pothecaries taught the art.
By doctors' bills to play the doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools.
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey;
Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so much as they:
Some, d
 [...]ily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receipts, how poems may be made.
These leave the sense, their learning to display;
And those explain the meaning quite away.
You then, whose judgment the right course would steer,
Know well each ancient's proper character:
His fable, subject, scope in ev'ry page;
Religion, country, genius of his age:
Without all these at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticise.
Be Homer's works your study and delight;
Read them by day, and meditate by night:
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring▪
And trace the muses upward to their spring.
Still, with itself compar'd, his text peruse;
And let your comment be the Mantuan muse.
When first young Maro in his boundless mind,
A work t'outlast immortal Rome design'd,
Perhaps he seem'd above the critic's law,
And but from Nature's fountain scorn'd to draw▪
But when t' examine ev'ry part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the same.
Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold design;
And rules as strict his labour'd work confine,
As if the Stagirite o'erlook'd each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem,
To copy nature is to copy them.
Some beauties yet no precepts can declare;
For th
 [...]e's a happiness as well as care.
Music resembles poetry. In each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master hand alone can reach.
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
(Since rules were made but to promote their end)
Some lucky licence answer to the full
Th' intent propos'd, that licence is a rule.

[Page 5]Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track.
Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend,
And 
 [...]ise to faults true critics dare not mend;
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of a
 [...]t;
Which, without passing thro' the judgment, gains
The heart, and all its end at once attains.
In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes,
Which out of nature's common order 
 [...]ise,
The shapeless rock or hanging precipice.
But tho' the ancients thus their rules invade,
(As kings dispense with laws themselves have made)
Moderns beware! or, if you must offend
Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end;
Let it be seldom, and compell'd by need;
And have, at least, their precedent to plead.
The critic else proceeds without remorse,
Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.
I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts
Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults.
Some figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear,
Consider'd singly, or beheld too near;
Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place,
Due distance reconciles to form and grace.
A prudent chief not always must display
His pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array,
But with th' occasion and the place comply,
Conceal his force; nay, seem sometimes to sly.
Those oft are stratagems, which errors seem;
Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
Still green with bays, each ancient altar stands,
Above the reach of sacrilegious hands;
Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage,
Destructive war, and all-involving age.
See from each clime the learn'd their incense bring!
Hear, in all tongues consenting p
 [...]ans ring!
In praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd,
And fill the gen'
 [...]al chorus of mankind.
Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days;
Immortal heirs of universal praise!

[Page 6]Whose honours with increase of ages grow,
As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow;
Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound,
And worlds applaud, that must not yet be found!
O may some spark of your celestial fire,
The last, the meanest of your sons inspire,
(That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights;
Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes)
To teach vain wits a science little known;
T' admire superior sense, and doubt their own!
Of all the causes which conspire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth deny'd,
She gives in large recruits of needful pride;
For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find
What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind:
Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day.
Trust not yourself; but, your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.
A 
little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth, we tempt the heights of arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So, pleas'd at first, the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes▪
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

[Page 7]A perfect judge will read each work of wit
With the same spirit that its author writ:
Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find,
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind:
Nor lose, for that malignant, dull delight,
The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
But in such lays, as neither ebb nor flow,
Correctly cold, and regularly low—
That, shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep;
We cannot blame, indeed—but we may sleep.
In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.
Thus, when we view some well-proportion'd dome,
(The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!)
No single parts unequally surprise;
All comes united to the admiring eyes;
No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear;
The whole at once is bold and regular.
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In ev'ry work, regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend:
And if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit,
T' avoid great errors, must the less commit;
Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays,
For not to know some trifles, is a praise.
Most critics, fond of some subservient art,
Still make the whole depend upon a part:
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one lov'd folly sacrifice.
Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight they say,
A certain bard encount'ring on the way,
Discours'd in terms as just, with looks as sage,
As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian stage;
Concluding all were desp'rate sots and fools,
Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules.
Our author, happy in a judge so nice,
Produc'd his play, and begg'd the knight's advice▪

[Page 8]Made him observe the subject and the plot,
The manners, passions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about,
Were but a combat in the fists le
 [...] 
 [...].
"What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight;
Yes, or we must renounce the stagyrite.
"Not so, by heav'n," he answers in a rage,
"Knigh
 [...]s, 
 [...]squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage."
So vast a th
 [...]ng the stage can ne'er contain.
"Then build a new, or act it in a plain."
Thus critics of less judgment than caprice,
Curious, not knowing—not exact, but nice—
Fo
 [...]m sho
 [...] i
 [...]eas and offend in a
 [...]s,
(As most in manners) by a love to parts.
Some to conceit alone their taste confine,
And gli
 [...]t
 [...]ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line;
Pleas'd with a work, where nothing's just or fit;
One gla
 [...]ing chaos and wild heap of wit.
Poe
 [...]s, like painters, thus unskill'd to trace
The naked nature and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part,
And hide with ornaments their want of art.
True wit is nature to advantage dress'd;
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;
Something, whose truth convinc'd at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
As shades more sweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.
For works may have more wit than does 'em good,
As bodies perish thro' excess of blood.
Others for language all their care express,
And value books, as women men, for dress;
Their praise is still.—The style is excellent;
The sense, they humbly take upon content.
Words are like leaves: and where they most abound,
Much fruit of sense beneath is ra
 [...]ely found.
False eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place;
The face of Nature we no more survey;
All glares alike, without distinction gay:
But true expression, like th' unchanging sun,
Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon;
It gilds all objects, but it alters none.

[Page 9]Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent as more suitable;
A vile conceit, in pompous words express'd,
Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd;
For diff'rent styles with diff'rent subjects sort,
As sev'ral garbs, with country, town, and court.
Some, by old words, to fame have made pretence;
Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense:
Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style,
Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned smile▪
Unlucky, as Fungoso in the play,
These sparks, with aukward vanity, display
What the fine gentleman wore yesterday;
And but so mimic ancient wits at best,
As apes our grandfires, in their doublets drest.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new or old.
Be not the first, by whom the new are try'd,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
But most by numbers judge a poet's song;
And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong:
In the bright Muse, tho' thousand charms conspire,
Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire;
Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear,
Not mend their minds; as some to church repair,
Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
These equal syllables alone require,
Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire;
While expletives their feeble aid do join;
And ten low words oft c
 [...]eep in one dull line:
While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes;
Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze,"
In the next line, "it whispers thro' the trees:"
If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep,"
The reader's threat'ned (not in vain) with "sleep."
Then, at the last and only couplet fraught
With some unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends the song,
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know
What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow;

[Page 10]And praise the easy vigour of a line,
Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join▪
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest, who have learn'd to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows,
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move slow:
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flie so'er th'unbending corn, and skims along the main▪
Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!
While, at each change, the son of Lybian Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love,
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow:
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdu'd by sound!
The pow'r of music all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.
Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of such
Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence;
That always shews great pride, or little sense;
Those heads, as stomachs, are not, sure, the best,
Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest.
Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move;
For fools admire; but men of sense approve:
As things seem large, which we thro' mists descry,
Dulness is ever apt to magnify.
Some foreign writers, some our own despise;
The ancients only, or the moderns prize.
Thus wit, like faith, by each man is apply'd
To one small sect, and all are damn'd beside.
Meanly they seek the blessing to confine,
And force that sun but on a part to shine,
Which not alone the southern wit sublimes,
But ripens spirits in cold northern climes▪

[Page 11]Which from the first has shone on age
 [...] past,
Enlights the present, and shall warm the last;
Tho' each may feel increases and decays,
And see now clearer and now darker days.
Regard not then if wit be old or new,
But blame the false, and value still the true.
Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own,
But catch the spreading notion of the town:
They reason and conclude by precedent,
And own stale nonsense which they ne'er invent.
Some judge of authors' names, not works; and then
Not praise nor blame the writings, but the men.
Of all this servile herd, the worst is he
That in proud dulness joins with quality—
A constant critic at the great man's board,
To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord:
What woful stuff this madrigal would be,
In some starv'd hackney sonneteer, or me!
But let a lord once own the happy lines,
How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Before his sacred name flies ev'y fault,
And each exalted stanza teems with thought!
The vulgar thus thro' imitation err;
As oft the learn'd, by being singular;
So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng
By chance go right, they purposely go wrong:
So schismatics the plain believers quit,
And are but damn'd for having too much wit.
Some praise at morning what they blame at night;
But always think the last opinion right.
A muse by these is like a mistress us'd;
This hour she's idoliz'd, the next abus'd;
While their weak heads, like towns unfortify'd,
'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side.
Ask them the cause; they're wiser still, they say;
And still to-morrow's wiser than to-day.
We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow;
Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so.
Once school-divines this zealous isle o'erspread;
Who knew most sentences, was deepest read:
Faith, gospel, all seem'd made to be disputed,
And none had sense enough to be confuted:

[Page 12]Scotists and Thomists now in peace remain
Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane.
If faith itself has diff'rent dresses worn,
What wonder modes in wit should take their turn!
Oft, leaving what is natural and fit,
The current folly proves the ready wit;
And authors think the reputation safe,
Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh.
Some valuing those of their own side or mind,
Still make themselves the measure of mankind:
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men.
Parties in wit attend on those of state,
And public faction doubles private hate.
Pride, malice, folly, against Dryden rose,
In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaus;
But sense surviv'd, when merry jests were past;
For rising merit will buoy up at last.
Might he return, and bless once more our eyes,
New Blackmores and new Milbourns must arise:
Nay, should great Homer lift his awful head,
Zoilus again would start up from the dead.
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue;
But, like a shadow, proves the substance true:
For envy'd wit, like sol eclips'd, makes known
Th' opposing body's grossness, not its own.
When first that sun too pow'rful beams displays,
It draws up vapours which obscure its rays;
But ev'n those clouds at last adorn its way,
Reflect new glories, and augment the day▪
Be thou the first true merit to befriend:
His praise is lost, who stays till all commend.
Short is the date, alas! of modern rhymes,
And 'tis but just to let them live betimes.
No longer now that golden age appears,
When patriarch-wits surviv'd a thousand years:
Now length of fame (our second life) is lost,
And bare threescore is all ev'n that can boast;
Our sons their fathers' failing language see;
And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be.
So when the faithful pencil has design'd
Some bright idea of the master's mind,

[Page 13]Where a new world leaps out at his command—
And ready Nature waits upon his hand;
When the ripe colours soften and unite,
And sweetly melt into just shade and light—
When mellowing years their full perfection give,
And each bold figure just begins to live—
The treach'rous colours the fair art betray,
And all the bright creation fades away!
Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things,
Atones not for that envy which it brings.
In youth, alone, its empty praise we boast;
But soon the short-liv'd vanity is lost:
Like some fair flow'r the early spring supplies,
That gaily blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies.
What is this wit, which must our cares employ?
The owner's wife, that other men enjoy;
Then most our trouble, still when most admir'd,
And still the more we give, the more requir'd;
Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease,
Sure some to vex, but never all to please;
'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun,
By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone!
If wit so much from ign'rance undergo,
Ah let not learning too commence its foe!
Of old, those met rewards, who could excel,
And such were prais'd, who but endeavour'd well:
Tho' triumphs were to gen'rals only due,
Crowns were reserv'd to grace the soldiers too.
Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown,
Employ their pains to spurn some others down;
And while self-love each jealous writer rules,
Contending wits become the sport of fools:
But still the worst with most regret commend,
For each ill author is as bad a friend.
To what base ends, and by what abject ways,
Are mortals urg'd thro' sacred lust of praise!
Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast,
Nor in the critic let the man be lost.
Good-nature and good sense must ever join:
To err, is human; to forgive, divine.
But if in noble minds some dregs remain
Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and sour disdain,

[Page 14]Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes,
Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times.
No pardon vile obscenity should find,
Tho' wit and art conspire to move your mind;
But dulness with obscenity must prove
As shameful, sure, as impotence in love.
In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease,
Sprung the rank weed, and thriv'd with large increase:
When love was all an easy monarch's care;
Seldom at council, never in a war,
Jilts rul'd the state, and statesmen farces writ;
Nay wits had pensions, and young lords had wit:
The fair sat panting at a courtier's play,
And not a mask went unimprov'd away:
The modest fan was lifted up no more;
And virgins smil'd at what they blush'd before.
The following licence of a foreign reign
Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain;
Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation,
And taught more pleasant methods of salvation:
Where heav'n's free subjects might their rights dispute,
Lest God himself should seem too absolute:
Pulpits their sacred satire learn'd to spare,
And vice admir'd to find a flatt'rer there!
Encourag'd thus, wit's Titans brav'd the skies,
And the press groan'd with licenc'd blasphemies.
These monsters, critics! with your darts engage,
Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage!
Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice;
All seems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.
Learn then what moral critics ought to show,
For 'tis but half a judge's task to know.
'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning join;
In all you speak, let truth and candour shine:
That not alone what to your sense is due
All may allow; but seek your friendship too.
Be silent always when you doubt your sense;
And speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence:
Some positive, pe
 [...]sisting fops we know,
Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so:

[Page 15]But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
And make each day a critic on the last.
'Tis not enough your council still be true;
Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do;
Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.
Without good-breeding, truth is disapprov'd;
That only makes superior sense belov'd.
Be niggards of advice on no pretence;
For the worst avarice is that of sense.
With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust,
Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.
Fear not the anger of the wise to raise;
Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise.
'Twere well might critics still this freedom take:
But Appius reddens at each word you speak,
And sta
 [...]es tremendous with a threat'ning eye,
Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry.
Fear most to tax an honourable fool,
Whose right it is, uncensur'd, to be dull:
Such, without wit, are poets when they please,
As, without learning, they can take degrees.
Leave dang'rous truths to unsuccessful satires,
And flattery to fulsome dedicators,
Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more
Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.
'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain,
And charitably let the dull be vain:
Your silence there is better than your spite;
For who can rail so long as they can write?
Still hamming on, their drowzy course they keep,
And, 
 [...] so long▪ like tops are lash'd asleep.
False steps but help them to renew the race,
As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace.
What crowds of these, impenitently bold,
In sounds and jingling syllables grown old,
Still run on poets in a raging vein,
Ev'n to the dregs and squeezings of the brain;
Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense,
And rhyme with all the rage of impotence!
Such shameless bards we have: and yet, 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too.

[Page 16]The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his head,
With his own tongue still edifies his ears,
And always listening to himself appears.
All books he reads, and all he reads assails,
From Dryden's fables, down to Durfey's tales:
With him, most authors steal their works or buy;
Garth did not write his own Dispensary.
Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend,
Nay show'd his faults—but when would poets mend?
No place so sacred from such sops is barr'd,
Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's church-yard.
Nay, sly to altars; there they'll talk you dead;
For fools rush in, where angels fear to tread.
Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks,
It still looks home and short excursions makes;
But rattling nonsense in full vollies breaks,
And, never shock'd, and never turn'd aside,
Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'ring tide.
But where's the man, who counsel can bestow,
Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know—
Unbias'd, or by favour, or by spite;
Nor dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right—
Tho' learn'd, well-bred—and tho' well-bred, sincere;
Modestly bold, and humanly severe—
Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
And gladly praise the merit of a foe—
Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfin'd,
A knowledge both of books and human kind—
Gen'rous converse—a soul exempt from pride—
And love to praise, with reason on his side?
Such once were critics; such the happy few
Athens and Rome in better ages knew.
The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore,
Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore.
He steer'd securely, and discover'd far,
Led by the light of the Maeonian star.
Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free,
Still fond and proud of savage liberty,
Receiv'd his laws, and stood convinc'd, 'twas fit,
Who conquer'd nature should preside o'er wit.

[Page 17]Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
And without method talks us into sense;
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
The truest notions in the easiest way.
He, who supreme in judgement as in wit,
Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ;
Yet judg'd with coolness, though he sung with fire;
His precepts teach but what his works inspire.
Our critics take a contrary extreme;
They judge with fury, but they write with flegm:
Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations
By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.
See Dionysius Homer's thoughts refine,
And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line!
Fancy and art in gay Petronius please;
The scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.
In grave Quintilian's copious work, we find
The justest rules and clearest method join'd:
Thus useful arms in magazines we place,
All rang'd in order, and dispos'd with grace;
But less to please the eye than arm the hand;
Still fit for use, and ready at command.
Thee, bold Longinus! all the nine inspire,
And bless their critic with a poet's fire.
And ardent judge, who, zealous in his trust,
With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just:
Whose own example strengthens all his laws;
And is himself that great sublime he draws.
Thus long succeeding critics justly reign'd,
Licence repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd.
Learning and Rome alike in empire grew;
And arts still follow'd where her eagles flew;
From the same foes, at last, both felt their doom,
And the same age saw Learning fall, and Rome.
With Tyranny then Superstition join'd;
As that the body, this enslav'd the mind:
Much was believ'd, but little understood,
And to be dull, was constru'd to be good;
A second deluge learning thus o'er-run,
And the monks finish'd what the Goths begun.
At length Erasmus, that great, injur'd name
(The glory of the priesthood, and the shame!)

[Page 18]Stem'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,
And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.
But see! each muse, in Leo's golden days,
Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays;
Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,
Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head.
Then Sculpture, and her sister-arts revive;
Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;
With sweeter notes each rising temple rung;
A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung.
Immortal Vida! on whose honour'd brow
The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow:
Cremona now shall ever boast thy name:
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!
But soon by impious arms from Latium chac'd,
Their ancient bounds the banish'd muses pass'd;
Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance,
But critic-learning flourish'd most in France:
The rules a nation, born to serve, obeys;
And Boileau still in right of Horace sways.
But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despis'd,
And kept unconquer'd, and unciviliz'd;
Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,
We still defy the Romans as of old.
Yet some there were among the sounder few
Of those who less presum'd and better knew,
Who durst assert the juster ancient cause,
And here restor'd Wit's fundamental laws;
Such was the muse whose rules and practice tell,
"Nature's chief master-piece is writing well."
Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good,
With manners gen'rous as his noble blood;
To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
And ev'ry author's merit but his own.
Such late was Walsh—the muse's judge and friend,
Who justly knew to blame or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for desert;
The clearest head, and the sincerest heart.
This humble praise, lamented shade! receive;
This praise at least a grateful muse may give:
The muse, whose early voice you taught to sing,
Prescrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender wing,

[Page 19](Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise,
But in low numbers short excursions tries:
Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view;
The learn'd reflect on what before they kn
 [...] ▪
Careless of censure, nor too sond of fame;
Still pleas'd to praise, yet not afraid to blame:
Averse alike to flatter, or offend;
Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. GOLDSMITH.SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where Health and Plenty cheer'd the labouring swain;
Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting Summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd—
Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please—
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on ev'ry charm,
The shelter'd 
 [...]ot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing b
 [...]ook, the busy mill,
The decent church, that topt the neighb'ring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!
How often have I blest the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the sp
 [...]eading tree,
While many a pastime circle in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey'd;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful 
 [...]and inspir'd;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove,

[Page 20]These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;
These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms—But all these charms are fled.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amidst thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain;
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choak'd with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades a solitary guest,
The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvary'd cries.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.
Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made:
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supply'd.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When every rood of ground maintain'd its man:
For him light Labour spread her wholesome store;
Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more:
His best companions, Innocence and Health;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
But times are al
 [...]er'd. Trade's unfeeling train
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain.
Along the lawn, whe
 [...]e scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy Wealth and cumb'rous Pomp repose;
And ev'ry want to Luxury ally'd,
And ev'ry pang that Folly pays to Pride.
These gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that ask'd but lit
 [...]le room:
Those heal
 [...]hful sports that g
 [...]ac'd the peaceful scene,
Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green:

[Page 21]These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades, forlorn, confess the tyrant's pow'r.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds,
And, many a year elaps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Here, as with doubtful pensive steps I range,
Trace ev'ry scene, and wonder at the change,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs—and God has giv'n my share—
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose:
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill,
Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;
And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return—and die at home at last.
O blest retirement! friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How blest is he, who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state,
To spurn imploring Famine from his gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending Virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While Resignation gently slopes the way;
And, all his prospects bright'ning to the last,
His heav'n commences ere the world be past!

[Page 22]Sweet was the sound, when oft, at ev'ning's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There, as I past, with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbl'd o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail;
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale;
No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
All but yon widow'd, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread,
To strip the brook, with mantling cresses spread,
To pick her wint'ry faggot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
She only left of all the harmless 
 [...]ain,
The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Near yonder 
 [...]p
 [...]e, where once the garden smil'd,
And still where many a garden flow'r grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village pre
 [...]cher's modes
 [...] mansion rose.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remo
 [...]e from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place;
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched, than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain.
The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending, swept his aged breast;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;

[Page 23]The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forget their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And ev'n his failings lean'd to Virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd, and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt her new-fledg'd offspring to the skies;
He try'd each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed, where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The rev'rend champion stood. At his controul,
De
 [...]pair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last fault'ring accents whisper'd praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran;
Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heav'n.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom furze, unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school:

[Page 24]A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and ev'ry truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declar'd how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write and cypher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And ev'n the story ran, that he could gauge:
In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill,
For ev'n though vanquish'd, he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thund'ring sound,
Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around;
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The very spot,
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news, much older than their ale, went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendors of the festive place;
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock, that click'd behind the door;
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of draw'rs by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspin boughs, and flow'rs, and fennel gay,
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.
Vain transitory splendor! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall?

[Page 25]Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart.
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the wood-man's ballad shall prevail;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear;
The host himself no longer shall be found,
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup, to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art;
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play,
The soul adopts and owns their first-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvy'd, unmolested, unconfin'd:
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain;
And, ev'n while Fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks, if this be joy?
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey
The rich man's joy increase, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards, ev'n beyond the miser's wish, abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name,
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supply'd;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth,
Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth;

[Page 26]His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies.
While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all,
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.
As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain,
Secure to please, while youth confirms her reign,
Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes;
But when those charms are past, for charms are frail,
When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,
In nature's simplest charms at first array'd:
But, verging to decline, its splendors rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise;
While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms—a garden and a grave.
Where then, ah! where shall Poverty reside,
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous Pride?
If, to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
He drives his flock, to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And ev'n the bare-worn common is deny'd.
If to the city sped—what waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share:
To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd,
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know,
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train;
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.

[Page 27]Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy!
Are these thy serious thoughts?—Ah, turn thine eyes,
Where the poor, houseless, shiv'ring female lies.
She, once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;
Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the show'r,
With heavy heart deplores the luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
D
 [...]hine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
Ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At 
 [...]ond men's doors they ask a little bread!

 [...] no▪ To distant climes, a
 [...]d ea
 [...]y scene,
Where 
 [...] the convex would intrudes between,
Through 
 [...]o
 [...]id 
 [...]racts wi
 [...]h fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before,
The va
 [...]ious 
 [...] of that horrid shore;
Those blazing 
 [...] da
 [...]t a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable d
 [...]y;
Those matted woods whe
 [...]e birds forget to sing,
Bu
 [...] 
 [...]ile 
 [...]bats in d
 [...]wsy clusters cling;
Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd,
Whe
 [...]e the lark scorpion gathers death around;
Where a
 [...] each step the stranger seats to wake
The 
 [...]a
 [...]thing terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men more m
 [...]rd'rous still than they▪
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies,
Far different these from ev'ry former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
Good heav'n! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day,
That call'd them from their native walks away;

[Page 28]When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past,
Hung round the bow'rs and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main;
And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep.
The good old si
 [...]e the first prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for other's woe;
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for her father's arms.
With louder plaints, the mother spoke her woes,
And blest the cot where ev'ry pleasure rose;
And kist her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And claspt them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief,
In all the decent manliness of grief.
O Luxury! thou curst by heav'n's decree,
How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own.
At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unweildy woe;
Till, sapp'd their strength, and ev'ry part unsound,
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.
Ev'n now the devastation is begun,
And half the bus'ness of destruction done;
Ev'n now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail
That, idly waiting, flaps with ev'ry gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented Toil, and hospitable Care,
And kind connubial Tenderness are there;
And Piety with wishes placed above,
And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love.

[Page 29]And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still fi
 [...]st to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit, in these degen'rate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, ne
 [...]lected and decry'd,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride.
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first and keep'st me so▪
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well;
Farewell, and O! where'er thy voice be try'd,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoxial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states, of native strength possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;
That Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
While self-dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.— A ballad. GOLDSMITH.

'TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
'And guide my lonely way
'To where you taper cheers the vale
'With hospitable ray.

'For here forlorn and lost I tread,
'With fainting steps and slow;
'Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
'Seem length'ning as I go.'

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries,
'To tempt the dangerous gloom;
'For yonder phantom only flies
'To lure thee to thy doom.

[Page 30]

'Here to the houseless child of want

'My door is open still;

'And tho' my portion is but scant,

'I give it with good-will.

'Then turn to-night, and freely share
'What'er my cell bestows;
'My rushy couch and frugal fare,
'My blessing and repose.

'No flocks that range the valley free
'To slaughter I condemn;
'Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,
'I learn to pity them:

'But from the mountain's grassy side
'A guiltless feast I bring;
'A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
'And water from the spring.

'Then, pilgrim; turn; thy cares forego;
'For earth-born cares are wrong:
'Man wants but little here below,
'Nor wants that little long.'

Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,
His gentle accents fell;
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers, led astray.

No stores beneath his humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To revels or to rest,
The hermit trim'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd, and smil'd;
And, skill'd in legendery lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.

[Page 31]

Around, in sympathetic mirth,

It's tricks the kitten tries;

The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spy'd,
With answ'ring care oppress'd:
'And whence, unhappy youth,' he cry'd,
'The sorrows of thy breast?

'From better habitations spurn'd,
'Reluctant dost thou rove?
'Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
'Or unregarded love?

'Alas! the joys that fortune brings
'Are trifling, and decay;
'And those who prize the paultry things
'More trifling still than they.

'And what is friendship but a name—
'A charm that lulls to sleep—
'A shade that follows wealth or fame,
'And leaves the wretch to weep?

'And love is still an emptier sound,
'The modern fair-one's jest;
'On earth unseen, or only found
'To warm the turtle's nest.

'For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush,
'And spurn the sex!' he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
The love-lo
 [...]n guest betray'd.

Surpriz'd he sees new beauties rise,
Expanding to the view,
Like clouds that deck the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confess'd
A maid in all her charms.

[Page 32]

'And ah! forgive a stranger rude,

'A wretch forlorn,' she cry'd,

'Whose feet, unhallow'd, thus intrude

'Where heav'n and you reside!

'But let a maid thy pity share,
'Whom love has taught to stray:
'Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
'Companion of her way.

'My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
'A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine;
'He had but only me.

'To win me from his tender arms
'Unnumber'd suitors came;
'Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
'And felt, or feign'd a s
 [...]ame.

'Each hour a mercenary crowd
'With richest proffers strove;
'Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
'But never talk'd of love.

'In humblest, simplest habit clad,
'No wealth or pow'r had he;
'Wisdom and worth were all he had;
'But these were all to me.

'The blossom op'ning to the day,
'The dews of heav'n refin'd,
'Could nought of purity display
'To emulate his mind.

'The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
'With charms inconstant shine:
'Their charms were his; but woe to me!
'Their constancy was mine.

'For still I try'd each fickle art,
'Importunate and vain;
'And while his passion touch'd my heart,
'I triumph'd in his pain:

'Till, quite dejected with my scorn,
'He left me to my pride;
'And sought a solitude forlorn▪
'In secret, where he died.

[Page 33]

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault!

'And well my life shall pay;

'I'll seek the solitude he sought,

'And stretch me where he lay!

'And there forlorn, despairing hid,
'I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
'And so for him will I!"

'Forbid it, heav'n!' the hermit cry'd,
And clasp'd her to his breast:
The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide,
'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.

'Turn, Angelina, ever dear;
'My charmer, turn to see
'Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
'Restor'd to love and thee.

'Thus let me hold thee to my heat,
'And ev'ry care resign:
'And shall we never, never part,
'My life—my all that's mine!

'No, never from this hour to part;
'We'll live and love so true,
'The sigh that rends thy constant heat
'Shall break thy Edwin's too!'

THE HERMIT. PARNELL.FAR in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age, a rev'rend hermit grew:
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days,
Pray'r all his business, all his pleasure praise.
A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seem'd heav'n itself, till one suggestion rose—
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey;
This sprung some doubts of Providence sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenor of his soul is lost.

[Page 34]So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm nature's image on its wat'ry breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answ'ring colours glow:
But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side,
And glimm'ring fragments of a broken sun;
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
To find if books or swains report it right,
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew)
He quits his cell: the pilgrim staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;
Then with the sun a rising journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.
The mo
 [...]n was wasted in the pathless grass,
And long and lonesome was the wild to pass:
But when the southern sun had warm'd the day,
A youth came posting o'er a crossing way;
His 
 [...]aiment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft, in graceful ringlets, wav'd his hair:
Then near approaching, "Father, hail!" he cry'd;
And "hail my son!" the rev'rend sire reply'd;
Wo
 [...]ds follow'd wo
 [...]ds; from question answer flow'd;
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road;
Till each wi
 [...]h other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart.
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.
Now sunk the sun: the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantl'd o'er with sober grey;
Nature in silence bid the world repose:
When near the road a stately palace rose.
There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass.
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home:
Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive: the liv'ry'd servants wait:
Their lord receives them at the pompous gat
 [...] ▪

[Page 35]The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hospitably good.
Then, led to rest, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.
At length 'tis morn; and at the dawn of day
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play;
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep.
And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep.
Up rise the guests, obedient to the call;
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall:
Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,
Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste.
Then, pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go;
And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe:
His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise
The younger guest purloin'd the glitt'ring prize.
As one who spies a serpent in his way,
Glist'ning and basking in the summer ray,
Disorder'd, stops, to shun the danger near,
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear;
So seem'd the fire, when, far upon the road,
The shining spoil his wiley partner show'd.
He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart
And much he wish'd, but durst not ask, to part:
Murm'ring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard
That gen'rous actions meet a base reward.
While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds;
The changing skies hang out their sable clouds;
A sound in air presag'd approaching rain,
And beasts to covert send across the plain.
Warn'd by the signs, the wand'ring pair retreat,
To seek for shelter at a neighb'ring seat:
'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground,
And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around;
Its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe,
Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there.
As near the miser's heavy doors they drew,
Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;
The nimble lightning, mix'd with show'rs, began,
And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran.
Here long they knock; but knock or call in vain,
Driv'n by the wind and batter'd by the rain.

[Page 36]At length some pity warm'd the master's breast,
('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest):
Slow creeking, turns the door with jealous care,
And half he welcomes in the shiv'ring pair;
One frugal faggot lights the naked walls,
And nature's fervor through their limbs recals:
Bread of the coarsest sort, with meagre wine,
(Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine;
And when the tempest first appear'd to cease,
A ready warning bid them part in peace.
With still remark the pond'rous hermit view'd,
In one so rich, a life so poor and rude;
And why should such (within himself he cry'd)
Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside?
But what new marks of wonder soon took place
In ev'ry settling feature of his face,
When from his vest the young companion bore
That cup the gen'rous landlord own'd before,
And paid profusely with the precious bowl
The stinted kindness of this churlish soul!
But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
The sun, emerging, opes an azure sky;
A fresher green the smiling leaves display,
And, glitt'ring as they tremble, cheer the day:
The weather courts them from their poor retreat,
And the glad master bolts the wary gate.
While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought
With all the travel of uncertain thought;
His partner's acts without their cause appear:
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here:
Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,
Lost and confounded with the various shows.
Now night's dim shades again involve the sky;
Again the wand'rers want a place to lie;
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh.
The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat,
And neither poorly low nor idly great;
It seem'd to speak it's master's turn of mind,
Content—and not for praise, but virtue, kind.
Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,
Then bless the mansion, and the master greet:

[Page 37]Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise,
The courteous master hears, and thus replies:
"Without a vain, without a grudging heart,
To him, who gives us all, I yield a part;
From him you come; for him accept it here,
A frank and sober, more than costly cheer."
He spoke; and bid the welcome table spread:
Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed;
When the grave household round his hall repair,
Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with pray'r.
At length the world, renew'd by calm repose,
Was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose;
Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept
Near the clos'd cradle, where an infant slept,
And writh'd his neck: the landlord's little pride,
O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and dy'd,
Horror of horrors! what! his only son!
How look'd our hermit when the fact was done?
Not hell, tho' hell's black jaws in sunder part,
And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart.
Confus'd, and struck with silence at the deed,
He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed.
His steps the youth pursues; the country lay
Perplex'd with roads; a servant show'd the way:
A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er
Was nice to find; the servant trod before;
Long arms of oaks an open bridge supply'd,
And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.
The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin,
Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in:
Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,
Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.
Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes,
He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
"Detested wretch!"—But scarce his speech began,
When the strange partner seem'd no longer man:
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display,

[Page 38]The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.
Tho' loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew,
Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do;
Surprise in secret chains his words suspends,
And in a calm his settling temper ends.
But silence here the beauteous angel broke,
(The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke.)
"Thy pray'r, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown,
In sweet memorial rise before the throne:
These charms success in our bright region find,
And force an angel down to calm thy mind;
For this commission'd, I forsook the sky;
Nay, cease to kneel!—thy fellow-servant I.
"Then know the truth of government divine,
And let these scruples be no longer thine.
"The Maker justly claims the world he made,
In this the right of providence is laid;
Its sacred majesty through all depends
On using second means to work his ends;
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
The pow'r exerts his attributes on high,
Your actions uses, nor controuls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.
"What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wond'ring eyes?
Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty just,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.
"The great, vain man, who far'd on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good—
Who made his iv'ry stands with goblets shine,
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine—
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
"The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er mov'd in pity to the wand'ring poor,
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That heav'n can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;

[Page 39]In the kind warmth, the metal learns to glow,
And, loose from dross, the silver runs below.
"Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God;
(Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,
And measur'd back his steps to earth again.
To what excesses had his dotage run!
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee in fits he seem'd to go;
And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.
"But how had all his fortunes felt a wreck,
Had that false servant sped in safety back!
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal;
And what a fund of charity would fail!
"Thus heav'n instructs thy mind: this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."
On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew▪
The sage stood wond'ring, as the seraph flew.
Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky:
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too.
The bending hermit here a prayer begun:

Lord! as in heav'n, on earth thy will be done:
Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

An Elegy, written in a Country Church-Yard. GRAY.

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the le
 [...],
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drousy tinklings lull the distant folds▪

[Page 40]

Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the moon complain

Of such, as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r,

Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
Nor children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their teams afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where thro' the long-drawn ile and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn, or animated bust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull, cold ear of Death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire:
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre.

[Page 41]

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear▪
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

Th'aplause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense, kindled at the muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind▪

[Page 42]

On some fond breast the parting soul relies;

Some pious drops the closing eye requires;

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,

Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate;

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His liftless length at noon-tide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree:
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.

The next, with dirges due, in sad array,
Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne,
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Grav'd on the stone beneath you aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth;
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heav'n did a recompence as largely send:
He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear;
He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

[Page 43]

ADAM AND EVE's MORNING HYMN. MILTON.THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'rous then!
Unspeakable, who fitt'st above these heavens,
To us invisible or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heaven,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon has gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wand'ring fires that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author, rise!
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the th'rsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.

[Page 44]His praise, ye winds, that from four quar
 [...]ers blow,
B
 [...]eathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls; ye bi
 [...]ds,
That, singing, up to heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
To give us only good: and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

An hymn, from the beginning of the XIXth psalm. ADDISON.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim.
Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's pow'r display;
And publishes to ev'ry land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,
And, nightly, to the list'ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars, that round her burn▪
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings, as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark, terrestrial ball!
What tho' no real voice nor sound,
Amid their radiant orbs be found!

[Page 45] 
 [...]n Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."

A HYMN ON THE SEASONS. THOMSON.THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the 
varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tender
 [...] and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm▪
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun
Shoots full perfection thro' the swelling year:
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks,
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow whisp'ring gales,
Thy bounty shines in autumn uncontin'd,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In winter awful thou! with clouds and storms
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd,
Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore,
And humblest nature with thy northern blast.
Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine,
Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train,
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin'd;
Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade;
And all so forming an harmonious whole,
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft, with brute, unconscious gaze,
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres;
Works in the secret deep; shoots steaming thence
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the 
 [...]pring;

[Page 46]Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;
Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempest forth,
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature, attend! join, every living soul
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and ardent raise
One general song! To him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes:
Oh talk of him in solitary glooms,
Where o'er the rock the scarcely-waving pine
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe!
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heav'n
Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it, as I muse along.
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound—
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale—and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to him;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes, beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heav'n, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day! blest image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On nature write with every beam his praise.
The thunder rolls: be hush'd the prostrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills: ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound: the broad responsive lowe,
Ye vallies, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns▪

[Page 47]And his 
unsuffering kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song
Burst from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds! sweet Philomela, charm
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue, of all,
Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long-resounding voice, oft' breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, thro' the swelling base;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rise to heav'n.
Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove;
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of seasons, as they roll,
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows—the summer ray
Russets the plain—
inspiring autumn gleams—
Or winter rises in the blackening east;
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.
Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant, barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song—where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic isles—'tis nought to me:
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where he vital spreads, there must be joy.
When even at last, the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing: I cannot go
Where universal love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns:
From 
seeming evil still educing good.
And 
better thence again, and 
better still,
In infinite progression.—But I lose

[Page 48]Myself in him, in light ineffable!
Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise.

DESPONDENCY.— An Ode. BURNS.

OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I sit me down and sigh:
O life, thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
Dim-backward as I cast my view,
What sick'ning scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me through▪
Too justly I may fear!
Still caring, despairing,
Must be my bitter doom;
My woes here shall close ne'er,
But with the closing tomb!

Happy! ye sons of busy-life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,
No other view regard!
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd,
Yet while the busy means are ply'd,
They bring their own reward:
Whils
 [...] I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unsitted with an aim,
Meet ev'ry sad returning night,
And joyless morn, the same.
You bustling, and justling,
Forget each grief and pain;
I, listless, yet restless,
Find ev'ry prospect vain.

How blest the solitary's lot,
Who, all-forgetting, all forgot,
Within his humble cell,
The cavern wild with tangling roots,
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits,
Beside his crystal well!

[Page 49]Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought,
By unfrequented stream,
The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint-collected dream:
While praising, and raising
His thoughts to heav'n on high,
As wand'ring, meand'ring,
He views the solemn sky.

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd
Where never human footstep trac'd,
Less fit to play the part,
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop, and just to move,
With self-respecting art:
But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,
Which I too keenly taste,
The solitary can despise,
Can want, and yet be blest!
He needs not, he heeds not,
Or human love or hate;
Whilst I here, must cry here,
At perfidy ingrate!

Oh! enviable early days,
When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze,
To care, to guilt unknown!
How ill exchang'd for riper times,
To feel the follies, or the crimes,
Of others▪ or my own!
Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport,
Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
When manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,
That active men engage;
The fears all, the tears all,
Of dim declining age!

[Page 50]

ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE.

LIKE as a damask rose you see,
Or like the blossom on the tree—
Or like the dainty flower in May,
Or like the morning to the day—
Or like the sun, or like the shade,
Or like the gourd which Jonas had;
E'en such is man, whose thread is spun,
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done;
Withers the rose; the blossom blasts;
The flower fades; the morning hastes;
The sun doth set; the shadows fly;
The gourd consumes; and mortals die.

Like to the grass that's newly sprung,
Or like a tale that's new begun;
Or like a bird that's here to-day,
Or like the pearled dew of May;
Like an hour, or like a span,
Or like the singing of a swan.
E'en such is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The grass decays; the tale doth end;
The bird is flown; the dews ascend;
The hour is short, the span not long;
The swan's near death; man's life is done;

Like to the bubble in the brook,
Or in a glass much like a look;
Or like the shuttle in the hand,
Or like the writing in the sand;
Or like a thought, or like a dream,
Or like the gliding of the stream;
E'en such is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death;
The bubble's burst; the look's forgot;
The shuttle's flung; the writing's blot;
The thought is past; the dream is gone;
The water glides; man's life is done.

[Page 51]

AN EPITAPH ON A POOR, BUT HONEST MAN.STOP, reader, here, and deign a look
On one without a name;
Ne'er enter'd in the ample book,
Of fortune, or of fame;
Studious of peace, he hated strife,
Meek virtues fill'd his breast;
His coat of arms, "a spotless life"—
"An honest heart," his crest.
Quarter'd therewith was innocence;
And thus his motto ran:
"A conscience void of all offence
"Before both God and man."
In the great day of wrath, tho' pride
Now scorns his pedigree;
Thousands shall wish they'd been ally'd
To this great family.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. COWPER.A Nightingale, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when even-tide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark,
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop;
The wo
 [...]m, aware of his intent,
Ha
 [...]angu'd him thus, right eloquent:
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For' was the 
 [...]elf-same pow'r divine,
Taugh you to sing, and me to shine,

[Page 52]That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And va
 [...]bling out his approbation,
Releas
 [...]d him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
Hence jarring secretaries may learn
Their real int'rests to discern:
That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
'Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting, in each other's case,
The gifts of nature and of grace.
Those christians best deserve the name,
Who 
 [...]tudiously make peace their aim;
Peace, both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.

THE NATURAL BEAUTY. 
To Stella. Dr. 
JOHNSTON.WHETHER Stella's eyes are found
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow,
If she sigh at others woe,
If her easy air express
Conscious worth or soft distress,
Stella's eyes, and air, and face,
Charm with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we see display'd
Pendant gems, and rich brocade;
If her chintz with less expense
Flows in easy negligence;
Still she lights the conscious flame,
Still her charms appear the same.
If she strikes the vocal strings,
If she's silent, speaks, or sings,
If she sit, or if she move,
Still we love, and still approve.

[Page 53]Vain the casual, transient glance,
Which alone can please by chance,
Beauty, which depends on art,
Changing with the changing art,
Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendant gems and rich brocade.
I those charms alone can prize,
Which from constant nature rise,
Which nor circumstance, nor dress,
E'er can make, or more, or less.

SONG. WALLER.

GO, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time, and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have, uncommended, died.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir'd.
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.

SONG. AKENSIDE.

THE shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair!
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.

A damask cheek and ivory arm,
Shall ne'er my wishes win:

[Page 54]Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within—

A face, where awful honour shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,
And angel innocence refines
The tenderness of love.

These are the soul of beauty's frame,
Without whose vital aid,
Unfinish'd all her features seem,
And all her roses dead.

But ah! where both their charms unite,
How perfect is the view,
With every image of delight,
With graces ever new!

Of power to charm the greatest woe,
The wildest rage controul;
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,
And rapture through the soul.

Their power but faintly to express,
All language must despair;
But go, behold Arpasia's face,
And read it perfect there.

SONG. MOORE.

HOW bless'd has my time been, what joys have I known,
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jesse my own!
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.

Through walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray,
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play:
How pleasing their sport is, the wanton ones see,
And borrow their looks from my Jesse and me.

To try her sweet temper, sometimes am I seen
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green;
Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,
And meets me at night with compliance and smiles.

[Page 55]

What though on her cheeks the rose loses its hue,

Her wit and good humour bloom all the year through;

Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth,

And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare,
And cheat with false vows the too-credulous fair;
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam!
To hold it for life, you must find it at home.

SONG. GARRICK.

YE fair married dames, who so often deplore,
That a lover, once blest, is a lover no more;
Attend to my counsel, nor blush to be taught,
That prudence must cherish what beauty has caught.

The bloom of your cheek, and the glance of your eye,
Your roses and lilies may make the men sigh:
But roses, and lilies, and sighs pass away;
And passion will die, as your beauties decay.

Use the man 
 [...]hat you wed, like your fav'rite guittar,
Tho' music in both, they are both apt to jar;
How tuneful and soft from a delicate touch,
Not handled too roughly, nor play'd on too much!

The sparrow and linnet will feed from your hand,
Grow tame at your kindness, and come at command:
Exert with your husband the same happy skill,
For hearts, like your birds, may be tam'd to your will.

Be gay and good-humour'd, complying and kind,
Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind;
'Tis thus that a wife may her conquests improve,
And Hymen shall rivet the fetters of LOVE.

DEATH's FINAL CONQUEST. SHIRLEY.

THE glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things:
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings.

[Page 56]Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield,
They tame but one another still.
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

THE LAST DAY. YOUNG. Venit summa dies. 
VIRG.WHILE others sing the fortune of the great,
Empire and arms, and all the pomp of state;
I draw a deeper scene—a scene that yields
A louder trumpet, and more dreadful fields—
The world alarm'd, both earth and heaven o'erthrown,
And gasping nature's last tremendous groan—
Death's ancient sceptre broke—the teeming tomb—
The righteous Judge—and man's eternal doom.
This globe is for my verse a narrow bound;
Attend me, all ye glorious worlds around!
O! all ye angels, howsoe'er disjoin'd,
Of ev'ry various order, place, and kind,
Hear, and assist a feeble mortal's lays;
'Tis your 
Eternal King I strive to praise.
But chiefly thou, Great Ruler! Lord of all!
Before whose throne archangels prostrate fall;

[Page 57]If at thy nod, from discord and from night,
Sprang beauty, and yon sparkling worlds of light,
Exalt e'en me; all inward tumults quell;
The clouds and darkness of my mind dispel;
To my great subject thou my breast inspire,
And raise my lab'ring soul with equal fire.
Man, bear thy brow aloft; view ev'ry grace
In GOD's great offspring, beauteous Nature's face▪
See Spring's gay bloom; see golden Autumn's store;
See how earth smiles, and hear old Ocean roar.
Here forests rise, the mountain's awful pride;
Here rivers measure climes and worlds divide;
There vallies, fraught with gold's resplendent seeds▪
Hold kings', and kingdoms' fortunes in their beds▪
There, to the skies, aspiring hills ascend,
And into distant lands their shades extend.
View cities, armies, fleets; of fleets the pride,
See Europe's law, in Albion's channel ride.
View the whole earth's vast landscape unconfin'd,
Or view, in Britain, all her glories join'd.
Then let the firmament thy wonder raise;
'Twill raise thy wonder, but transcend thy praise
How far from east to west▪ The lab'ring eye
Can scarce the distant azure bounds descry:
Wide theatre! where tempests play at large,
And GOD's right hand can all its wrath discharge▪
Mark how those radiant lamps inflame the pole,
Call forth the seasons, and the year control:
They shine through time with an unalter'd ray:
See this grand period rise, and that decay:
So 
vast, this world's a grain: yet myriads grace,
With golden pomp, the throug'd ethereal space;
So 
bright, with such a wealth of glory stor'd,
'Twere sin in 
heathens not to have ador'd.
How great, how firm, how sacred, all appears!
How worthy an immortal round of years!
Yet all must drop, as autumn's sickliest grain,
And earth and firmament be sought in vain:
The tract forgot, where 
constellations shone,
Or where the Stuarts fill'd an awful throne:

Time shall be slain, all 
nature be destroy'd,
Nor leave an atom in the mighty void.

[Page 58]Sooner or later, in some future date,
(A dreadful secret in the book of fate!)
This hour, for au
 [...]ht all human wisdom knows,
Or when ten thousand harvests more have rose;
When scenes are chang'd on this revolving earth,
Old empires fall, and give new empires birth;
While the still busy world is treading o'er
The paths they trod five thousand years before,
Though less as those who 
now life's mazes run,
Of earth dissolv'd, or an extinguish'd sun;
(Ye sublunary worlds, awake, awake!
Ye rulers of the nations, hear and shake!)
Thick clouds of darkness shall arise on day;
In sudden night all earth's dominions lay;
Impetuous winds the scatter'd forests rend;
Eternal mountains, like their cedars, bend;
The vallies yawn—the troubled Ocean roar—
And break the bondage of his wonted shore;
A sanguine stain the silver moon o'erspread;
Darkness the circle of the sun invade;
From inmost heav'n incessant thunders roll,
And the strong echo bound from pole to pole.
When, lo! a mighty t
 [...]ump—one half conceal'd
In clouds—one half to mortal eye reveal'd—
Shall pour a dreadful note: the piercing call
Shall rattle in the centre of the ball;
Th' extended circuit of creation shake,
The living die with fear, the dead awake.
O pow'rful blast! to which no equal sound
Did e'er the frighted ear of nature wound,
Though rival clarions have been strain'd on high,
And kindled wars immortal through the sky—
Though GOD's whole engin'ry discharg'd—and all
The rebel angels bellow'd in their fall.
Have angels sinn'd! and shall not man beware?
How shall a son of earth decline the sna
 [...]e?
Not folded arms, and slackness of the mind,
Can promise for the safety of mankind:
None are supinely good: through care and pain,
And various arts, the steep ascent we gain.
This is the scene of combat, not of rest;
Man's is laborious happiness at best;

[Page 59]On this side death, his dangers never cease:
His joys are joys of conquest, not of peace.
If then, obsequious to the will of fate,
And bending to the terms of human state,
When guilty joys invite us to their arms—
When Beauty smiles, or Grandeur spreads her charms—
The conscious soul would 
this great scene 
 [...]
Call down th' immortal hosts in dread array,
The 
trumpet sound, the christian banner spread,
And raise, from silent graves, the trembling dead;
Such deep impression would the picture make,
No pow'r on earth her firm resolve could shake;
Engag'd with angels, she would greatly stand,
And look regardless down on sea and land;
Not proffer'd worlds her ardour could restrain,
And Death might shake his threatning lance in vain!
Her certain conquest would endear the fight,
And danger serve but to exalt delight.
Instructed thus to shun the fatal spring,
Whence flow the terrors of that day I sing;
More boldly we our labours may pursue,
And all the dreadful image set to view.
The sparkling eye, the sleek and painted breast,
The burnish'd scale, curl'd train, and rising crest—
All that is lovely in the noxious snake,
Provokes our fear, and bids us fly the brake:
The sting once drawn, his guiltless beauties rise,
In pleasing lustre, and detain our eyes;
We view with joy, what once did horror move,
And strong aversion softens into love.
Say, then, my muse, whom dismal scenes delight,
Frequent at tombs, and in the realms of night;
Say, melancholy maid, if bold to dare
The last extremes of terror and despair—
Oh say, what change on earth, what heart in man▪
This blackest moment since the world began.
Ah mournful sight! the blissful Earth, who late
At leisure on her axle roll'd in state—
While thousand golden planets knew no rest,
Still onward in their circling journey prest—
A grateful change of seasons some to bring▪
And sweet vicissitude of fall and spring—

[Page 60]Some thro' vast oceans to conduct the keel,
And some those watry worlds to sink, or swell—
Around her some their splendors to display,
And gild her globe with tributary day—
This world so great, of joy the bright abode,
Heav'n's darling child, and fav'rite of her God,
Now looks an exile from her Father's care,
Deliver'd o'er to darkness and despair.
No sun in radiant glory shines on high
No light, but from the terrors of the sky.
Fall'n are her mountains, her fam'd rivers lost,
And all into a second chaos tost:
One universal ruin spreads abroad;
Nothing is safe beneath the throne of God.
Such, Earth, thy fate: what then canst thou afford
To comfort and support thy guilty lord?
Man, haughty lord of all beneath the moon,
How must he bend his soul's ambition down!
Prostrate the reptile own, and disavow
His boasted stature and assuming brow!
Claim kindred with the clay, and curse his form,
That speaks distinction from his sister worm!
What dreadful pangs the trembling heart invade!
Lord, why dost thou forsake, whom thou hast made?
Who can sustain thy anger? who can stand
Beneath the terrors of thy lifted hand?
It flies the reach of thought: Oh save me, Pow'r
Of pow'rs supreme, in that tremendous hour!
Thou, who beneath the frown of fate hast stood,
And in thy dreadful agony sweat blood—
Thou, who for me, thro' every throbbing vein,
Hast felt the keenest edge of mortal pain—
Whom Death led captive thro' the realms below,
And taught those horrid mysteries of woe;
Defend me, O my God! Oh save me, Pow'r
Of pow'rs supreme, in that tremendous hour!
From east to we
 [...] they fly— from pole to line—
Imploring shelter from the wrath divine;
Beg flames to wrap, or whelming seas to sweep,
Or rocks to yawn, compassionately deep:
Seas cast the monster forth▪ to meet his doom;
And rocks but prison up, for wrath to come.

[Page 61]So fares a traitor to an earthly crown,
While Death sits threat'ning in his prince's frown;
His heart's dismay'd: and now his fears command
To change his native for a distant land:
Swift orders fly; the king's severe decree
Stands in the channel, and locks up the sea;
The port he seeks, obedient 
 [...]o her lord,
Hurls back the rebel to his lifted sword.
But why this idle toil, to paint 
that day?
This time elaborately thrown away?
Words all in vain pant after the distress;
The height of eloquence would make it less▪
Heav'ns! 
 [...]'en the good man trembles—
And is there a 
last day? and must there come
A sure, a fix'd, inexorable doom?

Ambition, swell; and, thy proud sails to show,
Take all the winds that 
Vanity can blow;

Wealth, on a golden mountain blazing stand,
And reach an 
India forth in either hand;
Spread all thy purple clusters, temping 
Vine,
And thou, more dreaded foe, bright 
Beauty, shine▪
Shine all; in all your charms together rise;
That all, in all your charms, I may despise,
While I mount upward on a strong desire,
Borne, like 
Elijah, in a car of fire.
In hopes of glory to be quite involv'd—
To smile at Death—to long to be dissolv'd—
From our decays a pleasure to receive—
And kindle into transport at a grave—
What equals this? And shall the victor, now,
Boast the proud laurels on his loaded brow?
Religion! Oh thou cherub, heav'nly bright!
Oh joys unmix'd, and fathomless delight!
Thou, thou art all; nor find I, in the whole
Creation, aught, but God and my own soul.
For ever then, my soul, thy God adore,
Nor let the brute creation praise him more.
Shall things inanimate my conduct blame,
And flush my conscious cheek with spreading shame?
They all for him pursue, or quit, their end;
The mounting flames their burning pow'r suspend;

[Page 62]In solid heaps th' unfrozen billows stand,
To rest and silence aw'd by his command:
Nay, the dire monsters that infest the flood,
By nature dreadful, and athirst for blood,
His will can calm—their savage tempers bind—
And turn to mild protectors of mankind.
Did not the prophet this great truth maintain
In the deep chambers of the gloomy main—
When darkness round him all her horrors spread,
And the loud ocean bellow'd o'er his head?
When now the thunder roars—the lightning flies—▪
And all the warring winds tumultuous rise—
When now the foaming surges, toss'd on high,
Disclose the sands beneath, and touch the sky—
When death draws near—the mariners, aghast,
Look back with terror on their actions past:
Their courage sickens into deep dismay,
Their hearts thro' fear and anguish melt away;
Nor tears, nor pray'rs, the tempest can appease;
Now they devote their treasure to the seas;
Unload their shatter'd barque, tho' richly fraught,
And think the hopes of life are cheaply bought
With gems and gold: but oh, the storm so high!
Nor gems, nor gold, the hopes of life can buy.
The trembling prophet, then, themselves to save,
They headlong plunge into the briny wave;
Down he descends, and, booming o'er his head,
The billows close; he's number'd with the dead.
(Hear, O ye just! attend, ye virtuous few!
And the bright paths of piety pursue.)
Lo! the great Ruler of the world from high
Looks smiling down with a propitious eye,
Covers his servant with his gracious hand,
And bids tempestuous nature silent stand;
Commands the peaceful waters to give place,
Or kindly fold him in a soft embrace:
He bridles in the monsters of the deep;
The bridled monsters awful distance keep;
Forget their hunger, while they view their prey;
And guiltless gaze, and round the stranger play.
But still arise new wonders. Nature's Lord
Sends forth into the deep his pow'rful word;

[Page 63]And calls the great Leviathan. The great
Leviathan attends in all his state;
Exults for joy, and with a mighty bound
Makes the sea shake, and heav'n and earth resound▪
Blackens the waters with the rising sand,
And drives vast billows to the distant land.
As yawns an earthquake, when imprison'd air
Struggles for vent, and lays the centre bare—
The whale expands his jaws' enormous size:
The prophet views the cavern with surprise;
Measures his monstrous teeth, afar descry'd,
And rolls his wond'ring eyes from side to side:
Then takes possession of the spacious seat,
And sails secure within the dark retreat.
Now is he pleas'd the northern blast to hear,
And hangs on liquid mountains, void of fear;
Or falls immers'd into the depths below,
Where the dead, silent waters never flow;
To the foundations of the hills convey'd,
Dwells in the shelving mountain's dreadful shade:
Where plummet never reach'd, he draws his breath;
And glides serenely through the paths of Death.
Two wond'rous days and nights, thro' coral groves,
Thro' labyrinths of rocks and sands, he roves:
When the third morning with its level rays
The mountains gilds, and on the billows plays,
It sees the king of waters rise, and pour
His sacred guest, uninjur'd, on the shore:
A type of that great blessing, which the Muse
In her next labour ardently pursues.

THE LAST DAY. BOOK II.NOW man awakes; and, from his silent bed,
Where he has slept for ages, lifts his head;
Shakes off the slumber of ten thousand years,
And on the borders of new worlds appears.

[Page 64]Whate'er the bold, the rash adventure cost,
In wide 
eternity I dare be lost.
The muse is wont in narrow bounds to sing,
To 

 [...]each the swain, or 
celebrate the king.
I grasp the whole, no more to parts confin'd,
I lift my voice, and sing to 
human kind:
I sing to men and angels. Angels join,
While such the theme, their sacred songs with mine.
Again the trumpet's intermitted sound
Rolls the wide circuit of creation round,
An universal concourse to prepare
Of all that ever breath'd the vital air;
In some wide field, which active whirlwinds sweep,
Drive cities, forests, mountains to the deep,
To smooth and lengthen out th' unbounded space,
And spread an area for all human race.
Now monuments prove faithful to their trust,
And render back their long-committed dust.
Now charnels rattle; scatter'd limbs, and all
The various bones, obsequious to the call,
Self-mov'd, advance: the neck, perhaps, to meet
The distant head; the distant legs, the feet.
Dreadful to view, see, through the dusky sky,
Fragments of bodies in confusion fly,
To distant regions journeying, there to claim
Deserted members, and complete the frame.
When the world bow'd to 
Rome's almighty sword,

Rome bow'd to POMPEY, and confess'd her lord.
Yet one day lost, this deity below
Became the scorn and pity of his foe.
His blood a traitor's sacrifice was made,
And smoak'd indignant on a ruffian's blade.
No trumpet's sound, no gasping army's yell,
Bid with due horror his great soul farewell.
Obscure his fall! all welt'ring in his gore,
His trunk was cast to perish on the shore!
While JULIUS frown'd the bloody monster dead,
Who brought the world in his great rival's head.
This sever'd head and trunk shall join once more,
Tho' realms now rise between, and oceans roar.
The trumpet's sound each vagrant mote shall hear,
Or fix'd in earth, or if afloat in air,

[Page 65]Obey the signal, wasted in the wind,
And not one sleeping atom lag behind.
So swarming bees, that, on a summer's day,
In airy 
 [...]ings, and wild meanders play,
Charm'd with the brazen sound, their wand'rings end▪
And, gently circling, on a bough descend.
The body thus renew'd, the conscious soul,
Which has, perhaps, been flutt'ring near the pole,
Or midst the burning planets wond'ring stray'd,
Or hover'd o'er, where her pale corpse was laid;
Or rather coasted on her final state,
And fear'd, or wish'd for, her appointed fate:
This soul returning with a constant flame,
Now weds forever her immortal frame.
Life, which ran down before, so high is wound,
The springs maintain an everlasting round.
That ancient, sacred, and illustrious 


* dome,
Where, soon or late, fair 
Albion's heroes come,
From camps, and courts, tho' great, and wise, and just,
To feed the worm, and moulder into dust—
That solemn mansion of the royal dead,
Where passing slaves o'er sleeping monarchs tread,
Now populous o'erflows: a num'rous race
Of rising kings fill all th' extended space:
A life well spent, not the victorious sword,
Awards the crown, and stiles the greater lord.
Nor monuments alone, and burial-earth,
Labours with man to this his second birth;
But where gay palaces in pomp arise,
And gilded theatres invade the skies,
Nations shall wake, whose unrespected bones
Support the pride of their luxurious sons.
The most magnificent and costly dome
Is but an upper chamber to a tomb.
No spot, on earth, but has supply'd a grave,
And human sculls the spacious ocean pave.
All's full of man, and at this dreadful turn,
The swarm shall issue, and the hive shall burn.
Not all at once, nor in like manner rise:
Some lift with pain their slow, unwilling eyes;

[Page 66]Shrink backward from the terror of the light,
And bless the grave, and call for lasting night.
Others, whose long-attempted virtue stood
Fix'd as a rock, and broke the rushing flood—
Whose firm resolve, nor beauty could melt down,
Nor raging tyrants from their posture frown—
Such, in this day of horrors, shall be seen,
To face the thunders with a godlike mien;
The planets drop—their thoughts are fix'd above;
The centre shakes—their hearts disdain to move.
An earth dissolving, and a heav'n thrown wide,
A yawning gulph, and fiends on every side,
Serene they view, impatient of delay,
And bless the dawn of everlasting day.
Oh wond'rous change! what unknown objects rise,
Shake my belief, and fill me with surprise!
Here, 
Greatness prostrate falls; there, 
Strength gives place;
Here, 
lazars smile; there, 
Beauty hides her face.

Christians, and 
Jews, and 
Turks, and 
Pagans stand,
A blended throng, one undistinguish'd band.
Some who, perhaps, by mutual wounds expir'd,
With zeal for their distinct persuasions fir'd,
In mutual friendship their long slumbers break,
And, hand in hand, their Saviour's love partake.
But none are flush'd with brighter joy, or, warm
With juster confidence, enjoy the storm,
Than those, whose pious bounties unconfin'd
Have made them public fathers of mankind.
In that illustrious rank, what shining light
With such distinguish'd glory fills my sight?
Bend down, my grateful muse, that homage show,
Which to such worthies thou art proud to owe.
WICKHAM! FOX! CHICHLEY! hail, illustrious 


* names,
Who to far distant times dispense your beams;
Beneath your-shades, and near your crystal springs,
I first presum'd to touch the trembling strings.
All hail, thrice-honour'd! 'Twas your great renown
To bless a people, and oblige a crown.
When other records length of years shall blast,
In your adopted sons your fame shall last,

[Page 67]And make those kings to latest ages known,
Those happy monarchs, under whom you shone:
A moment shone, illustriously bright,
Then left the mourning world, and set in night;
But now you rise, eternally to shine,
Eternally to drink the rays divine.
Indulgent God! Oh how shall mortal raise
His soul to due returns of grateful praise,
For bounty so profuse to human kind,
Thy wond'rous gift of an eternal mind?
Shall I, who some few years ago was less
Than worm, or mite, or shadow can express—
Was nothing—shall I live, when ev'ry fire
Of ev'ry star shall languish or expire?
When earth's no more, shall I survive above,
And through the radiant files of angels move?
Or, as before the throne of God I stand,
See new worlds rolling from his spacious hand,
Where our adventures shall perhaps be taught,
As we now tell how Michael sung or 
 [...]ought?
All that has being in full concert join,
And celebrate the depths of 
Love divine!
But oh! before this blissful state, before
Th' aspiring soul this wond'rous height can soar,
The Judge, descending, thunders from afar,
And all mankind are summon'd to the bar.
This mighty scene I next presume to draw:
Attend, great Anna, with religious awe.
Expect not here the known successful arts,
To win attention, and command our hearts:
Fiction be far away, let no machine
Descending here, no fabled God be seen;
Behold the God of gods indeed descend,
And worlds unnumber'd his approach attend.
Lo! the wide theatre, whose ample space
Must entertain the whole of human race,
At heav'n's all-powerful edict is prepar'd,
And fenc'd around with an immortal guard.
Tribes, provinces, dominions, worlds o'erflow
The mighty plain, and deluge all below:
And every age and nation pours along;
Nimrod and Bourbon mingle in the throng:

[Page 68]Adam salutes his youngest son; no sign
Of all those ages which their births disjoin.
How empty learning, and how vain is art,
But as it mends the life, and guides the heart?
What volumes have been swell'd, what time been spent,
To fix a hero's birth-day or descent!
What joy must it now yield, what rapture raise,
To see the glorious race of ancient days!
To greet those worthies, who perhaps have stood
Illustrious on record before the flood!
Alas! a nearer care your soul demands,
Caesar unnoted in your presence stands.
How vast the concourse, not in number more
The waves that break on the resounding shore,
The leaves that tremble in the shady grove,
The lamps that gild the spangled vaults above.
Those overwhelming armies, whose command
Said to one empire, fall; another, stand:
Whose rear lay wrapt in night, while breaking dawn
Rouz'd the broad front, and call'd the battle on:
Great Xerxes' world in arms, proud Cannae's field,
Where 
Carthage taught victorious 
Rome to yield,
(Another blow had broke the fates' decree,
And earth had wanted her fourth monarchy)
Immortal Blenheim, fam'd Ramillia's host,
They all are here, and here they all are lost:
Their millions swell to be discern'd in vain,
Lost as a billow in th' unbounded main.
This echoing voice now rends the yielding air,

For judgment, judgment, sons of men, prepare!
Earth shakes anew. I hear her groans profound,
And hell through all her trembling realms resound.
Whoe'er thou art, thou greatest power of earth,
Blest with most equal planets at thy birth;
Whose valour drew the most successful sword,
Most realms united in one common Lord;
Who on the day of triumph, saidst, be thine
The skies, Jehovah, all this world is mine:

 [...]a
 [...]e not to lift thine eye.—Alas! my muse;
How art thou lost! what numbers canst thou choose?
A sudden blush inflames the waving sky,
And now the crimson curtains open fly;

[Page 69]Lo! far within, and far above all height,
Where heav'n's great Sovereign reigns in worlds of light,
Whence Nature he informs, and with one ray
Shot from his eye, does all her works survey,
Creates, supports, confounds! where time and place,
Matter, and Form, and Fortune, Life, and Grace,
Wait humbly at the footstool of their God,
And move obedient at his awful nod;
Whence he beholds us, vagrant emmets, crawl
At random on this air-suspended ball,
(Speck of creation) if he pour one breath,
The bubble breaks, and 'tis eternal death.
Thence issuing I behold (but mortal sight
Sustains not such a rushing sea of light!)
I see on an empyreal flying throne
Awfully rais'd Heav'n's everlasting SON;
Crown'd with that majesty, which form'd the world,
And the grand rebel flaming downward hurl'd.
Virtue, Dominion, Praise, Omnipotence,
Support the train of their triumphant Prince.
A zone, beyond the thought of angels bright,
Around him, like the zodiac, winds its light.
Night shades the solemn arches of his brows,
And in his cheek the purple morning glows.
Where'er serene he turns propitious eyes,
Or we expect, or find a paradise;
But if resentment reddens their mild beams,
The 
Eden kindles, and the world's in flames.
On one hand, knowledge shines in purest light,
On one, the sword of justice fiercely bright.

Now bend the knee in sport, present the reed;

Now tell the scourg'd impostor, he shall bleed!
But oh! you sons of men, exalt your voice,
And bid the soul through all her pow'rs rejoice:
Mercy, his darling, in his bosom found,
Scatters ambrosial odours all around;
Unbends his brow, and mitigates his frown,
And sooths his rage, and melts his thunders down.
My thoughts are chang'd; now man, exalt thine eye,
In thy dread judge thy dear Redeemer spy:
Ev'n JUDAS struggles his despair to quell:
Hope almost blossoms in the shades of hell.

[Page 70]Thus glorious through the courts of heav'n, the source
Of life and death eternal bends his course;
Loud thunders round him roll, and lightnings play;
Th' angelic host is rang'd in bright array:
Some touch the string, some strike the sounding shell,
And mingling voices with rich concert swell;
Voices seraphic; blest with such a strain,
Could 
Satan hear, he were a God again:
All heav'n shines forth, in all her pomp complete,
For GOD, himself, magnificently great.
Triumphant King of glory! Soul of bliss!
What a stupendous turn of fate is this?
Oh whither art thou rais'd above the scorn,
And indigence of him, in 
Bethlem born;
A needy, helpless, unaccounted guest,
And but a second to the fodder'd beast!
How chang'd from him, who, meekly prostrate laid,
Vouchsaf'd to wash the feet himself had made!
From him, who was betray'd, forsook, deny'd,
Wept, languish'd, pray'd, bled, thirsted, groan'd and dy'd;
Hung pierc'd and bare, insulted by the foe,
All heav'n in tears above, earth unconcern'd below▪
And was't enough to bid the sun retire?
Why did not Nature at thy groan expire?
I see, I hear, I feel, the pangs divine,
The world is vanish'd—I am wholly thine.
Mistaken CAIAPHAS! Ah! which blasphem'd,
Thou or thy pris'ner? which shall be condemn'd?
Well might'st thou rend thy garments, well exclaim;
Deep are the horrors of eternal flame!
But God is good! 'Tis wondrous all! Ev'n he
Thou gav'st to death, shame, torture, dy'd for thee.
Now the descending triumph stops its flight
From earth full twice a planetary height.
There all the clouds condens'd, two columns raise
Distinct with orient veins, and golden blaze.
One fix'd on earth, and one in sea, and round
Its ample foot the swelling billows sound.
These an immeasurable arch support,
The grand tribunal of this awful court.
Sheets of bright azure, from the purest sky
Stream from the crystal arch, and round the columns fly.

[Page 71] 
Death, wrapt in chains, low at the basis lies,
And, on the point of his own arrow, dies.
Here high enthron'd, th' eternal Judge is plac'd,
With all the grandeur of the Godhead grac'd;
Stars on his robes in beauteous order meet,
And the sun burns beneath his awful feet.
Now an archangel, eminently bright,
From off his silver staff of wond'rous height,
Unfurls the christian flag, which waving flies,
And shuts and opens more than half the skies.
The cross so strong a red, it sheds a stain,
Where'er it floats, on earth, in air, or main;
Flushes the hill, and sets on fire the wood,
And turns the deep-dy'd ocean into blood.
O formidable glory! dreadful bright!
Refulgent torture to the guilty sight.
Ah turn, unwary muse; nor dare reveal
What horrid thoughts with the polluted dwell.
Say not, (to make the sun shrink in his beam)
Dare not affirm, they wish it all a dream;
Wish, or their souls may with their limbs decay,
Or God be spoil'd of his eternal sway.
But rather, if thou know'st the means, unfold
How they with transport may the scene behold.
Ah how! but by repentance, by a mind
Quick and severe its own offence to find?
By tears, and groans, and never-ceasing care,
And all the pious violence of pray'r?
Thus then with fervency till now unknown,
I cast my heart before th' eternal throne,
In this great temple which the skies surround,
For homage to its Lord a narrow bound.
"O thou whose balance does the mountains weigh—
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey—
Whose breath can turn those watry worlds to flame,
That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame—
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls,
And on the bounty of thy goodness calls.
"O give the winds all past offence to sweep,
To scatter wide, or bury in the deep:
Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see,
And wholly dedicate my soul to thee:

[Page 72]Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow
At thy command, nor human motive know.
If anger boil, let anger be my praise,
And sin the graceful indignation 
 [...]aise.
My love be warm to succour the distress'd,
And lift the burden from the soul oppress'd.
"O may my understanding ever read
This glorious volume, which thy wisdom made!
Who decks the maiden Spring with flow'ry pride?
Who calls forth Summer, like a sparkling bride?
Who joys the mother Autumn's bed to crown,
And bids old Winter lay her honours down?
Not the great Ottoman, or greater czar,
Not Europe's arbitress of peace or war.
May sea and land, and earth and heav'n be join'd,
To bring th' eternal Author to my mind!
When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll,
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul;
When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine,
Adore, my heart, the majesty divine.
"Thro' ev'ry scene of life, or peace, or war,
Plenty, or want, thy glory be my care!
Shine we in arms? or sing beneath our vine?
Thine is the vintage, and the conquest thine:
Thy pleasure points the shaft, and bends the bow;
The cluster blasts, or bids it brightly glow;
'Tis thou that lead'st our pow'rful armies forth,
And giv'st great Anne thy sceptre o'er the north.
"Grant I may ever, at the morning ray,
Open with pray'r the consecrated day:
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And with the mounting sun ascend the skies;
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardour of consummate love;
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.
"And O! permit the gloom of solemn night,
To sacred thought may forcibly invite.
When this world's shut, and awful planets rise,
Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies;
Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight,
And show all nature in a milder light;

[Page 73]How ev'ry boist'rous thought in calm subsides!
How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides!
O how divine! to tread the milky way
To the bright palace of the Lord of day;
His court admire, or for his favour sue,
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew:
Pleas'd to look down, and see the world asleep,
While I long vigils to its founder keep!
"Canst thou not shake the centre? O controul,
Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul:
Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood,
Restrain the various tumults of my blood;
Teach me with equal firmness to sustain
Alluring pleasure, and assaulting pain.
O may I pant for thee in each desire!
And with strong faith foment the holy fire!
Stretch out my soul in hope, to grasp the prize,
Which in eternity's deep bosom lies!
At the great day of recompense behold,
Devoid of fear, the 
fatal book unfold!
Then wafted upward to the blissful seat,
From age to age, my grateful song repeat;
My light, my life, my God, my Saviour see
And rival angels in the praise of thee."

THE LAST DAY. BOOK III.THE book unfolding, the resplendent seat
Of saints and angels, the tremendous fate
Of guilty souls, the gloomy realms of woe,
And all the horrors of the world below,
I next presume to sing: what yet remains
Demands my last, but most exalted strains.
And let the muse or now affect the sky,
Or in inglorious shades forever lie.
She kindles, she's inflam'd so near the goal;
She mounts, she gains upon the starry pole;

[Page 74]The world grows less as she pursues her flight,
And the sun darkens to her distant sight.
Heav'n opening all its sacred pomp displays,
And overwhelms her with the rushing blaze!
The triumph rings! archangels shout around!
And echoing nature lengthens out the sound!
Ten thousand trumpets 
now at one advance;

Now deepest silence lulls the vast expanse:
So deep the silence, and so strong the blast,
As nature dy'd, when she had groan
 [...]d her last.
Nor man, nor angel moves; the Judge on high
Looks round, and with his glory fills the sky:
Then on the fatal book his hand he lays,
Which high to view supporting seraphs raise;
In solemn form the rituals are prepar'd,
The seal is broken, and a groan is heard.
And thou, my soul, (O fall to sudden pray'r,
And let the thought sink deep!) shalt thou be there?
See on the left, (for by the great command
The throng, divided, falls on either hand,)
How weak, how pale, how haggard, how obscene,
What more than death in ev'ry face and mien?
With what distress, and glarings of affright,
They shock the heart, and turn away the sight;
In gloomy orbs their trembling eye-balls roll,
And tell the horrid secrets of the soul.
Each gesture mourns; each look is black with care;
And ev'ry groan is loaden with despair.
Reader, if guilty, spare the muse; and find
A truer image pictur'd in thy mind.
Should'st thou behold thy brother, father, wife,
And all the soft companions of thy life,
Whose blended interest levell'd at one aim,
Whose mix'd desires sent up one common flame,
Divided far—thy wretched self alone
Cast on the left of all whom thou hast known—
How would it wound? what millions would'st thou give
For one more trial, one day more to live?
Flung back in time an hour, a moment's space,
To grasp with eagerness the means of grace:
Contend for mercy with a pious 
 [...]age,
And in that moment to redeem an age?

[Page 75]Drive back the tide—suspend a storm in air—
Restrain the sun—but still of this despair.
Mark on the right how amiable a grace!
Their Maker's image fresh in ev'ry face!
What purple bloom my ravish'd soul admires,
And their eyes sparkling with immortal fires!
Triumphant beauty! charms that rise above
This world, and in blest angels kindle love!
To the Great Judge with holy pride they turn,
And dare behold th' Almighty's anger burn!
Its flash sustain, against its terror rise,
And on the dread tribunal fix their eyes.
Are these the forms that moulder'd in the dust?
O the transcendent glory of the just!
Yet still some thin remains of fear and doubt
Th' infected brightness of their joy pollute.
Thus the chaste bridegroom, when the priest draw
 [...] nigh,
Beholds his blessings with a trembling eye,
Feels doubtful passions throb in every vein,
And in his cheeks are mingled, joy and pain,
Lest still some intervening chance should rise,
Leap forth at once, and snatch'd the glorious prize,
Inflame his woe, by bringing it so late,
And stab him in the crisis of his fate.
Since Adam's family, from first to last,
Now into one distinct survey is cast;
Look round, vain-glorious muse, and you, whoe'er
Devote yourselves to fame, and think her fair;
Look round, and view the lights of human race,
Whose shining acts time's brightest annals grace—
Who founded sects—crowns conquer'd, or resign'd—
Gave names to nations—or fam'd empires join'd—
Who rais'd the vale, and laid the mountain low—
And taught obedient rivers where to flow—
Who with vast fleets, as with a mighty chain,
Could bind the madness of the roaring main—
All lost, all undistinguish'd, no where found,
How will this truth in Bourbon's palace sound?
Round gilded roofs how heavy will it fly?
With what a weight on crowns and sceptres lie?
What then is he


*, who 'midst the radiant bands
Of spotless saints, and laurel'd martyrs stands,

[Page 76]Conspicuous from afar? Whose rays so bright
Solicit, and attract the ravish'd sight?
In whom I see two distant virtues join'd,
A royal greatness, and an humble mind?
His lifted hands his lofty neck surround,
To hide the scarlet of a circling wound;
Th' Almighty Judge bends forward from his throne,
These scars to mark, and then regards his own.

Jerusalem's foundations groan aloud,
And 
Albion sinks beneath her ambient flood.
Not far, methinks, I kindred features trace
In a majestic, tho' a female face,
Her consort by; around them smiling move
The beauteous blossoms of their fruitful love:
Known of their parents, they their parents know;
Their bosoms with a double transport glow;
Blest in themselves, but more than blest to find
All held most dear in equal blessing join'd.
In ONE, superior majesty appears,
Advanc'd in beauty, as advanc'd in years.
What melting sweetness, what commanding grace
Meet on his brow, like victory and peace!
Oh! 
 [...]o what fav'rite part of human-kind
Was this so great, but dangerous gift design'd?
What nation humbly could enjoy his reign?
If lost, with patience such a loss sustain?
Ah say, 
Britannia, whence this vengeance flow'd?
Hast thou not yet aton'd thy martyr's blood?
EDWARDS and HENRYS still aloud resound!
Nor are their names in greater GLOSTER drown'd;
Oh! what a Godlike race in him is lost?
What has his death e'en future ages cost?
But us'd with art, and rightly understood,
All dispensations from above are good;
And though with frightful aspect they surprise,
Most ills are only blessings in disguise.
Oh happy issue! to whom ne'er was known
The bright temptations sparkling from a throne;
Great parents! who those bright temptations knew,
Knowing engag'd, engaging overthrew.
Now, just reward! celestial crowns enclose
With deathless glories your victorious brows.

[Page 77]For see the volume vast, since time begun
Just register of all beneath the sun,
Is thrown full wide; peace, ocean! silence lull
The sounding winds! ye spheres, forbear to roll!
Hear, O creation, thy Great Master speak!
Now first for guilty man blest angels shake.
That hour, on which th' Almighty King on high
From all eternity has fix'd his eye,
Whether his right hand favour'd, or annoy'd,
Continu'd, alter'd, threaten'd, or destroy'd,
Southern or eastern sceptre downward hurl'd,
Gave north or west dominion o'er the world;
The point of time, for which the world was built,
For which the blood of God himself was spilt,
That dreadful moment is arriv'd.
Aloft, the seats of bliss their pomp display
Brighter than brightness, the distinguish'd day;
Less glorious, when of old th' eternal Son
From realms of night return'd with trophies won;
Thro' heav'n's high gates, when he triumphant rode,
And shouting angels hail'd the victor God.
Horrors, beneath, darkness in darkness, hell
Of hell, where torments behind torments dwell;
A furnace formidable, deep and wide,
O'er-boiling with a mad sulphureous tide,
Expands its jaws, most dreadful to survey,
And roars outrageous for the destin'd prey.
The sons of light scarce unappal'd look down,
And nearer press heav'n's everlasting throne.
Such is the scene, and one short moment's space
Concludes the hopes and fears of human race.
Proceed who dares—I tremble as I write;
The whole creation swims before my sight:
I see, I see the Judge's frowning brow;
Say not, 'tis distant; I behold it 
now;
I faint: my tardy blood forgets to flow,
My soul recoils at the stupendous woe;
That woe, those pangs, which from the guilty breast,
In these, or words like these, shall be exprest.
"Who burst the barriers of my peaceful grave▪
Ah! cruel Death that would no longer save,

[Page 78]But grudg'd the e'en that narrow, dark abode,
And cast 
 [...] out into the wrath of God;
Where shrieks, the roaring flame, the rattling chain,
And all 
 [...]he dreadful eloquence of pain,
Our o
 [...]y song; black fire's malignant light,
The 
 [...]ole refreshment of the blasted sight.
Mu
 [...] all those pow'rs, heav'n gave me to supply
My soul with pleasure, and bring in my joy,
Rise up in arms against me, join the foe,

Sense, reason, memory, increase my woe?
And shall my voice, ordain'd on hymns to dwell,
Corrupt to groans, and blow the fires of hell?
Oh! must I look with terror on my gain,
And with existence only measure pain?
What! no reprieve, no least indulgence giv'n,
No beam of hope from any point of heav'n!
Ah mercy! mercy! art thou dead above?
Is love extinguish'd in the source of love?
"Bold that I am, did heav'n stoop down to hell?
Th' expiring Lord of life my ransom seal?
Have I not been industrious to provoke?
From his embraces obstinately broke?
Pursued, and panted for his mortal hate,
Earn'd my destruction, labour'd out my fate?
And dare I on extinguish'd love exclaim?
Take, take full vengeance, rouze the slack'ning flame;
Just is my lot—but oh! must it transcend
The reach of time, despair a distant end?
With dreadful growth shoot forward, and arise,
Where thought can't follow, and bold fancy dies!
"
NEVER! where falls the soul at that dread sound?
Down an abyss how dark, and how profound?
Down, down (I am still falling, horrid pain!)
Ten thousand thousand fathoms still remain:
My plunge but still begun.—And this for sin?
Could I offend, if I had never been,
But still increas'd the senseless, happy mass,
Flow'd in the stream, or flourish'd in the grass?
"Father of mercies! why from silent earth
Did'st thou awake, and curse me into birth?
Tear me from quiet, ravish me from night,
And make a thankless present of thy light?

[Page 79]Push into being a reverse of thee,
And animate a clod with misery?
The beasts are happy: they come forth and keep
Short watch on earth, and then lay down to sleep.
Pain is for man, and oh! how vast a pain
For crimes, which made the Godhead bleed in vain?
Stifled his groans, as far as in them lay,
And flung his agonies, and death away?
As our dire punishment forever strong,
Our constitution too forever young,
Curs'd with returns of vigour still the same,
Powerful to bear, and satisfy the flame.
Still to be caught, and still to be pursu'd!
To perish still, and still to be renew'd!
"And this, 
my help! my God! at thy decree?
Nature is chang'd, and 
hell should 
succour me.
And canst thou then look down from perfect bliss,
And see me plunging in the dark abyss?
Calling thee Father, in a sea of fire?
Or pouring blasphemies at thy desire?
With mortals' anguish wilt thou raise 
thy name,
And by my pangs omnipotence proclaim?
"Thou, who can'st toss the planets to and fro,
Contract not thy great vengeance to my woe;
Crush worlds; in hotter flames fall'n angels lay;
On me Almighty wrath is cast away.
Call back thy thunders, Lord; hold in thy rage,
Nor with a speck of wretchedness engage:
Forget me quite, nor stoop a worm to blame.
But lose me in the greatness of thy name.
Thou art all love, all mercy, all divine,
And shall I make those glories cease to shine?
Shall sinful man grow great by his offence,
And from its course turn back Omnipotence?
"Forbid it! and O grant, great God, at least
This one, this slender, almost no request;
When I have wept a thousand lives away,
When Torment is grown weary of his prey,
When I have rav'd ten thousand years in fire,
Ten thousand thousands, let me then expire."
Deep anguish! but too late: the hopeless soul
Bound to the bottom of the burning pool,

[Page 80]Though loth, and ever loud blaspheming, owns
He's justly doom'd to pour eternal groans;
Enclos'd with horrors, and transfix'd with pain,
Rolling in vengeance, struggling with his chain:
To talk to fiery tempests, to implore
The raging flame to give its burnings o'er,
To toss, to writhe, to pant beneath his load,
And bear the weight of an offended God.
The favour'd of their Judge, in triumph move
To take possession of their seats above;
Satan's accurs'd desertion to supply,
And fill the vacant stations of the sky;
Again to kindle long-extinguish'd rays,
And with new lights dilate the heav'nly blaze;
To crop the roses of immortal youth,
And drink the fountain-head of sacred truth;
To swim in seas of bliss, to strike the string,
And lift the voice to their Almighty king;
To lose eternity in grateful lays,
And fill heav'n's wide circumference with praise.
But I attempt the wondrous height in vain,
And leave unfinish'd the too lofty strain;
What boldly I begin, let others end;
My strength exhausted, fainting I descend,
And choose a less, but not ignoble, theme,
Dissolving elements, and worlds in flame.
The fatal period, the great hour is come,
And nature shrinks at her approaching doom:
Loud peals of thunder give the sign: and all
Heav'n's terrors in array surround the ball:
Sharp lightnings with the meteor's blaze conspire,
And, darted downward, set the world on fire;
Black rising clouds the thicken'd aether choke,
And spiry flames dart through the rolling smoke.
With keen vibrations cut the sullen night,
And strike the darken'd sky with dreadful light;
From heav'n's four regions, with immortal force,
Angels drive on the wind's impetuous course,
T'enrage the flame: it spreads, it soars on high,
Swells in the storm, and billows through the sky:
Here winding pyramids of fire ascend,
Cities and deserts in one ruin blend;

[Page 81]Here blazing volumes wafted, overwhelm
The spacious face of a far distant realm;
There, undermin'd, down rush eternal hills,
The neighb'ring vales the vast destruction fills.
Hear'st thou that dreadful crack—that sound which broke
Like peals of thunder, and the centre shook?
What wonders must that groan of nature tell?
Olympus there, and mightier Atlas, fell;
Which seem'd above the reach of sate to stand—
A tow'ring monument of GOD's right-hand:
Now dust and smoke, whose brow so lately spread
O'er shelter'd countries its diffusive shade.
High 'midst the clouds the boiling ocean roars,
And locks far down on his decreasing shores;

Leviathans in plaintive thunder cry,
In distant, dismal pants, the long-liv'd echos die.
Shew me that celebrated spot, where all
The various rulers of the sever'd ball
Have humbly sought wealth, honour, and redress,
That land which heav'n seem'd diligent to bless,
Once call'd Britannia: Can her glories end?
And can't surrounding seas her realm defend?
Alas! in flames behold surrounding seas;
Like oil, their waters but augment the blaze.
Some angel say, where ran proud Asia's bound?
Or where with fruits was fair Europa crown'd?
Where stretch'd waste Lybia? Where did India's store
Sparkle in diamonds, and her golden ore?
Each lost in each, their mingling kingdoms glow,
And all dissolv'd, one fiery deluge flow:
Thus earth's contending monarchies are join'd,
And a full period of ambition find.
And now whate'er or swims, or walks, or flies,
Inhabitants of sea, of earth, or skies;
All on whom Adam's wisdom fix'd a name,
All plunge, and perish in the conquering flame.
This globe alone would but defraud the fire,
Starve its devouring rage: the flakes aspire,
And catch the clouds, and make the heav'ns their prey;
The sun, the moon, the stars, all melt away,
And leave a mighty blank; involv'd in flame,
The whole creation sinks! the glorious frame,

[Page 82]In which ten thousand worlds in radiant dance,
Orb above orb their wond'rous course advance,
By that o'er-ruling hand, which kindled all
The stars, and rounded in its palm the ball,
Is crush'd and lost; no monument, no sign,
Where once so proudly blaz'd the gay machine.
So bubbles on the foaming stream expi
 [...]e,
So sparks that scatter from the kindling fire;
The devastations of one dreadful hour,
The great Creator's six days' work devour.
How rich that God, who can such charge defray,
And bear to fling ten thousand worlds away!
Great wealth! and yet (ye nations hear!) one soul.
Has more to boast, and far outweighs the whole;
Exalted in superior excellence,
Casts down to nothing, such a vast expense.
Have ye not seen th' eternal mountains nod,
An earth dissolving, a descending God?
What strange surprises thro' all nature ran!
For whom these revolutions but for man?
For him Omnipotence new measures takes,
For him through all eternity awakes;
Pours on him gifts sufficient to supply,
Heav'n's loss, and with fresh glory fill the sky.
Think deeply then, O man, how great thou art,
Pay thyself homage with a trembling heart;
What angels guard, no longer dare neglect,
Slighting thyself, affront not God's respect.
Enter the sacred temple of thy breast,
And gaze, and wander there, a ravish'd guest;
Gaze on those hidden treasures, thou shalt find,
Wander thro' all the glories of thy mind.
Of perfect knowledge, see, the dawning light
Foretels a noon most exquisitely bright!
Here, springs of endless joy are breaking forth!
There, buds the promise of celestial worth!
Worth, which must ripen in a happier clime,
And brighter 
sun, beyond the bounds of time.
Thou, minor, canst not guess thy vast estate,
What stores, on foreign coasts, thy landing wait.
Lose not thy claim; let virtue's paths be trod;
Thus glad all heav'n, and please that bounteous God,

[Page 83]Who to light thee to pleasures, hung on high
Yon radiant orb, proud regent of the sky:
That service done, its beams shall fade away,
And God shine forth in one 
eternal DAY.

A country bumpkin and razor-seller. PETER PINDAR.

A Fellow in a market town,
Most musical, cried razors up and down,
And offer'd twelve for eighteen pence;
Which certainly seem'd wond'rous cheap,
And, for the money, quite a heap,
As ev'ry man would buy with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard:
Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black beard,
That seem'd a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose.
With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid,
And proudly to himself in whispers, said,
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

"No matter if the fellow be a knave,
"Provided that the razors 
shave;
"It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
So home the clown, with his good fortune, went,
Smiling, in heart and soul content,
And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze:
'Twas a vile razor!—then the rest he try'd—
All were impostors—"Ah!" Hodge sigh'd!
"I wish my eighteen pence within my purse."

In vain to chace his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut, and dug, and wine'd, and stamp'd and swore:
Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd and made wry 
 [...]
And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er.

His MUZZLE, form'd of 
opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
So kept it—laughing at the steel and suds:

[Page 84]Hodge, in a passion, stretch'd his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd claws,
On the vile CHEAT that sold the goods.
"Razors!—a damn'd, confounded dog—
"Not fit to scrape a hog."
Hodge sought the fellow—found him, and begun—
"Perhaps, master razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
"That people flay themselves out of their lives:
"You rascal!—for an hour have I been grubbing,
"Giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing,
"With razors just like oyster knives.
"Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,
"To cry up razors, that can't 
shave."

"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave.
"As for the razors you have bought,
"Upon my soul, I never thought
"That they would 
shave."
"Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge with won­d'ring eyes,
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;
"What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries:
"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile—"to 
sell."

ELEGY. Written on the plain of Fontenoy. MERRY.

CHILL blows the blast, and Twilight's de
 [...]y hand
Draws in the west her dusky veil away;
A deeper shadow steals along the land,
And NATURE muses at the DEATH of DAY!

Near this bleak waste no friendly mansion rears
Its walls, where mirth and social joys resound:
But each dim object melts the soul to tears,
While Horror treads the scatter'd bones around.

As thus, alone and comfortless, I roam,
W
 [...]t with the drizzling show'r, I sigh sincere,
I cast
 [...] look towards my native home,
And think what valiant B
 [...]TONS perish'd here.

[Page 85]

Yes, the time was, nor very far the date,

When Carnage here her crimson toil began—

When nations' standards wav'd in threat'ning state,

And man the murd'rer met the murd'rer man.

For WAR or MURDER, tho' the voice of kings
Has styl'd it justice, styl'd it glory too!
Yet from worst motives, fierce Ambition springs,
And there fix'd prejudice is all we view!

But sure, 'tis heav'n's immutable decree,
For thousands ev'ry age in fight to fall;
Some NAT'RAL CAUSE prevails, we cannot see,
And that is FATE, which we 
Ambition call.

O let th' aspiring warrior think with grief,
That as produc'd by CHYMIC art refin'd;—
So glitt'ring CONQUEST, from the 
laurel-leaf,
Extracts a GEN'RAL POISON for mankind.

Here let him wander at the midnight hour,
These morbid rains, these gelid gales to meet;
And mourn, like me, the ravages of Pow'r!
And feel, like me, that vict'ry is defeat!

Nor deem, ye vain! that e'er I mean to swell
My feeble verse with many a sounding name!
Of such, the mercenary bard may tell,
And call such dreary desolation fame.

The genuine muse removes the thin disguise,
That cheats the world, whene'er she deigns to sing;
And full as meritorious to her eyes
Seems the poor soldier, as the mighty king!

Alike I shun, in labour'd strain to show,
How BRITAIN more than triumph'd, tho' she fled,
Where 
LOUIS stood, where stalk'd the column slow;
I turn from these, and DWELL UPON THE DEAD.

Yet much my beating breast respects the brave;
Too well I love them, not to mourn their fate.
Why should they seek for greatness in the grave?
Their hearts are noble—and in life they're great.

Nor think 'tis but in war the brave excel,—
To VALOUR EV'RY VIRTUE IS ALLIED!
Here faithful Friendship 'mid the battle fell,
And Love, true Love, in bitter anguish died.

[Page 86]

Alas! the solemn slaughter I retrace,

That checks life's current circling thro' my veins▪

Bath'd in moist sorrow, many a beauteous face;

And gave a grief, perhaps, that still remains.

I can no more—an agony too keen
Absorbs my senses, and my mind subdues:
Hard were that heart, which here could beat serene,
Or the just tribute of a pang refuse.

But lo! thro' yonder op'ning clouds afar
Shoots the bright planet's sanguinary ray,
That bears thy name, FICTITIOUS LORD OF WAR!
And with red lustre guides my lonely way.

Then, FONTENOY, farewell! Yet much I fear,
(Wherever chance my course compels) to find
Discord and blood—the thrilling sounds I hear,
"The noise of battles hurtles in the wind."

From barb'rous 
Turkey to 
Britannia's shore,
Opposing int'rests into rage increase;
Destruction rears her sceptre; tumults roar;
Ah! where shall hapless man repose in peace!

October 15, 1787.

DELLA CRUSCA.

THE SLAVES. An elegy. MERRY.

IF late I paus'd upon the twilight plain
Of FONTENOY, to weep the FREE-BORN BRAVE;
Sure Fancy now may cross the western main,
And melt in sadder pity for the SLAVE.

Lo! where to yon 
plantation drooping goes
A 
sable herd of human kind; while near
Stalks a 
pale despot, and around him throws
The scourge, that wakes—that punishes the tear.

O'er the far beach the mournful murmur strays,
And joins the rude yell of the tumbling tide,
As faint they labour in the solar blaze,
To feed the luxury of 
British pride!

[Page 87]

E'en at this moment, on the burning gale

Floats the weak wailing of the [...]male tongue:

And can that sex's softness nough [...] avail?

Must naked woman skriek amid the throng?

O cease to think, my soul! what thousands die
By suicide, and toil's extreme despair;

Thousands, who never rais'd to heav'n the eye,

Thousands, who fear'd no punishment, but here.

Are drops of blood the 
horrible manure,
That fills with luscious juice, the 
teeming cane?
And must our fellow-creatures thus endure,
For traffic vile, th' indignity of pain?

Yes, their keen sorrows are the sweets we blend
With the green bev'rage of our morning meal,
The while to love 
meek mercy we pretend,
Or for 
fictitious ills affect to feel.

Yes, 'tis their anguish mantles in the bowl,
Their sighs excite the Briton's drunken joy;

Those ign'rant suff'rers know not of a 
soul,
That we, 
enlighten'd, may its hopes destroy.

And there are 
men, who, leaning on the 
laws,
What they have purchas'd, claim a right to hold.
Curs'd be the tenure, curs'd its cruel cause—

Freedom's a dearer property than 
gold!

And there are 
men, with shameless front have said,

That Nature form'd the negroes for disgrace;

That on their limbs subjection is display'd—

The doom of slav'ry stampt upon their face.

Send your stern gaze from Lapland to the line,
And ev'ry region's natives fairly scan,
Their forms, their force, their faculties combine,
And own the 
vast variety of man!

Then why suppose 
yourselves the chosen few,
To deal Oppression's poison'd arrows round,
To gall, with iron bonds, the weaker crew,
Enforce the labour, and inflict the wound?

'Tis 
sordid int'rest guides you. Bent on gain,
In profit only can ye reason find;
And pleasure too:—but urge no more in vain,
The selfish subject, to the social mind.

[Page 88]

Ah! how can he, whose daily lot is grief,

Whose mind is vilify'd beneath the rod,

Suppose his Maker has for him relief?

Can he believe the tongue that speaks of God?

For when he sees the female of his heart,
And his lov'd daughters, torn by lust away,
His sons, the poor inheritors of smart—

—Had he religion, think ye, he could pray?

Alas! he steals him from the loathsome shed,
What time moist midnight blows her venom'd breath,
And musing, how he long has toil'd and bled,

Drinks the dire balsam of consoling death!

Haste, haste, ye winds, on swiftest pinions fly,
Ere from this world of misery he go,
Tell him his wrongs bedew a 
nation's eye,
Tell him, 
Britannia blushes for his woe!

Say, that in future, 
negroes shall be blest,
Rank'd e'en as men, and men's just rights enjoy;
Be neither sold, nor purchas'd, nor oppress'd,
No griefs shall wither and no stripes destroy!

Say, that fair Freedom bends her holy flight
To cheer the infant, and console the sire;
So shall 
he, wond'ring, prove, at last, delight,
And in a throb of ecstacy expire.

Then shall proud Albion's crown, where laurels twine,
Torn from the bosom of the raging sea.
Boast, 'midst the glorious leaves, a gem divine,
The radiant gem of 
pure humanity!

DELLA CRUSCA.

THE ADIEU AND RECAL TO LOVE. MERRY.GO, idle boy! I quit thy pow'r:
Thy couch of many a thorn, and flow'r—
Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen,
Deceitful Beauty's timid mien,
The feign'd surprise, the roguish leer,
The tender smile, the thrilling tear,

[Page 89]Have now no pangs, no joys for me;
So fare thee well, for I am free!
Then flutter hence on wanton wing,
Or lave thee in you lucid spring,
Or take thy bev'rage from the rose,
Or on 
Louisa's breast repose:
I wish thee well for pleasures past,
Yet bless the hour, I'm free at last.
But sure, methinks, the alter'd day
Scatters around a mournful ray;
And chilling ev'ry zephyr blows,
And ev'ry stream untuneful flows;
No rapture swells the linnet's voice,
No more the vocal groves rejoice;
And e'en thy song, 
sweet bird of eve!
With whom I lov'd so oft to grieve,
Now scarce regarded meets my ear,
Unanswer'd by a sigh or tear.
No more with devious step I choose
To brush the mountain's morning dews;
"To drink the spirit of the breeze,"
Or wander midst o'er-arching trees;
Or woo, with undisturb'd delight,
The pale-cheek'd virgin of the night,
That, piercing thro' the leafy bow'r,
Throws on the ground a silv'ry show'r.
Alas! is all this boasted ease,
To lose each warm desire to please,
No sweet solicitude to know
For others' bliss, for others' woe,
A frozen apathy to find,
A sad vacuity of mind?
O hasten back, then, heav'nly boy,
And with thine anguish bring thy joy!
Return with all thy torments here,
And let me hope, and doubt, and fear.
O rend my heart with ev'ry pain!
But let me, let me love again.
DELLA CRUSCA.

June 29, 1787.

[Page 90]

TO DELLA CRUSCA. THE PEN. Mrs. 
COWLEY.O! SEIZE again thy golden quill,
And with its point my bosom thrill:
With magic touch, explore my heart,
And bid the tear of passion start.
Thy golden quill Apollo gave—
Drench'd first in bright Aonia's wave:
He snatch'd it, flutt'ring thro' the sky,
Borne on the vapour of a sigh;
It fell from Cupid's burnish'd wing
As forcefully he drew the string;
Which sent his keenest, surest dart
Thro' a rebellious frozen heart;
That had till then defy'd his pow'r,
And vacant beat, thro' each dull hour.
Be worthy then the sacred loan!
Seated on Fancy's air-built throne;
Immerse it in her rainbow hues,
Nor, what the godheads bid, refuse▪
Apollo, Cupid, shall inspire,
And aid thee with their blended fire;
The one poetic language give,
The other bid thy passion live;
With soft ideas fill thy lays,
And crown with love thy wintry days!


July 10, 1787.
ANNA MATILDA

TO ANNA MATILDA. MERRY.I KNOW thee well, enchanting maid,
I've marked thee in the silent glade;
I've seen thee on the mountain's height,
I've met thee in the storms of night;
Iv'e view'd thee on the wild beach run
To gaze upon the setting sun;

[Page 93]Then stop aghast, his ray no more,
To hear th' impetuous surge's roar.
Hast thou not stood with rapt'rous eye
To trace the starry worlds on high,
T' observe the moon's weak crescent throw,
O'er hill and woods, a glimm'ring glow:
Or, all beside some wizard stream,
To watch its undulating beam?
O well thy form divine I know.
When youthful errors brought me woe—
When all was dreary to behold,
And many a bosom-friend grew cold—
Thou, thou, unlike the summer crew
That from my adverse fortune flew,
Cam'st with melodious voice, to cheer
My throbbing heart, and check the tear.
From thee I learnt, 'twas vain to scan
The low ingratitude of man;
Thou bad'st me Fancy's wilds to rove,
And seek th' ecstatic bow'r of Love.
When on his couch I threw me down,
I saw thee weave a myrtle crown,
And blend it with the shining hair
Of her, the fairest of the fair.
For this, may ev'ry wand'ring gale
The essence of the rose exhale,
And pour the fragrance on thy breast,
And gently fan thy charms to rest.
Soon as the purple slumbers fly
The op'ning radiance of thine eye,
Strike, strike again the magic lyre,
With all thy pathos, all thy fire;
Withall that sweetly-warbled grace,
Which proves thee of celestial race.
O then, in varying colours drest,
And living glory, stand confest,
Shake from thy locks ambrosial dew,
And thrill each pulse of joy anew;
With glowing ardours rouse my soul,
And bid the tides of passion roll.
But think no longer in disguise,
To screen thy beauty from mine eyes.

[Page 92]Nor deign a borrow'd name to use,
For well I know—thou art the muse!
DELLA CRUSCA.

July 31, 1787.

TO DELLA CRUSCA. 
Mrs. COWLEY.THOU bidst—"
my purple slumbers fly!"
Day's radiance pours upon my eye.
I wake—I live! the sense o'erpays
The trivial griefs of early days.
What! tho' the rose-bud on my cheek
Has shed its leaves, which late so sleek,
Spoke youth, and joy—and careless thought,
By guilt, or fear, or shame unsmote;
My 
blooming soul is yet in youth,
Its lively sense attests the truth.
O! I can wander yet and taste
The beauties of the flow'ry waste;
The nightingale's deep swell can feel,
Whilst from my lids the soft drops steal;
Rapt! gaze upon the gem-deck'd night,
And mark the clear moon's silent flight▪
Whilst the slow river's crumpled wave
Repeats the quiv'ring beams she gave.
Not yet, the pencil strives in vain,
To wake upon the canvas plain,
All the strong passions of the mind,
Or hint the sentiment refin'd;
To its sweet magic yet I bow,
As when youth deck'd my polish'd brow.
The chisel's feath'ry touch to trace,
Thro' the nerv'd form, or soften'd grace,
Is lent me still. Still I admire,
And kindle at the poet's fire—
My torch, at 
Della Crusca's light,
And distant follow his superior flight.

O Time! since these are left me still,
Of 
lesser thefts e'en take thy fill:

[Page 93]Yes, steal the lustre from my eye,
And bid the soft carnation fly;
My tresses sprinkle with thy snow,
Which boasted once the 
auburn glow;
Warp the slim form that was ador'd
By him, so lov'd, my 
bosom's LORD—
But leave me, when all these you steal,
The mind to 
taste, the nerve to 
feel!
ANNA MATILDA.

July 31, 1787.

TO ANNA MATILDA. MERRY.AND art thou then, alas! like me,

Offspring of frail mortality?
Must ruthless Time's rude touch efface
Each lovely feature's varying grace?
And must tow'rds earth that form incline,
And ev'n those eyes forbear to shine?
Yet, when with icy hand he throws,
Amongst thine 
auburn locks, his snows,
The freezing influence ne'er shall dart,
To chill thy warmly-beating heart;
And scorning Death's oblivious hour,
Thou shalt exult—beyond his pow'r.
Methinks, as passion drives along,
As, frantic grown, I feel thy song;
Eager I'd traverse LYBIA's plain,
The tawny lion's dread domain,
To meet thee there: nor flagging 
Fear
Should ever on my cheek appear;
For e'en the forest's king obeys

Majestic woman's potent gaze.
Or, left on some resourceless shore,
Where never-ceasing billows roar;
Which teeming clouds, and heavy hail,
And furious hurricanes assail,

[Page 94]Far to the pole—while half the year,
On ebon throne sits Night severe;
And to her solitary court,
Sea-fowl, and monsters fierce resort—
E'en there, Matilda! there with thee,
Impending horrors all should flee,
Thy lustre of poetic ray,
Should wake an artificial day.
Sure thou wert never doom'd to know
What pangs from care, and danger flow;
But fairest scenes thy thoughts employ,
And Art, and Science, bring thee joy.
The quick'ning sense, the throb divine,
Fancy, and feeling, all are thine;
'Tis thine, by blushing Summer led,
A show'r of roses round thee shed,
To hie thee forth at morn's advance,
In wild excess of rapt'rous trance;
And see the sun's proud deluge stream;
In copious tides of golden beam;
While faint his sister-orb on high,
Fades to a vapour of the sky.
When gradual evening comes, to hide,
In sabling shades, 
creation's pride;
When heaving hills, and forests drear,
And less'ning towns, but scarce appear;
While last ling'ring western glow,
Hangs on the lucid lake below;
Then trivial joys (I deem) forgot,
Thou lov'st to seek the humble cot,
To scatter Comfort's balm around,
And heal pale Poverty's deep wound;
Drive Sickness from the languid bed,
Raise the lorn widow's drooping head;
Render the new-made mother blest,
And snatch the infant to thy breast.
O Anna, then, if true thou say,
Thy radiant beauties steal away,
Yet shall I never fail to find
Eternal beauties in thy mind.
To those I offer up my vows,
And love, which Virtue's self allows;

[Page 95]Unknown, again thou art ador'd,
At once by him, thy "
bosom's lord."
DELLA CRUSCA.

August 21, 1787.

THE HERMIT. BEATTIE.

AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove—
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove—
'Twas then, by the cave of the mountain reclin'd,
A hermit his nightly complaint thus began:
Tho' mournful his numbers, his soul was resign'd;
He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man.

'Ah! why, thus abandon'd to darkness and woe,
'Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?
'For spring shall return, and a lover bestow;
'And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
'Yet if Pity inspire thee, O cease not thy lay!
'Mourn, sweetest complainer; man calls thee to mourn:
'O soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away!
'Full quickly they pass—but they never return!

'Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky,
'The moon, half extinct, a dim crescent displays;
'But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high
'She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
'Roll on then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue
'The path that conducts thee to splendor again:
'But man's faded glory no change shall renew;
'Ah, fool! to exult 
 [...]n a glory so vain!

''Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more▪
'I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
'For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
'Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
'Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
'Kind Nature the embrio-blossom will save:
'But when shall spring visit the mould'ring urn!
'O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!'

[Page 96]
''Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd,
'That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles to blind:
'My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
'Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
'O pity, great Father of light, then I cry'd,
'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee!
'Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride▪
'From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.

'And darkness and doubt are now flying away,
'No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn,
'So breaks on the traveller, saint and astray,
'The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
'See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending.
'And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom,
'On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blend­ing.
'And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.'

A PASTORAL BALLAD. In four parts. SHENSTONE.

I. ABSENCE.

YE shepherds, so chearful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam—
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Nor talk of the change that ye find,
None, once, was so watchful as I:
—I have left my dear Phyllis behind.

Now I know what it is to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is, to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn:
—I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.

[Page 97]
Since Phyllis vouchsaf'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.
I priz'd every hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before.
But now they are pass'd; and I sigh,
And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.

But why do I languish in vain?
Why wander thus pensively here?
O, why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the smiles of my dear?
They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown!
Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.

When forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought—but it might not be so—
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly discern;
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.

The pilgrim that journeys all day
To visit some far distant shrine,
If he bear but a relic away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relic I bear,
And my solace wherever I go.

II. HOPE.

MY banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottos are shaded with trees;
And my hills are white over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow;
fountains, all border'd with moss,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.

[Page 98]
Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound:
Not a beech's more-beautiful green,
But a sweet-briar twines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold:
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.

From the plains, from the woodlands, and groves,
What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves,
From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,
As—she may not be fond to resign.

I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed:
But let me that plunder forbear;
She will say, 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young:
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue

I have heard her with sweetness unfold,
How that Pity was due to—a dove:
That it ever attended the bold;
And she call'd it the sister of Love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and, whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.

[Page 99]
Can a bosom so gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs?
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains, and this valley despise?
Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.

But where does my Phyllida stray?
And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the vallies as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may, perhaps, be as fair,
And the face of the vallies as fine;
The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.

III. SOLICITUDE.

WHY will you my passion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?
Ere I shew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.

O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the swain,
That will sing but a song in her praise.
When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while;
Nay, on him let not Phyllida frown;
—But I cannot allow her to smile.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might she ruin the peace of my mind!
In ringlets he dresses his hair,
And his crook is bestudded around;
And his pipe—oh may Phyllis beware
Of a magic there is in the sound.

[Page 100]
'Tis his with mock passion to glow;
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold,
"How her face is as bright as the snow,
"And her bosom, be sure, is as cold;
"How the nightingales labour the strain,
"With the notes of his charmer to vie;
"How they vary their accents in vain,
"Repine at her triumphs, and die."

To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
"O Phyllis," he whispers, "more fair,
"More sweet than the jessamine's flow'r!
"What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
"What is eglantine after a show'r?

"Then the lily no longer is white;
"Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom;
"Then the violets die with despight,
"And the woodbines give up their perfume."
Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer:
Yet I never should envy the song,
Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue;
—Yet may she beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT

YE shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;
She was fair—and my passion begun;
She smil'd—and I could not but love;
She is faithless—and I am undone.

[Page 101]
Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so complete would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire:
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems forever adorn'd with a smile.

She is faithless, and I am undone;
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure.
Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of an higher degree:
It is not for me to explain,
How fair and how fickle they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget
The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain:
The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure, in vain,
In time 
 [...]ay have comfort for me.

The sweet
 [...] of a dew-sprinkled rose,
The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shown to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own:
Fate never bestow'd such delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.

O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall resound thro' the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun;
How she smil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithless, and I am undone▪

[Page 102]

ON GENERAL WASHINGTON.

GREAT without pomp, without ambition brave—

Proud, not to conquer fellow-men, but save—

Friend to the weak—a foe to none but those,

Who plan their greatness on their brethren's woes—

Aw'd by no titles—undefil'd by lust—

Free without faction, obstinately just—

Too wise to learn, from Machiavel's school,

That truth and perfidy by turns should rule—

Warm'd by Religion's sacred, genuine ray,

Which points to future bliss th' unerring way;

Yet ne'er controul'd by Superstition's laws,

The worst of tyrants, in the noblest cause.

London, 1789.

THE PREFERENCE: TO MARIA.FAIR as thou art—possest of ev'ry charm,
Which ev'n the breast of frozen age might warm—
Deck'd as thou art with every matchless grace,
Of pleasing form, and of bewitching face—
Although to me thy beauties matchless are,
Yet not alone, thus charming, and thus fair—
Yet not alone should these externals fire,
And fill my bosom with such pure desire!
Possess'd of these alone thou couldst not move
My faithful heart to such excessive love;
A flame for you would not thus fire my soul,
Nor thus its ev'ry faculty controul!
Those charms, which will exist, when these decay,
Which long will bloom, when these have dy'd away—
Those charms, which beautify the nobler part,
Which shine, fair maid, which centre at your heart—
Those are the charms which captivate my mind,
Those are the charms which my affections bind:
Those are the charms, by which you reign, confest,
Unrivall'd empress of this honest breast.

 [...]ay, what is beauty?—what a pretty face,
If the fair maid possess no other grace?

[Page 103]Beauty may fan the sparks of fond desire;
A pretty face may set the soul on fire:
Yet will possession soon the passions cloy;
For oft enjoyment blunts the edge of joy!
Too soon, alas! youth's fiery transports cease!
Too soon will Love's tumultuous pulse decrease!
The streams, which now in quick sensation flow,
Soon thro' the veins will creep more cool—more slow!
The sparkling eye, in some ill-sated hour,
Shall lose its lustre, and decline in pow'r;
Then shall no more its lightnings throw the dart,
Nor its soft languors melt the tender heart!
In vain shall fading beauty make her moan
For lilies vanish'd, and for roses flown;
Time—savage Time! on her lov'd form shall prey,
And hide, in winter clouds, the bloom of May!
His veil will cast o'er ev'ry lovely charm,
And spread his wrinkles o'er the snowy arm.
Since then, Maria! every charm must die,
Which fancy pleases, or which strikes the eye—
Since then must fade each fascinating grace,
Which stamps the angel on the fair-one's face—
Since cruel age each beauty will decay,
And winter's gloom succeed the summer's ray—
How blest the maid, in whom, with these combin'd
Good sense pervades, and virtue sways the mind!
She, haply form'd, for friendship and for love,
As one declines, the other shall improve!
Pleasures for her the laughing Loves provide,
And heav'n will bless such beauties in a bride!

Address inscribed under a lady's skull, in a gentleman's garden, in England.BLUSH not, ye fair, to own me: but be wise;
Nor turn from sad mortality your eyes;
Fame says (and Fame alone can tell how true)
I—once—was lovely, and belov'd, like you.
Where are my vot'ries—where my flatt'rers now?
Fled, with the subject of each lover's vow.

[Page 104]Adieu the rose's red and lily's white,
Adieu those eyes, that made the darkness light:
No more, alas! those coral lips are seen,
Nor longer breathes the fragrant gale between.
Turn from your mirror; and behold in me
At once what thousands can't, or dare not see.
Unvarnish'd, I the real truth impart,
No
 [...] here am plac'd, but to direct the heart.
Survey me well, ye fair ones; and believe,
The grave may terrify, but can't deceive.
On beauty's fragile base no more depend;
Here youth and pleasure, age and sorrow, end:
Here drops the mask; here shuts the final scene;
Nor differs grave threescore from gay fifteen:
All press alike to that same goal—the tomb,
Where wrinkled Laura smiles at Chloe's bloom.
When coxcombs flatter, and when fools adore,
Here learn the lesson, to be vain no more:
Yet virtue still against decay can arm;
And even lend mortality a charm.

Address inscribed under a gentleman's skull, in the same garden as the foregoing.WHY start?—the case is yours—or will be soon—
Some years, perhaps—perhaps another moon;
Life, at its utmost length, is still a breath;
And those, who longest dream, must wake in death.
Like you, I once thought ev'ry bliss secure,
And gold of ev'ry ill the certain cure;
Till, steep'd in sorrow, and besieg'd with pain,
Too late I found all earthly riches vain.
Disease with scorn threw back the sordid fee:
And Death still answer'd—what is gold to me?
Fame, titles, honours, next I vainly sought;
And fools, obsequious, nurs'd the childish thought:
Circ
 [...] with brib'd applause and purchas'd praise,
I built, on endless grandeur, endless days:
But Death awoke me from my dream of pride;
And laid a prouder beggar by my side.

[Page 105]Pleasure I courted; and obey'd my taste;
The banquet smil'd, and smil'd the gay repast:
A loathsome carcase was my constant care:
And worlds were ransack'd, but for me to share.
Go on, vain man, in luxury be firm;
Yet know—I feasted, but to feast a worm!
Already, sure, less terrible I seem;
And you, like me, can own, that life's a dream.
Farewell! remember—nor my words despise—
The only happy are the early wise.

TWO BLANKS TO A PRIZE.

IN the lott'ry of life, lest dame Fortune beguile,
This great truth we should ever premise,
That altho' the bright goddess may simper and smile,
She has always—two blanks to a prize.

If a husband you'd take, miss—or you, sir, a wife,
From this maxim divert not your eyes;
For of one and the other, I'll venture my life,
There are more than—two blanks to a prize!

If in law you're entangled, why then, silly man,
As a friend, give me leave to advise;
Slip your neck from the collar, as fast as you can,
There are fifty—two blanks to a prize!

And if, for preferment you're striving at court,
Or by merit expect you shall rise;
Then your chance is not worth, sir, three-fourths of a groat,
There are ninety—two blanks to a prize!

THE ROSE.

THE rose had been wash'd, lately wash'd in a show'r,
That Mary to Anna convey'd;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd; and the leaves were all 
 [...]et;
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

[Page 106]

I hastily [...]iz'd it, unfit as it was,

For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd;

And, shaking it rudely, too rudely, alas!

I snapp'd it! it f [...]ll to the ground!

"And such," I exclaim'd "is the pitiless part,
"Some act by the delicate mind,
"Regardless of wringing and breaking the heart,
"Alr
 [...]ady to sorrow resign'd!

"This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
"Might have bloom'd with the owner a while:
"And the tear, that is wip'd with a little address,
"May be follow'd, perhaps, with a smile!"

HOW COLD IT IS.

NOW the blust'ring Boreas blows,
See all the waters round are froze;
The trees, that skirt the dreary plain,
All day a murm'ring cry maintain,
The trembling forest hears their moan,
And sadly mingles groan with groan;
How dismal all from east to west!
Heav'n defend the poor distress'd!
Such is the tale,
On hill and vale;
Each trav'ller may behold it is;
While low and high
Are heard to cry,
Bless my heart how cold it is!

Now slumb'ring Sloth, that cannot bear
The question of the searching air,
Lifts up her unkempt head, and tries,
But cannot from her bondage rise;
The whilst the housewife briskly throws
Around her wheel, and sweetly shows
The healthful cheek Industry brings,
Which is not in the gift of kings.
To her long life,
Devoid of strife,
And justly, too, unfolded is!

[Page 107]The while the sloth
To stir is loth,
And trembling cries, how cold it is!

Now lisps sir Fopling, tender weed!
All shiv'ring like a shaken reed!
How keen the air attacks my back!
John, place some list upon that crack;
Go, sand-bag all the sashes round,
And see there's not an air-hole found.
Ah! bless me, now I feel a breath;
Good lack! 'tis like the chill of death.
Ind
 [...]lgence pale,
Tells this sad tale,
Till he in furs infolded is,
Still, still complains,
For all their pains,
Bless my heart, how cold it is!

Now the poor newsman from the town,
Explores his path along the down;
His frozen fingers sadly blows,
And still he seeks, and still it snows.
Go, take his paper, Richard, go,
And give a dram to make him glow:
This was thy cry,
Humanity!
More precious far than gold it is,
Such gifts to deal,
When newsmen feel,
All clad in snow, how cold it is.

Humanity, delightful tale!
While we feel the winter gale,
May the peer in ermin'd coat,
Incline the ear to Sorrow's note;
And where with Mis'ry's weight oppress'd,
A fellow sits a shiv'ring guest,
Full ample let his bounty flow,
To sooth the bosom chill'd by woe.
In town or vale,
Where'er the tale
Of real grief unfolded is,

[Page 108]O may he give
The means to live,
To those who know, how cold it is.

Perhaps some warrior, blind and lam'd,
Some tar for his dear country maim'd—
Consider these; for thee they bore
The loss of limb, and suffer'd more;
Oh pass them not
 [...] or, if you do,
I'll sigh, to think they fought for you.
Go pity all, but 'bove the rest,
The soldier or the tar distress'd:
Thro' winter's reign,
Relieve their pain,
For what they've done, sure bold it is:
Their wants supply,
Whene'er they cry,
Bless my heart, how cold it is!

And now ye sluggards, sloths, and beaux,
Who dread the breach that Winter blows,
Pursue the counsel of a friend,
Who never found it yet offend:
While Winter deals his frost around,
Go face the air, and beat the ground:
With chearful spirits exercise,
'Tis there life's balmy blessing lies.
On hill and dale,
Though sharp the gale,
And frozen you behold it is;
The blood shall glow,
And sweetly flow,
And you'll ne'er cry, how cold it is!

Advice from a matron to a young lady, concerning wedlock.

ERE you read this, you will suppose,
That some new listed lover
Thro' means of poetry hath chose
His passion to discover.

[Page 109]

No fair one, I'm a matron grave,

Whom time and care hath wasted;

Who would thy youth from sorrow save,

Which I in wedlock tasted.

Thy tender air, thy cheerful mien,
Thy temper so alluring,
Thy form for conquest well design'd,
Give torments past enduring:

And lovers full of hopes and fears,
Surround thy beauties daily,
Whilst yet regardless of thy cares,
Thy moments pass on gayly.

Then pass them charmer, gaylier on,
A maiden whilst you tarry;
For, troth your golden days are gone,
The moment that you marry.

In courtship we are all divine,
And vows and pray'rs pursue us;
Darts, flames, and tears adorn our shrine,
And artfully men woo us:

Then would the darling power forego,
Which ignorance has giv'n?
To ease them of their pain and woe,
Must we resign our heav'n?

No marriage lets the vizard 
 [...]
Then cease they to adore us
The goddess sinks to housewife Moll,
And they reign tyrants o'er us.

Then let no man impression make,
Upon thy heart so tender,
Nor play the fool for pity's sake,
Thy quiet to surrender.

Lead apes in hell! there's no such thing,
Those tales are made to fool us:
Though there we had better hold a string,
Than here let monkies rule us.

APOLOGY FOR VAGRANTS. ANON.

FOR him, who, lost up ev'ry hope of life,
Has long with fortune held unequal strife,

[Page 110]Known to no human love, no human care,
The friendless, homeless object of despair;
For the poor vagrant, feel, while he complains,
Nor from sad freedom send to sadder chains.
Alike, if folly or misfortune brought
Those last of woes his evil days have wrought;
Relieve with social Mercy, and with me,
Folly's misfortune in the first degree.

Perhaps on some inhospitable shore
The houseless wretch a widow'd parent bore;
Who, then, no more by golden prospects led,
Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed.
Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,
Perhaps that parent mourn'd her soldier slain;
Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolv'd in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,
Gave the sad presage of his future years,
The child of misery, baptiz'd in tears!

FEW HAPPY MATCHES. WATTS.

SAY, mighty Love, and teach my song,
To whom thy sweetest joys belong;
And who the happy pairs,
Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,
Find blessings twisted with their bands,
To soften all their cares.

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains,
That thoughtless fly into the chains,
As custom leads the way:
If there be bliss without design,
Ivies and oaks may grow and twine,
And be as blest as they.

Not fordid souls of earthly mould,
Who, drawn b
 [...] kindred charms of gold,
To dull embraces move:
So two rich mountains of Peru
May rush to wealthy marriage too,
And make a world of love.

[Page 111]
Not the mad tribe that hell inspires
With wanton flames; those raging fires
The purer bliss destroy;
On Aetna's top let furies wed,
And sheets of lightning dress the bed,
T' improve the burning joy.

Nor the dull pairs, whose marble forms
None of the melting passions warms,
Can mingle hearts and hands:
Logs of green wood, that quench the coals,
Are marry'd just like stoic souls,
With osiers for their bands.

Not minds of melancholy strain,
Still silent, or that still complain,
Can the dear bondage bless;
As well may heavenly concerts spring
From two old lutes, with ne'er a string,
Or none besides the bass.

Nor can the soft enchantments hold
Two jarring souls of angry mould,
The rugged and the keen:
Sampson's young foxes might as well
In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell,
With firebrands ty'd between.

Nor let the cruel fetters bind
A gentle to a savage mind;
For Love abhors the sight;
Loose the fierce tiger from the deer,
For native rage and native fear,
Rise, and forbid delight.

Two kindest souls alone must meet;
'Tis Friendship makes the bondage sweet,
And feeds their mutual loves:
Bright Venus on her rolling throne
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,
And Cupids yoke the doves.

THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. WATTS.

WHY should our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's silken chain

[Page 112]A plague of iron prove?
BENDISH, 'tis strange, the charm that binds
Millions of hands, should leave their minds
At such a loose from love.

In vain I sought the wond'rous cause,
Rang'd the wide field of nature's laws,
And urg'd the schools in vain;
Then deep in thought within my breast
My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd
A bright instructive scene.

O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide,
On Fancy's airy horse I ride,
(Sweet rapture of the mind!)
Till on the banks of Ganges' flood,
In a tall, ancient grove I stood
For sacred use design'd.

Hard by, a venerable priest,
Ris'n with his God, the sun, from rest,
Awoke his morning song.
Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream▪
The birth of souls was all his theme,
And half divine his tongue.

"He sang th' eternal rolling flame,
"That vital mass, that, still the same,
"Does all our minds compose:
"But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames;
"Thence diff'ring souls, of diff'ring names,
"And jarring tempers, rose.

"The mighty power, that form'd the mind,
"One mould for ev'ry two design'd,
"And bless'd the new-born pair:
" 
This be a match for this: (he said)
"Then down he sent the souls he made,
"To seek them bodies here:

"But parting from their warm abode,
"They lost their fellows on the road,
"And never join'd their hands:
"Ah cruel chance, and crossing fates!
"Our eastern souls have dropt their mates,
"On Europe's barbarous lands.

[Page 113]
"Happy the youth that finds the bride,
"Whose birth is to his own ally'd,
"The sweetest joy of life!
"But oh! the crowds of wretched souls,
"Fetter'd to minds of different moulds,
"And chain'd t' eternal strife!"

Thus sang the wond'rous Indian bard;
My soul with vast attention heard,
While Ganges ceas'd to flow;
"Sure then, (I cry'd) might I but see
"That gentle nymph that twinn'd with me,
"I may be happy too.

"Some courteous angel, tell me where,
"What distant lands this unknown fair,
"Or distant seas detain?
"Swift as the wheel of nature rolls
"I'd fly, to meet and mingle souls,
"And wear the joyful chain.

ON BEAUTY. PALMERSTON.ENchanting nymph of heav'nly birth,
Celestial beauty sent on earth,
To soothe our cares, our toils, our strife,
And gild the gloom, that saddens life—
Thine empire countless millions own,
And ev'ry clime reveres thy throne.
Whate'er pursuits mankind engage,
From frolic youth to serious age,
To thy resistless pow'r they bow,
Whilst nature prompts the artless vow.
Lur'd by the hopes thy smiles can give,
For thee the wretch endures to live.
To gain thy praise, his valour's meed,
For thee the hero dares to bleed.
Entic'd by thee to happier dreams,
Ambition drops his airy schemes.
To purchase thee, from caverns deep,
The miser brings his treasur'd heap.

[Page 114]The sage, with Reason's boasted arms,
A while may combat Beauty's charms;
But soon a bursting sigh will prove,
That Reason never conquers Love.
Yet ere I bow before thy shrine,
And hail thy pow'r with rites divine,
O, blest enchantress, deign to tell,
In what consists thy magic spell!
Is it an eye, whose sparkling rays
Eclipse the diamond's fainter blaze;
A cheek, that shames the vernal rose,
A breast, that vies with mountain snows;
A mouth, that smiles with matchless grace,
Like pearls within a ruby cafe;
A shape, like that which once was seen
On Ida, when the Cyprian queen
Disclos'd her charms to mortal eyes,
Contending for the golden prize;
These may our warmest passions fire,
And kindle every fierce desire:
But Love, upheld by these alone,
Must soon resign his tott'ring throne,
And hold a poor precarious sway,
The short-liv'd beauty of a day.
Or e'en to form a nymph complete,
If all the various charms could meet,
Which each divided bosom warm,
And ev'ry throbbing pulse alarm,
When Johnson, Meynell, Pitt advance,
And Wroughton joins the sprightly dance,
And lovely Spencer, mild and fair,
Comes blushing forth with Hebe's air;
Yet these were vain, unless to these
Were join'd the secret pow'r to please;
That nameless something, undefin'd,
That soft effusion of the mind,
Which sweetly smiles in ev'ry face,
To ev'ry motion lends a grace;
And, when their beauty points a dart,
Impels and guides it to the heart.
In vain the stealing hand of Time
May pluck the blossoms of their prime.

[Page 115]Envy may talk of bloom decay'd,
How lilies droop, and roses fade;
But Constancy's unalter'd truth,
Regardful of the vows of youth,
Affection, that recals the past,
And bids the pleasing influence last,
Shall still preserve the lover's flame,
In ev'ry scene of life the same;
And still with fond endearments blend
The wife, the mistress, and the friend.

THE BEGGAR's PETITION. ANON.

PITY the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door,
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span.
Oh! give relief; and heav'n will bless your store,

These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years;
And many a furrow, in my grief-worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a residence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.

Oh! take me to your hospitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold▪
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miserably old.

Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft Humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.

Heaven sends misfortunes: why should we repine?
'Tis heaven has brought me to the state you s
 [...] ▪
And your condition may be soon like mine▪
The child of Sorrow and of Misery.

[Page 116]

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then, like the lark, I sprightly hail'd the morn;

But ah! oppression forc'd me from my cot;

My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is cast, abandon'd, on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, sweet soother of my care!
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell—ling'ring fell—a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span.
Oh! give relief: and heaven will bless your store.

THE HERO's SCHOOL OF MORALITY. WATTS.THERON, amongst his travels, found,
A broken statue on the ground;
And, searching onward, as he went
He trac'd a ruin'd monument.
Mould, moss, and shades had overgrown
The sculpture of the crumbling stone▪
Yet, ere he past, with much ado,
He guess'd, and spell'd out, SCI-PI-O.
"Enough, he cry'd; I'll drudge no more
"In turning the dull stoics o'er:
"Let pedants waste their hours of ease,
"To sweat all night at Socrates;
"And feed their boys with notes and rules,
"Those tedious recipes of schools,
"To cure ambition: I can learn,
"With greater ease, the great concern
"Of mortals; how we may despise
"All the gay things below the skies.
"Methinks a mould'ring pyramid
"Says all that the old sages said▪

[Page 117]"For me these shatter'd tombs contain
"More morals than the Vatican.
"The dust of heroes, cast abroad,
"And kick'd, and trampled in the road,
"The relics of a lofty mind,
"That lately wars and crowns design'd,
"Tost for a jest from wind to wind,
"Bid me be humble, and forbear
"Tall monuments of fame to rear,
"They are but castles in the air.
"The tow'ring heights, and frightful falls,
"The ruin'd heaps, and funerals,
"Of smoaking kingdoms and their kings,
"Tell me a thousand mournful things
"In melancholy silence. He
"That, living, could not bear to see
"An equal, now lies torn and dead;
"Here his pale trunk, and there his head;
"Great Pompey! while I meditate,
"With solemn horror, thy fad fate,
"Thy carcass, scatter'd on the shore
"Without a name, instructs me more,
"Than my whole library before.
"Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep;
"And my good Seneca may keep
"Your volumes clos'd for ever too;
"I have no further use for you:
"For when I feel my virtue fail,
"And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
"I'll take a turn among the tombs,
"And see whereto all glory comes:
"There the vile foot of ev'ry clown
"Tramples the sons of honour down.
"Beggars with awful ashes sport,
"And tread the Caesars in the dirt.

FREEDOM. WATTS.

TEMPT me no more. My soul can ne'er comport
With the gay slaveries of a court:
I've an aversion to those charms,
And hug dear liberty in both mine arms.

[Page 118]Go, vassal-souls, go, cringe and wait,
And dance attendance at Honorio's gate;
Then run in troops before him to compose his state:
Move, as he moves; and, when he loiters, stand;
You're but the shadows of a man.
Bend when he speaks; and kiss the ground:
Go, catch th' impertinence of sound:
Adore the follies of the great:
Wait till he smiles: but lo, the idol frown'd,
And drove them to their fate.

Thus base-born minds. But as for me,
I can and will be free:
Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree,
My soul grows firm upright,
And as I stand, and as I go,
It keeps my body so;
No, I can never part with my creation-rights
Let slaves and asses stoop and bow,
I cannot make this iron knee
Bend to a meaner power than that which form'd it free▪

Thus my bold harp profusely play'd,
Pindarical. Then on a branchy shade
I hung my harp aloft, myself beneath it laid.
Nature that listen'd to my strain,
Resum'd the theme, and acted it again.
Sudden rose a whirling wind
Swelling like Honorio proud.
Around the straws and feathers crowd,
Types of a slavish mind.
Upwards the stormy forces rise;
The dust flies up, and climbs the skies,
And as the tempest fell, th' obedient vapours sunk:
Again it roars with bellowing sound,
The meaner plants they grew around,
The willow, and the asp, trembled and kiss'd the ground:
Hard by there stood the iron trunk
Of an old oak, and all the storm defy'd.
In vain the winds their forces try'd;
In vain they roar'd; the iron oak
Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's stroke.

[Page 119]

ON THE PROSPECT OF ARTS AND SCIENCES IN AMERICA. Written near sixty years ago by the celebrated dr. George Berkley, dean of Derry, and afterwards lord bishop of Cloyne, while he was in America.

THE muse, disgusted at an age and clime,
Barren of every glorious theme,
In distant 
 [...]ands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun
And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems out-done,
And fancied beauties by the true:

In happy climes, the seat of innocence,
Where nature guides, and virtue rules—
Where men shall not impose, for truth and sense,
The pedantry of courts and schools:

There shall be seen another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts:

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heav'nly flame did animate her clay,
By future ages shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,
A fifth shall close the drama with the day:
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

MORTALITY. PENROSE.

'TWAS the deep groan of Death,
That struck th' affrighted ear!
The momentary breeze—the vital breath
Expiring sunk!—Let Friendship's holy tear

[Page 120]Embalm her dead, as low he lies.
To weep another's fare oft reaches to be wise.

Wisdom
 [...] set the portal wide;
Call the young, and call the vain;
Hither lure presuming Pride,
With Hope, mistrustless, at her side,
And Wealth that chance defies—and greedy Thirst of gain.

Call the group, and fix the eye;
Shew how awful 'tis to die.
Shew the portrait in the dust:
Youth may f
 [...]own—the picture's just:
And tho' each nerve resists—yet yield at length they must.

Where's the visage, that a while
Glow'd with glee and rosy smile?
Trace the corpse—the likeness seek—
No likeness will you own,
Pale's the once-social cheek,
And wither'd round the ghastly bone.

Where are the beamy orbs of sight,
The windows of the soul?
No more with vivid ray they roll—
Their suns are set in night.

Where's the heart, whose vital pow'r
Beat with honest rapture high—
That joy'd in many a friendly hour,
And gave to Misery many a sigh?—

Froze to a stone!—and froze the hand,
Whose grasp affection warm convey'd;
Whose bounty fed the suppliant band,
And nourish'd Want with timely aid.

Ah! what remains, to bring relief—
To silence agonizing grief—
To soothe the breast in tempest tost,
That thrilling wails, in vain, the dear companion lo
 [...]t?

'Tis the departed worth, tho' sure
To gash the wound, yet works the cure:—
'Tis Merit's gift alone to bloom
O'er the dread horrors of the tomb;
To dry the mourner's pious stream,
And soften sorrow to esteem.

[Page 121]Does Ambition toil to raise
Trophies to immortal praise?
Trust not—tho' strong her passions burn—
Trust not the marble's flattering stile:
—Tho' art's best skill engrave the urn—
Time's cank'ring tooth shall fret the pile.—

MADNESS. PENROSE.

SWELL the clarion; sweep the string;
Blow into rage the muse's fires!

All thy answers, Echo, bring,
Let wood and dale, let rock and valley ring,
'Tis MADNESS' self inspires.

Hail, awful MADNESS! hail:
Thy realm extends, thy pow'rs prevail,
Far as the voyager spreads his 'vent'rous fail.
Nor best nor wisest are exempt from 
thee;
Folly—Folly's only free.

Hark!—To the astonish'd ear
The gale conveys a strange tumultuous sound.
They now approach, they now appear,—

Phrenzy leads her 
chorus near,
And demons dance around.—

Pride—Ambition idly vain,
Revenge, and Malice swell her train,—
Devotion warp'd—Affection crost—
Hope in disappointment lost—
And injur'd Merit, with a downcast eye,
(Hurt by neglect) slow stalking heedless by.

Loud the shouts of MADNESS rise—
Various voices, various cries—
Mirth unmeaning—causeless moans—
Bursts of laughter—heart-felt groans—

All seem to pierce the skies.—

Rough as the wintry wave, that roars
On THULE's desert shores,
Wild raving to the unfeeling air,

[Page 122]The fetter'd maniac foams along,
(Rage the burden of his jarring song)
In rage he grinds his teeth, and rends his streaming hair.

No pleasing memory left—forgotten quite
All former scenes of dear delight,
Connubial love—parental joy—
No sympathies like these his soul employ;
But all is dark within—all furious, black despair.

Not so the love-lorn maid,
By too much tenderness betray'd;
Her gentle breast no angry passion fires,
But slighted vows possess, and fainting, soft desires.

She yet retains her wonted flame,
All—but in reason—still the same—
Streaming eyes,
Incessant sighs,
Dim haggard looks, and clouded o'er with care,
Point out to Pity's tears, the poor distracted fair.
Dead to the world—her fondest wishes crost,
She mourns herself, thus early lost.—

Now, sadly gay, of sorrows past she sings;
Now, pensive, ruminates unutterable things.
She starts—she flies—who dares, so rude,
On her sequester'd steps intrude?—

'Tis he—the MOMUS of the slighty train—
Merry mischief fills his brain.
Blanket-rob'd, and antic crown'd,
The mimic monarch skips around;
Big with conceit of dignity, he smiles,
And plots his frolics quaint, and unsuspected wiles.

Laughter was there—but mark that groan,
Drawn from the inmost soul!
"Give the knife, demons, or the poison'd bowl,
"To finish miseries equal to your own."

Who's this wretch, with horror wild?
—'Tis Devotion's ruin'd child.—
Sunk in the emphasis of grief,
Nor can he feel, nor dares he ask relief—

Thou, fair Religion, wast design'd,
Duteous daughter of the skies,

[Page 123]To warm and chear the human mind,
To make men happy, good, and wise.
To point where sits, in love array'd,
Attentive to each suppliant call,
The God of universal aid,
The God, the Father of us all.

First shewn by thee, thus glow'd the gracious scene,
'Till Superstition, fiend of woe,
Bade doubts to rise, and tears to flow,
And spread deep shades our view and heaven between.

Drawn by her pencil, the Creator stands,
(His beams of mercy thrown aside)
With thunder arming his uplifted hands,
And hurling vengeance wide.
Hope, at the frown aghast, yet ling'ring, flies,
And, dash'd on Terror's rocks, Faith's best dependence lies.

But ah!—too thick they croud,—too close they throng,
Objects of pity and affright!—
Spare farther the descriptive song—
Nature shudders at the sight.—
Protract not, curious ears, the mournful tale,
But o'er the hapless groupe, low drop Compassion's veil.

SONG. THOMSON.FOR ever, Fortune! wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love,
And, when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish and wish the soul away,
Till youth and genial years are flown.
And all the life of love is gone?
But busy, busy still art thou,
To bind the loveless, joyless vow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
To join the gentle to the rude.
For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer,
And I absolve thy future care;
All other blessings I resign,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.

[Page 124]

Verses occasioned by the burning of mr. Wilberforce's effigy at Bristol.

"WHEN vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honour is a private station


*:"
When Traffic's sordid sons their hate display,
'Tis, Wilberforce, thy glorious exaltation.

When on the pile the mimic body's laid,
And vengeful torches light the unhallow'd fire,
A sacrifice is to thy virtue made;
The flames, tho' sprang from hell, to heav'n aspire.

The mimic body soon returns to dust,
Borne on the air, or scatter'd on the plain;
Virtue herself shall form thy marble bust,
Thy golden statue ages to remain.

But guard the statue and the bust with care;
Erect them not on Afric's grateful shore!
Left all her nations to the spot repair,
And in thy symbols, thee their god adore.

END OF THE BRITISH POETRY.

[Page]

BEAUTIES OF POETRY
SECOND PART. FROM AMERICAN POETS.

COLUMBIA. DWIGHT.

COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and child of the skies!
Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold,
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold.
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime;
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name,
Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame.

To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire;
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire;
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.
A world is thy realm: for a world be thy laws,
Enlarg'd as thine empire, and just as thy cause;
On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise,
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star.
New bards, and new sages, unrival'd shall so
 [...]
To fame, unextinguish'd, when time is no mo
 [...].

[Page 126]To thee, the last refuge of virtue design'd,
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind;
Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the cha
 [...]ms of the soul ever cherish the fire:
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin'd
And virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind,
With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.

Thy fleets to all regions thy pow'r shall display,
The nations admire, and the ocean obey;
Each share to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the east and the south yield their spices and gold,
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow,
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow,
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl'd,
Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world.

Thus▪ as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread,
From war's dread confusion I pensively stray'd—
The gloom from the face of fair heav'n retir'd;
The winds ceas'd to murmur; the thunders expir'd;
Perfumes, as of Eden, flow'd sweetly along,
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung:
"Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies."

BENEVOLENCE. DAWES.WIDE as the sun his bright dominion spreads,
Heav'n-born Benevolence her bounty sheds.
She, meek-ey'd goddess, quits th' angelic sphere,
To banish grief, and dry the human tear.
Plenty's rich urn her willing arms sustain,
Life, Hope, and Joy, exulting in her train.
Her ear is open to the orphan's cry,
Her soul expanding, as the poor pass by.

[Page 127]From her bless'd tongue, the words of manna flow,
And carry courage to desponding Woe.
Objects of aid she seeks, through all the land,
Diffusing bounty with a Saviour's hand.
Thro' prison-bars she darts a pitying eye,
Her heart, responsive, echoes sigh for sigh:
Nor scorns she ev'n the malefactor's chain:
She mourns his guilt—but mitigates his pain.
The wretch she asks not, in what climate bred,
To what profession or religion wed;
That's not the subject of her mission there—
To succour all who want, is all her care.
With Love's apology and Candour's veil,
The multitude of errors to conceal—
The long-elapsed inj'ry to forget,
And, as the debtor weeps, forgive the debt—
Full tides of renovating hope to roll
Thro' the dry channels of the feverish soul—
These are, O bright Benevolence, thy ways,
And these the solid basis of thy praise!
When Caesar's fame, and Malbro's deeds are past,
Th' effects of thy philanthropy shall last.
In nature's wreck, the juster fates shall see
Distinguish'd worth; and fix their eyes on thee;
A preference far thy honest heart shall find,
Before the proud destroyers of mankind.
Their lapsing honours shall forbear to save:
But thy blest name shall triumph o'er the grave.

WOMAN's FATE. BAYARD. Written in the character of a lady under the influence of a strong, but unfortunate attachment.WHEN by tender cares oppress'd,
Pensive, thoughtful, and distress'd—
When Sorrow furrows up the heart,
And Fancy points Affliction's dart—
When Melancholy's shades begloom,
And Hope seems bending o'er her tomb,

[Page 128]Ah! where shall wretched mortals fly,
Or how escape from misery?
Teach, oh! teach me, pow'rs above,
How these feelings to remove—
How to heal'd a canker'd breast,
How to gain a moment's rest:
See me languish—hear me sigh—
Have you no blest cure on high?
Grows no heav'nly plant above,
To heal a bosom pierc'd by love?
Pity you can surely give:
Heav'nly pity will relieve;
'Twill serve to mitigate the smart—
But will it—can it heal the heart?
God of love, what would you more?
I own your plenitude of pow'r;
Your empire's boundless as the day;
No creature can resist your sway:
Heroes you rule, and kings countroul;
And reign supreme from pole to pole.
Then why o'er me extend your sway?
Why on a female bosom prey?
Are there not thousands through the world,
'Gainst whom thy shafts were better hurl'd,
Why, why, then Cupid fix on me,
And whelm this heart in misery?
But ah! the plaints of woe how vain!
They neither check nor soften pain:
Although we bare our wounded heart,
Disclosure cannot soothe the smart.
Come then, severe Philosophy—
With heart of steel—and marble eye—
Command my rebel cares to peace;
And bid this storm of sorrow cease:
Each trace of tender woe remove;
And change to apathy my love:
Confirm thy power; assuage my pain;
And lead me back to peace again.
No, no, away! I scorn thy rules:
Teach them to hermits and to fools.
Sweet Sensibility! the pow'r
I still will cherish and adore:

[Page 129]Though now by care and love oppress'd,
They cannot always pain my breast.
Time will obliterate the ills,
Which now my tortur'd bosom feels;
Will peace restore, and leave my mind
To tranquil joy and heav'n resign'd—
Then blithe and gay I'll be. But yet
How can I Mentor's form forget!
How with his charming image part,
And tear it—root it—from my heart!
Oh never, never can it be:
Mentor, my heart will fly to thee;
To thee my vagrant soul will rove,
And give thee all its store of love;
For thee alike, when far or near,
Will breathe the sigh, will drop the tear▪
And till from Britain thou return,
Thine absence will sincerely mourn.
Alas! how hard is woman's lot!
To prize—to love—yet be forgot—
Our hearts for one with fondness glow—
Whose charms we feel—whose merits know—
Who fills alone, by day, our breast—
And robs, by night, our eyes of rest;
While he, perhaps, whom thus we prize,
Seeks distant realms, and diff'rent skies;
Around the world can lightly rove,
'Scape thought and all the cares of Love;
Seek Pleasure in her varied form—
And thus dissolve the tyrant's charm.
But we—by iron Custom's doom,
Must live, and think, and sigh at home▪
Forbid to wander as we please,
Mix with the gay—consult our ease;
Deny'd th' amusements of the day—
To chase our irksome thoughts away—
We o'er our cares are left to brood,
In silence and in solitude.—
Thus fix'd—alas! what can we do?
To soothe our cares, what plan pursue?
Kind heav'n, to thee will we look up,
There fix our love—thence draw our hope▪

[Page 130]Thine aid, to cheer our minds, implore,
When sorrow glooms the present hour;
When peace and rest our bosoms flee—
For comfort we'll resort to thee—
Thus, till the storm of youth be o'er,
And tyrant passions rage no more,
We'll live. And when old age shall come,
To show the pilgrim's final home,
To that our chearful souls shall fly—
And feast on joys that never die.

Future state of the western territory. 
HUMPHREY
 [...].THEN oh, my friends! the task of glory done,
Th' immortal prize by your bold efforts won—
Your country's saviours, by her voice confess'd,
While unborn ages rise and call your blest—
Then let us go where happier climes invite,
To midland seas and regions of delight;
With all that's ours, together let us rise,
Seek 
 [...]ighter plains, and more indulgent skies;
Where fair Ohio rolls his amber tide,
And nature blossoms in her virgin pride;
Where all that Beauty's hand can form to please,
Shall crown the toils of war, with rural ease.
The shady coverts and the sunny hills,
The gentle lapse of ever-murm'ring rills,
The soft-repose amid the noon-tide bow'rs,
The evening walk along the blushing flow'rs,
The fragant groves, that yield a sweet perfume,
And vernal glories in perpetual bloom,
Await you there: and heav'n shall bless the toil—
Your own the produce—as your own the soil.
No tyrant lord shall grasp a thousand farms,

 [...]urse the mild clime, and spoil its fairest charms:
No blast severe your rip'ning fields deform,
No vollied hail-stones, and no driving storm:
No raging murrain on your cattle seize,
And nature sicken with the dire disease.

[Page 131]But golden years, anew, begin their reigns,
And cloudless sun-shine gild salubrious plains.
Herbs, fruits, and flow'rs shall clothe th' uncultur'd field
Nectareous juice, the vine and orchard yield,
Rich, dulcet creams, the copious goblets fill,
Delicious honey from the trees distill;
The garden smile, spontaneous harvests spring,
The woodlands warble, and the vallies sing.
Along the meads, or near the shady groves,
There sport the flocks, there feed the fatt'ning droves;
There strays the steed, through bloomy vales afar,
Who erst mov'd lofty in the ranks of war.
There, free from envy, cank'ring care and strife,
Flow the calm pleasures of domestic life:
There mutual friendship soothes each placid breast,
Blest in themselves, and in each other blest.
From house to house the social glee extends,
For friends in war, in peace are doubly friends:
Their children, taught to emulate their sires,
Catch the warm glow, and feel the kindred fires,
Till by degrees the mingling joys improve,
Grow with their years, and ripen into love:
Nor long the brushing pair in secret sigh,
And drink sweet poison from the love-sick eye;
Blest be their lot! when in his eager arms
Th' enamour'd youth folds the fair virgin's charms,
On her ripe lip imprints the burning kiss,
And seals, with hallow'd rites, the nuptial bliss.
Then festal sports the ev'ning hours prolong—
The mazy dance, and the sweet warbling song:
Then each endearment wakes the ravish'd sense
To pure delights, and raptures most intense;
And the pleas'd parent tells his list'ning son,
What wond'rous deeds by him, in youth were done.
No sights of woe, no tott'ring fears annoy
The sweet sensations of the heart-felt joy:
Nor shall the savages of murd'rous soul,
In painted bands dark to the combat roll,
With midnight orgies, by the gloomy shade,
On the pale victim point the reeking blade;
Or cause the hamlet, lull'd in deep repose,
No more to wake, or wake to ceaseless woes:

[Page 132]For your strong arm the guarded band secures,
And freedom, glory, happiness are yours.
So shall you flourish in unfading prime,
Each age refining thro' the reign of time;
A nobler offspring crown the fond embrace,
A band of heroes, and a patriot race:
Not by soft luxury's too dainty food,
Their minds contaminated with their blood:
But like the heirs our great forefathers bred,
By Freedom nurtur'd, and by Temp'rance fed;
Healthful and strong, they turn'd the virgin soil,
The untam'd forest bow'd beneath their toil:
At early dawn, they sought the mountain chace,
Or rous'd the Indian from his lurking place;
Curb'd the mad fury of those barb'rous men,
Or dragg'd the wild beast struggling from his den:
To all the vigour of that pristine race,
New charms are added and superior grace.
Then cities rise, and spiry towns increase,
With gilded domes, and every art of peace.
Then Cultivation shall extend his pow'r,
Rear the green blade, and nurse the tender flow'r;
Make the fair villa, in full splendors smile,
And robe with verdure all the genial soil.
Then shall rich Commerce court the fav'ring gales,
And wond'ring wilds admire the passing sails,
Where the bold ships the stormy Huron brave,
Where wild Ontario rolls the whit'ning wave,
Where fair Ohio his pure current pours,
And Mississippi laves th' extended shores.
Then oh, blest land! with genius unconfin'd,
With polish'd manners, and th' illumin'd mind.
Thy future race on daring wing shall soar,
Each science trace, and all the arts explore;
Till bright Religion, beck'ning to the skies,
Shall bid thy sons to endless glories rise.
As round thy clime celestial joy extends,
Thy beauties ripen, and thy pomp ascends;
Farther and farther still, thy blessings roll,
To southern oceans and the northern pole;
Where now the thorn, or tangled thicket grows,
The wilderness shall blossom as the rose,

[Page 133]Unbounded deserts unknown charms assume,
Like Salem flourish, and like Eden bloom.
And oh, may heav'n, when all our toils are past,
Crown with such happiness our days at last:
So rise our sons, like our great sires of old,
In Freedom's cause, unconquerably bold:
With spotless faith, and morals pure, their name
Spread thro' the world, and gain immortal fame.
And thou Supreme! whose hand sustains this ball,
Before whose nod, the nations rise and fall,
Propitious smile, and shed diviner charms,
On this blest land, the queen of arts and arms▪
Make the great empire rise on wisdom's plan,
The seat of bliss, and last retreat of man.

AMERICAN WINTER. HUMPHREYS.THEN doubling clouds the wintry skies deform:
And, wrapt in vapour, comes the roaring storm,
With snows surcharg'd, from tops of mountains sails,
Loads leafless trees, and fills the whiten'd vales.
Then Desolation strips the faded plains:
Then tyrant Death o'er vegetation reigns:
The birds of heav'n to other climes repair,
And deep'ning glooms invade the turbid air.
Nor then, unjoyous, winter's rigours come,
But find them happy and content with home;
Their gran'ries fill'd—the task of culture past—
Warm at their fire, they hear the howling blast,
With patt'ring rain and snow, or driving sleet,
Rave idly loud, and at their window beat:
Safe from its rage, regardless of its roar,
In vain the tempest rattles at the door—
The tame brutes shelter'd, and the feather'd brood
From them, more provident, demand their food.
'Tis then the time from hoarding cribs to feed
The ox laborious, and the noble steed:
'Tis then the time, to tend the bleating fold,
To strow with litter, and to fence from cold.
The cattle fed—the fuel pil'd within—
At setting day, the blissful hours begin:

[Page 134]'Tis then, sole owner of his little cot,
The farmer feels his independent lot;
Hears with the crackling blaze, that lights the wall,
The voice of gladness and of nature call,
Beholds his children play, their mother smile,
And tastes with them the fruit of summer's toil,
From stormy heav'ns, the mantling clouds unroll'd,
The sky is bright, the air serenely cold.
The keen north-west, that heaps the drifted snows,
For months entire o'er frozen regions blows:
Man braves his blast; his gelid breath inhales;
And feels more vig'rous as the frost p
 [...]evails.
Th' obstructed path, beneath the frequent tread,
Yields a smooth crystal to the flying steed.
'Tis then full oft, in arts of love untry'd,
The am'rous stripling courts his future bride;
And oft, beneath the broad moon's paler day,
The village pairs ascend the rapid sleigh;
With jocund sounds impel th' enliven'd steed—
Say ye, who know their joys, the lulling speed▪
At ev'ry bridge the tributary kiss,
Can courtly balls exceed their rustic bliss?

ON LOVE AND THE AMERICAN FAIR. HUMPHREYS.O Thou sweet passion, whose blest charm connects
In heav'n's own ties, the s
 [...]rong and feebler sex!
Shed thy soft en
 [...]pire o'er the willing mind,
Exalt, adorn, and purify mankind!
All nature feels thy pow'r. The vocal grove
With air borne melody awakes to love;
To love the boldest tenants of the sky,
To love the little birds, extatic, fly;
To love submit the monsters of the main,
And ev'ry beast that haunts the de
 [...]ert plain:
But man, alone, the brightest flame inspires,
A spark enkindled from celestial fires.
Hail, hallow'd wedlock! purest, happiest state,
Thy untry'd raptures let my song relate:

[Page 135]Give me, ere long, thy mysteries to prove,
And taste, as well as sing, the sweets of love!
Ye blooming daughters of the western world,
Whose graceful locks by artless hands are curl'd,
Whose limbs of symmetry, and snowy breast,
Allure 
 [...]o love, in simple neatness dr
 [...]t;
Beneath the veil of modesty, who hide
The boast of nature and of virgin pride—
(For beauty needs no meretricious art
To find a passage to the op'ning heart)
Oh make your charms ev'n in my song admir'd,
My song immortal by your charms inspir'd.
Tho' lavish nature sheds each various grace,
That forms the figure, or that decks the face—
Though Health, with Innocence, and Glee, the while▪
Dance in their eye, and wanton in their smile—
Tho' mid the lilly's white, unfolds the rose,
As on their cheek the bud of Beauty blows,
Spontaneous blossom of the transient flush,
Which glows and reddens to a scarlet blush,
What time the maid, unread in flames and darts,
First feels of love the palpitating starts,
Feels from the heart, life's quicken'd currents glide,
Her bosom heaving with the bounding tide—
Though sweet their lips, their features more than fair—
Though curls luxuriant of untortur'd hair
Grow long, and add unutterable charms,
While ev'ry look enraptures and alarms;
Yet something 
 [...]till beyond th' exterior form,
With goodness fraught, with animation warm,
Inspi
 [...]es their actions; dignifies their mien;
Gilds ev'ry hour; and beautifies each scene.
'Tis those perfections of superior kind,
The moral beauties which adorn the mind;
'Tis those enchanting sounds mellifluous hung,
In words of truth and kindness on their tongue—
'Tis delicacy gives their charms new worth,
And calls the loveliness of beauty forth;
'Tis the mild influence beaming from their eye
 [...] ▪
Like vernal sun-beams, round coerulian skies;
Bright emanations of the spotless soul,
Which warm, and cheer, and vivify the whole▪

[Page 136]Here the fair sex an equal honour claims,
Wakes chaste desire, nor burns with lawless flames:
No eastern manners, here, consign the charms
Of beauteous slaves to some loath'd master's arms▪
No lovely maid in wedlock e'er was sold
By parents base, for mercenary gold;
Nor forc'd the hard alternative to try,
To live dishonour'd, or with hunger die.
Here, uncontroul'd, and foll'wing nature's voice,
The happy lovers make th' unchanging choice,
While mutual passions in their bosoms glow,
While soft confessions in their kisses flow,
While their free hands in plighted faith are giv'n,
Their vows, accordant, reach approving heav'n.
Nor here the wedded fair in splendor vie,
To shine the idols of the public eye;
Nor place their happiness, like Europe's dames,
In balls and masquerades, in plays and games;
Each home-felt bliss exchang'd for foreign sports,
A round of pleasures, or th' intrigues of courts;
Nor seek of government to guide the plan,
And wrest his bold prerogatives from man.
What though not form'd in Affectation's school,
Nor taught the wanton eye to roll by rule,
Nor how to prompt the glance, the frown, the smile,
O
 [...] practice all the little arts of guile—
What though not taught the use of female arms,
Nor cloth'd in panoply of conqu'ring charms,
Like some fine garnish'd heads—th' exterior fair,
In paints, cosmetics, powder, borrow'd hair:
Yet theirs are pleasures of a diff'rent kind,
Delights at home, more useful, more refin'd:
Theirs are th' attentions, theirs the smiles that please,
With hospitable cares and modest ease:
Their youthful taste, improv'd by siner arts,
Their minds embellish'd, and refin'd their hearts—
'Tis theirs to act, in still, sequester'd life,
The glorious parts of parent, friend, and wife:
What nameless grace, what unknown charm is theirs,
To soothe their partners, and divide their cares,
Calm raging pain, delay the parting breath,
And light a smile on the wan cheek of death!

[Page 137]

Depredations and destruction of the Algerines. HUMPHREYS.BUT what dark prospect interrupts our joy?
What arm, presumptuous, dares our trade annoy?
Great God! the rovers, who insult thy waves,
Have seiz'd our ships, and made our freemen slaves;
And hark! the cries of that disastrous band
Float o'er the main, and reach Columbia's strand—
The wild alarm from ocean spreads around,
And circling echoes propagate the sound,
From smooth Saluda, fed with silver rills,
Up the Blue-ridge, o'er Alleganean hills,
To where Niagara tremendous roars,
As o'er white-sheeted rocks his torrent pours,
(The dreadful cataract whole regions shakes
Of boundless woods and congregated lakes!)
To farthest Kennebeck, adown whose tide,
The future ships, unfashion'd, monstrous glide,
On whose rough banks, where stood the savage den,
The axe is heard and busy hum of men—
But hark! their labours and their accents cease,
A warning voice has interdicted peace,
Has spread thro' cities, gain'd remotest farms,
And fir'd th' indignant states with new alarms:
The sickly flame in ev'ry bosom burns,
Like gloomy torches in sepulchral urns.
Why sleep'st thou, Barlow, child of genius? why
Seest thou, blest Dwight, our land in sadness lie?
And where is Trumbull, earliest boast of fame?
'Tis yours, ye bards, to wake the smother'd flame—
To you, my dearest friends! the task belongs,
To rouse your country with heroic songs;
For me, tho' glowing with conceptions warm▪
I find no equal words to give them form:
Pent in my breast, the mad'ning tempest raves,
Like prison'd fires in Etna's burning caves:
For me why will no thund'ring numbers roll?
Why, niggard language! dost thou balk my soul?
Come thou, sweet Feeling of another's woe,
That mak'st the heart to melt, the eye to flow!

[Page 138]Come thou, keen Feeling, liveliest sense of wrong▪
Aid Indignation, and inspire my song!
Teach me the woes of slavery to paint,
Beneath whose weight our captur'd freemen faint▪
Teach me in shades of Stygian night to trace,
In characters of hell the pirate race!
Teach me, prophetic, to disclose their doom,
A new-born nation trampling on their tomb!
What mortal terrors all my senses seize,
Possess my heart and life's warm current freeze?
Why grow my eyes with thick suffusions dim?
What visionary forms before me swim?
Where am I? Heav'ns! what mean these dol'rous cries?
And what these horrid scenes that round me rise?
Heard ye the groans, those messengers of pain?
Heard ye the clanking of the captive's chain?
Heard ye your free-born sons their fate deplore,
Pale in their chains, and lab'ring at the oar?
Saw ye the dungeon, in whose blackest cell,
That house of woe, your friends, your children dwell?
Or saw ye those, who dread the tort'ring hour,
Crush'd by the rigours of a tyrant's pow'r?
Saw ye the shrinking slave, th' uplifted lash,
The frowning butcher, and the red'ning gash?
Saw ye the fresh blood where it bubbling broke,
From purple-scars, beneath the griding stroke?
Saw ye the naked limbs, writh'd to and fro,
In wild contorsions of convulsing woe?
Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate roll'd,
Thrill thro' your veins, and freeze with death-like cold,
Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole,
Your 
 [...]nly breasts, and harrow up the soul?
Some guardian pow'r in mercy intervene,
Hide from my dizzy eyes the cruel scene!
Oh stop the shrieks, that tear my tortur'd ear▪
Ye visions, vanish! dungeons, disappear!
Ye fetters, burst! ye monsters fierce, avaunt!
Infernal furies on those monsters haunt!
Pursue the foot-steps of that miscreant crew,
Pursue in flames, with hell-born rage pursue!
Shed such dire curses as all utterance mock,
Whose plagues astonish, and whose horrors shock▪

[Page 139]Great maledictions of eternal wrath,
Which, like heav'n's vial'd vengeance, singe and scathe!
Transfix with scorpion stings the callous heart!
Make blood-shot eye-balls from their sockets start!
For balm, pour brimstone in their wounded soul;
Then ope, perdition, and ingulf them whole!
How long will heav'n restrain its bursting ire,
Nor rain blue tempests of devouring fire?
How long shall widows weep their sons in vain,
The p
 [...]op of years in slav'ry's iron chain!
How long the love-sick maid, unheeded, rove
The sounding shore, and call her absent love;
With wasting tears and sighs his lot bewail,
And seem to see him in each coming sail?
How long the merchant turn his failing eyes,
In desperation on the seas and skies,
And ask his captur'd ships, his ravish'd goods,
With frantic ravings, of the heav'ns and floods?
How long, Columbians dear! will ye complain
Of these curst insults on the open main?
In timid sloth shall injur'd brav'ry sleep?
Awake! awake! avenge
 [...]s of the deep!
Revenge! revenge! the voice of nature cries:
Awake to glory, and to vengeance rise!
To arms! to arms! ye bold indignant bands!
'Tis heav'n inspires; 'tis God himself commands▪
Save human nature from such deadly harms,
By force of reason, or by fo
 [...]ce of arms,
O ye great pow'rs, who passpo
 [...]s basely crave,
From Afric's lords, to sail the midland wave—
Great fallen pow'rs, whose gems and golden bribe
 [...]
Buy paltry passports from these savage tribes—
Ye whose fine pu
 [...]ples, silks, and stuffs of gold,
(An annual tribute) their dark limbs infold—
Ye whose mean policy for them equips,
To plague mankind, the predatory ships—
Why will ye buy your infamy so dear?
Is it self-interest or a dasta
 [...]d fear?
Is it because ye meanly think to gain
A richer commerce on th' infested main?
Is it because ye meanly wish to see
Your rivals chain'd, yourselves ignobly free?

[Page 140]Who gave commission to these monsters fierce,
To hold in chains the humbled universe?
Would God, would nature, would their conqu'ring swords,
Without your meanness, make them ocean's lords?
What! do ye fear? nor dare their pow'r provoke?
Would not that bubble burst beneath your stroke?
And shall the weak remains of barb'rous rage,
Insulting, triumph o'er th' enlighten'd age?
Do ye not feel confusion, horror, shame,
To hear a hateful, tributary name?
Will ye not aid to wipe the foul disgrace,
And break the fetters from the human race?
Then, though unaided by these mighty pow'rs,
Ours be the toil; the danger, glory ours:
Then, O my friends, by heav'n o
 [...]dain'd to free,
From tyrant rage, the long-infested sea—
Then let us firm, though solitary, stand,
The sword, and olive-branch in either hand:
An equal peace propose with reason's voice,
Or rush to arms, if arms should be their choice.
Stung by their crimes, can aught your vengeance stay?
Can terror daunt you? or can death dismay?
The soul enrag'd, can threats, can tortures tame,
Or the dank dungeon quench th' etherial flame?
Have ye not once to heav'n's dread throne appeal'd,
And has not heav'n your independence seal'd?
What was the pow'r ye dar'd that time engage,
And brave the terrors of its hostile rage?
Was it not Britain, great in wa
 [...]like toils,
The first of nations, as the queen of isles—
Britain, whose fleets, that rul'd the briny surge,
Made navies tremble to its utmost verge,
Whose single arm held half the world at odds,
Great nurse of sages, bards, and demi-gods!
But what are these, whose threatnings round you burst?
Of men the d
 [...]egs the feeblest, vilest, worst;
These are the pirates from the Barb'ry strand,
Audacious miscreants, fierce, yet feeble band!
Who, impious, 
 [...] (no provocation giv'n)
Insult the rights of man—the laws of heav'n!
Wilt thou not rise, O God, to plead our cause,
Assert thine honour, and defend thy laws!

[Page 141]Wilt thou not bend thine awful throne to hear
The pris'ner's cry, and stop the falling tear!
Wilt thou not strike the guilty race with dread,
On impious realms thy tenfold fury shed!
Oh thou Most High, be Innocence thy care,
Oh make thy red right arm of vengeance bare,
Resume in wrath the thunders thou hast hurl'd,
To blight the tenants of the nether world!
Thou God of hosts, our stedfast councils guide,
Lead forth our arms, and crush the sons of pride!
But hark! the trumps, as if by whirlwinds blown,
Sound from cold Lawrence to the burning zone!
Thy cause, Humanity, that swells their breath,
Wakes in each bosom cool contempt of death.
By rumbling drums, from distant regions call'd,
Men, scorning pirate rage, start unappall'd:
With eye-balls flaming, cheeks of crimson flush,
From rice-green fields, and fur-clad mountains, rush
High-mettled youth—unus'd to fights of slain,
Of hostile navies, or the stormy main—
Enrag'd, they leave unfinish'd furrows far,
To dare the deep, and toil in fields of war:
From dreams of peace, stern-visag'd vet'rans wake,
Their rattling arms, with grasp indignant, shake;
Those arms, their pride, their country's gift, what day

 [...] in blood.
To independence they had op'd the way,
Frowning wide ruin, terrible they rise,
Like battling thunders bursting from the skies.
From Erie's inland vales, unnam'd in song,
In native fierceness pour the hunter throng;
Beneath their rapid march realms roll behind;
Their uncomb'd locks loose floating on the wind;
Coarse their worn garbs—they place their only prid
 [...]
In the dread rifle, oft in battle tried;
With aim unbalk'd, whose leaden vengeance sings,
Sure as the dart the king of terrors flings:
So erst, brave Morgan, thy bold hunters sped—
Such light-arm'd youths the gallant Fayette led,
Ere Steuben brought the Prussian lore from far,
Or Knox created all the stores of war.
Thro' tented fields impatient ardour spreads—
Rus'd by the trump, the course
 [...]s rear their heads,

[Page 142]Snuff in the tainted gale the sulph'rous grain,
Responsive neigh, and prance the wide champaign▪
Now preparation forms the gleaming blade;
In moulds capacious, pond'rous deaths are made:
In crouded docks, th' incessant labour glows;
The tool resounds—the wond'rous structure grows—
Propp'd on the stocks, stupendous navies stand,
Raise their huge bulks, and darken all the strand;
Till tow'ring fleets, from diff'rent harbours join'd,
Float on the pinions of the fav'ring wind;
Tall groves of masts, like mountain forests rise;
Wav'd high in air, the crimson streamer flies:
To prosp'rous gales the canvas wide unfurl'd
Bears the rous'd vengeance round the watry world▪
See! ocean whitens with innum'rous sails;
Be still, ye storms! breathe soft, ye friendly gales▪
See! where Columbia's mighty squadron r
 [...]ns
To climes illum'd by other stars and suns;
Gains the deep streight; ascends the midland wave,
Of ancient fleets th' unfathomable g
 [...]ave!
When Freedom's ardent chiefs, with eager eye,
Dim thro' the mist the corsair force descry;
Their cloudlike sails hang in the distant heav'n,
Like shad'wy vapours of ascending ev'n—
Here o'er the topmast, flames th' imperial star,
There the re
 [...] 
 [...] the coming war.
Th' obstructions clear'd—obliquely on the gales—
With open ports—half-furl'd the flapping fails—
Near and more near, athwart the bill'wy tide,
In terrors arm'd, the floating bulwarks glide;
Tier pil'd o'er tier, the sleeping thunder lies,
Anon to rend the shudd'ring main and skies.
Ere yet they shut the narrow space between,
Begins the prelude of a bloodier scene—
With sudden touch, deep-throated engines roar,
Pierce heav'n's blue vault, and dash the waves to shore:
Then mad'ning billows mock the fearful sound,
While o'er their surface globes of iron bound;
Unknown concussions rolling o'er their heads,
Far fly the monsters round their coral beds.
The battle closes—fiercer fights begin—
And hollow hulls reverberate the din:

[Page 143]The green waves blacken, as the tempest lours,
Chain bol
 [...]s and language rain in dreadful show'rs;
Ship lock'd to ship, hangs o'er the foaming flood,
The black sides wrapt in flame, the decks in blood:
From both the lines, now smoke, now flames aspi
 [...]e,
Now clouds they roll, now gleam a ridge of fire:
On hostile prows, Columbia's he
 [...]oes stand,
Conqu'ring 'mid death, or dying sword in hand:
Promiscuous cries, with shouts confus'dly drown'd,
In the wild uproar, swell the dol'rous sound:
And nought distinct is heard, and nought is seen,
Where w
 [...]eaths of vapour hov'ring intervene,
Save when black grains expand imprison'd air,
The thunders wake, and shoot a livid glare:
Then ghastly forms are seen by transient gleams,
The dead and wounded drench'd in purple streams▪
Now helmless ships in devious rou
 [...]es are driv'n,
The cor
 [...]age torn, the masts to atoms riv'n;
Now here they glow, with curling waves of fire;
In one explosion total crews expire.
Here barks relinquish'd, burnt to ocean's brink,
Half veil'd in crimson clouds begin to sink.
With men submerg'd, the
 [...]e frailer fragments float,
Here yawning gulfs absorb th' o'erloaded boat:
There red-ho
 [...] balls, that graze the waters, hiss,
And plunge the gallies down the dread abyss.
Here shatter'd limbs—there garments dipt in blood,
With mingling crimson stain the foughten flood,
While Afric's pirates, shrinking from the day,
By terrorurg'd, drag wounded hulks away.
As when two adverse storms, impetuous driv'n,
From east and west, sail up the azure heav'n,
In flaming fields of day together run,
Explode their fires, and blot with night the sun—
The eastern cloud, its flames expir'd at last,
Flies from the lightning of the western blast:
So 
 [...]led the corsair line the blighting stroke
Of Freedom's thunder—so their battle broke—
As if by heav'n's own arm subdu'd a
 [...] length,
Their courage perish'd, wither'd all their strength.
Oh then let vict'ry stimulate the chace,
To free from shameful chains the human race,

[Page 144]To drive these pirates from th' insulted waves,
To ope their dungeons to despairing slaves,
To snatch from impious hands, and break the rod,
Which erst defac'd the likeness of a God:
Then seize th' occasion, call the furious gales,
Crack bending oars, stretch wide inflated sails;
On rapid wings of wind the tempest bear,
Make Death
 [...]s deep tubes with lo
 [...]id lightnings glare;
Like evanescent mists dispel their hosts,
And with Destruction's besom sweep their coasts.
Woe to proud Algiers; to your princes woe!
Your pride is falling with your youths laid low—
Woe to your people, woe, distress, and fears!
Your hour is come, to drink the cup of tears:
A ghastly paleness gathers on your cheeks,
While Mem'ry haunts your ears with captive skrieks;
Then stifled Conscience, wak'ning, dares to cry,
"Think on your crimson crimes, despair, and die."
Then ruin comes, with fire, and sword, and blood,
And men shall ask, where once your cities stood?
'Tis done! Behold th' uncheery prospects rise:
Unwonted glooms the silent coasts surprise:
The heav'ns with sable clouds are overcast,
And death-like sounds ride on the hollow blast—
The rank grass rustling to the passing gale:
Ev'n now of men the chearful voices fail—
No busy marts appear, no crouded ports,
No rural dances, and no splendid courts;
In halls, so late with feasts, with music crown'd,
No revels sport, nor mirthful cymbals sound.
Fastidious Pomp! how are thy pageants fled!
How sleep the fallen in their lowly bed!
Their cultur'd fields to desolation turn'd,
The buildings levell'd, and th' enclosures burn'd.
Where the fair garden bloom'd, the thorn succeeds,
'Mid noxious brambles and envenom'd weeds.
O'er fallow plains, no vagrant flocks are seen,
To p
 [...]int with tracks, or crop, the dewy green:
The Plague, where thousands felt his mortal stings,
In vacant air his shafts promiscuous flings;
Here walks in darkness, thirsting still for gore,
And raves, unfated, round the desert shore.

[Page 145]The sandy waste, th' immeasurable heath,
Alone are prowl'd by animals of death.
Here tawney lions guard their goary den;
There birds of prey usurp the haunts of men;
Thro' dreary wilds, a mournful echo calls,
From mould'ring tow'rs and desolated walls.
Where the wan light thro' broken windows gleams,
The fox looks out, the boding raven screams;
While trembling travellers in wild amaze,
On wrecks of state, and piles of ruin gaze.
The direful signs, which mark the day of doom,
Shall scarcely scatter such portentous gloom—
When, rock'd the ground, convuls'd each roaring flood,
The stars shall fall, the sun be turn'd to blood,
The globe itself dissolve in fluid fire,
Time be no more, and man's whole race expire.
Thus hath thy hand, great God! thro' ev'ry age,
When ripe for ruin, pour'd on man thy rage:
So didst thou erst on Babylon let fall
The plagues thy hand inscrib'd upon the wall:
So didst thou give Sidonia's sons for food,
To cow'ring eagles, drunk with human blood;
Seal in thy wrath imperial Salem's doom,
And sweep her millions to a common tomb.
But let us turn from objects that disgust,
The ghosts of empires and of men accurst:
Turn we from sights that pain the feeling breast,
To where new nations populate the west:
For there, anon, shall new auroras rise,
And, streaming, brighten up th' Atlantic skies,
Back on the solar path, with living ray,
Heav'n's own pure splendors pour a tide of day.
And lo! successful from heroic toils,
With glory cover'd, and enrich'd with spoils,
With garlands waving o'er these spoils of war,
The pomp preceded by th' imperial star,
'Mid shouts of joy, from liberated slaves,
In triumph ride th' avengers of the waves.
And see, they gain Columbia's happy strand,
Where anxious crouds in expectation stand.
See raptur'd nations hail the kindred race,
And court the heroes to their fond embrace:

[Page 146]In fond embraces strain'd, the captive clings,
And feels and looks unutterable things.
See there, the widow finds her darling son,
See, in each others arms the lovers run,
With joy tumultuous their swoll'n bosoms glow,
And one short moment pays for years of woe!
When grateful sports and festal songs proclaim
Their joys domestic, and their distant fame.
Then glorious days, by hallow'd bards foretold,
Shall far surpass the fabled age of gold,
The human mind its noblest pow'rs display,
And knowledge, rising to meridian day,
Shine like the lib'ral sun; th' illumin'd youth
By fair discussion find immortal truth.
Why turns th' horizon red? the dawn is near:
Infants of light, ye ha
 [...]bingers, appear!
With ten-fold brightness gild-the happier age,
And light the actors o'er a broader stage!
This drama closing—ere th' approaching end,
See heav'n's perennial year to earth descend.
Then wake, Columbians! fav'rites of the skies,
Awake to glory, and to rapture rise!
Behold the dawn of your ascending fame,
Illume the nations with a purer flame;
Progressive splendors spread o'er ev'ry clime,
Then rapt in visions of unfolding time,
Pierce midnight clouds, that hide the dark abyss,
And see, in embryo, scenes of future bliss!
See days, and months, and years there roll in night,
While age, succeeding age, ascends to light,
Till your blest offspring, countless as the stars,
In open ocean quench the torch of wars;
With god-like aim, in one firm union bind,
The common good and int'rest of mankind;
Unbar the gates of commerce for their race,
And build the gen'ral peace on freedom's broadest base.

EXCELLENT LOGIC. TRUMBULL.FOR lies, quoth he, and promise-breaking,
Ye need not be in such a taking;

[Page 147]For lying is, we know and teach,
The highest privilege of speech,
The universal magna charta,
To which all human race is party;
Whence children first, as David says,
Lay claim to 't in their earliest days;
The only stratagem in war
Our gen'rals have occasion for;
The only freedom of the press
Our politicians need in peace:
And 'tis a shame, you wish t' abridge us
Of these our darling privileges.
Thank heav'n, your shot have miss'd their aim,
For lying is no sin or shame.
As men last wills may change again,
Though drawn in name of God, amen;
Bes
 [...]re they must have much the more,
O'er promises as great a pow'r,
Which, made in haste, with small inspection,
So much the more will need correction;
And when they've careless spoke or penn'd 'em,
Have right to look 'em o'er and mend 'em;
Revise their vows, or change the text,
By way of codicil annex'd;
Turn out a promise, that was base,
And put a better in its place,
So Gage of late agreed, you know,
To let the Boston people go:
Yet when he saw, 'gainst troops that brav'd him,
They were the only guards that sav'd him,
Kept off that satan of a Putnam,
From breaking in to maul and mutt'n him,
He'd too much wit such leagues t' observe,
And shut them in again, to starve.
So Moses writes, when female Jews
Made oaths and vows unfit for use,
Their parents then might set them free
From that conscientious tyranny:
And shall men feel that spir'tual bondage
For ever, when they grow beyond age,
Nor have pow'r their own oaths to change?
I think the tale were very strange.

[Page 148]Shall vows bind but the stout and strong,
And let go women, weak and young,
As nets enclose the larger crew,
And let the smaller fry creep through?
Besides, the whigs have all been set on,
The tories to affright and threaten,
Till Gage, amidst his trembling fits,
Has hardly kept him in his wits;
And tho' he speak with art and finesse,
'Tis said beneath 
duress per minas:
For we're in peril of our souls,
From feathers, tar, and lib'rty-poles;
And vows extorted are not binding
In law; and so not worth the minding.
For we have, in this hurly-burly,
Sent off our consciences on furlough,
Thrown our religion o'er in form,
Our ship to lighten in the storm.
Nor need we blush your whigs before▪
If we've no virtue, you've no more.

BRITISH FAVOURS TO AMERICA. TRUMBULL.DID not the deeds of England's primate
First drive your fathers to this climate,
Whom jails, and fines, and ev'ry ill,
Forc'd to their good against their will?
Ye owe to their obliging temper
The peopling your new-fangled empire,
While ev'ry British act and canon
Stood forth your 
causa sine qua non.
Did they not send you charters o'er,
And give you lands you own'd before?
Permit you all to spill your blood,
And drive out heathen where you could,
On these mild terms, that, conquest won,
The realm you gain'd, should be their own;
Or when of late attack'd by those,
Whom her connexion made your foes,

[Page 149]Did they not, then, distrest in war,
Send gen'rals to your help from far,
Whose aid you own'd in terms less haughty,
And thankfully o'erpaid your quota?
Say, at what period did they grudge
To send you governor or judge,
With all their missionary crew,
To teach you law and gospel too?
Brought o'er all felons in the nation,
To help you on in population:
Propos'd their bishops to surrender,
And made their priests a legal tender,
Who only ask'd, in surplice clad,
The simple tythe of all you had:
And now, to keep all knaves in awe,
Have sent their troops t' establish law,
And with gunpowder, fire, and ball,
Reform your people one and all.
Yet, when their insolence and pride
Have anger'd all the world beside,
When fear and want at once invade,
Can you refuse to lend them aid;
And rather risk your heads in fight,
Than gracefully throw in your mite?
Can they for debts make satisfaction,
Should they dispose their realm by auction,
And sell off Britain's goods and land all
To France and Spain by inch of candle?
Shall good king George, with want opprest,
Insert his name in bankrupt list,
And shut up shop like failing merchant,
That fears the bailiff should make search in't?
With poverty shall princes strive,
And nobles lack whereon to live?
Have they not rack'd their whole inventions,
To feed their bears on posts and pensions,
Made e'en Scotch friends with taxes groan,
And pick'd poor Ireland to the bone;
Yet have on hand, as well deserving,
Ten thousand bastards left for starving?
And can you 
 [...]ow, with conscience clear,
Refuse them an asylum here?

[Page 150]Or not maintain, in manner fitting,
These genuine sons of mother Britain?
T' evade these crimes of blackest grain,
Ye prate of liberty in vain,
And strive to hide your vile designs,
With terms abstruse, like school divines.
Your boasted patriotism is scarce,
And country's love is but a farce:
And after all the proofs you bring,
We, tories, know there's no such thing.
Our English writers of great fame
Prove public virtue but a name.
Hath not Dalrymple show'd in print,
And Johnson, too, there's nothing in't?
Produc'd you demonstration ample,
From others' and their own example,
That self is still, in either faction,
The only principle of action—
The loadstone, whose attracting tether
Keeps the politic world together?
And, spite of all your double-dealing,
We, tories, know 'tis so, by feeling.
Who heeds your babbling of transmitting
Freedom to brats of your begetting?
Or will proceed, as tho' there were a tie,
Or obligation to posterity?
We get 'em, bear 'em, breed, and nurse;
What has poster'ty done for us,
That we, lest they their rights should lose,
Should trust our necks to gripe of noose?
And who believes you will not run?
You're cowards ev'ry mother's son:
And should you offer to deny,
We've witnesses to prove it by.
Attend th' opinion first, as referee,
Of your old gen'ral, stout sir Jeffery,
Who swore that with five thousand foot.
He'd rout you all, and, in pursuit,
Run thro' the land as easily,
As camel thro' a needle's eye.
Did not the valiant colonel Grant
Against your courage make his slant,

[Page 151]Affirm your universal failure
In every principle of valour,
And swear no scamp'rers e'er could match you,
So swift, a bullet scarce could catch you?
And will ye not confess, in this,
A judge most competent he is,
Well skill'd on runnings to decide,
As what himself has often tried?

EXTREME HUMANITY. TRUMBULL.THUS Gage's arms did fortune bless
With triumph, safety, and success:
But mercy is without dispute
His first and darling attribute;
So great, it far outwent, and conquer'd
His military skill at Concord.
There, when the war he chose to wage,
Shone the benevolence of Gage;
Sent troops to that ill-omen'd place
On errands mere of special grace,
And all the work he chose them for
Was to prevent a civil war;
And for that purpose he projected
The only certain way t' effect it,
To take your powder, stores, and arms,
And all your means of doing harms:
As prudent folks take knives away,
Lest children cut themselves at play.
And yet tho' this was all his scheme,
This war you still will charge on him;
And, tho' he oft has swore and said it,
Stick close to facts, and give no credit.
Think you, he wish'd you'd brave and beard him▪
Why 'twas the very thing that scar'd him.
He'd rather you should all have run,
Than stay'd to fire a single gun.
And for the civil law you lament,
Faith, you yourselves must take the blame in't;

[Page 152]For had you then, as he intended,
Giv'n up your arms, it must have ended;
Since that's no war, each mortal knows,
Where one side only gives the blows,
And th' other bear 'em; on reflexion
The most you'll call it, is correction.
Nor could the contest have gone higher,
If you had ne'er return'd the fire;
But when you shot, and not before,
It then commenc'd a civil war.
Else Gage, to end this controversy,
Had but corrected you in mercy:
Whom mother Britain, old and wise,
Sent o'er, the col'nies to chastise▪
Command obedience on their peril
Of ministerial whip and ferule;
And since they ne'er must come of age,
Govern'd and tutor'd them by Gage.
Still more, that this was all their errand,
The army's conduct makes apparent.
What tho' at Lexington you can say
They kill'd a few they did not fancy,
At Concord then with manful popping,
Discharg'd a round, the ball to open—
Yet when they saw your rebel-rout
Determin'd still to hold it out:
Did they not show their love to peace,
And wish, that discord strait might cease,
Demonstrate, and by proofs uncommon,
Their orders were to injure no man▪
For did not ev'ry reg'lar run
As soon as e'er you fir'd a gun?
Take the first shot you sent them greeting,
As meant their signal for retreating;
And fearful, if they staid for sport,
You might by accident be hurt,
Convey themselves with speed away
Full twenty miles in half a day;
Race till their legs were grown so weary,
They'd scarce suffice their weight to carry?
When
 [...] Gage extols, from gen'ral hearsay,
The great activ'ty of lord Piercy,

[Page 153]Whose brave example led them on,
And spirited the troops to run;
And now may boast, at royal levees,
A yankey chace worth forty chevys.
Yet you, as vile as they were kind,
Pursued, like tygers, still behind;
Fir'd on them at your will, and shut
The town, as tho' you'd starve them out;
And with parade prepost'rous hedg'd,
Affect to hold him there besieg'd.

OMENS. TRUMBULL.HATH not heav'n warn'd you what must ensu
 [...],
And providence declar'd against you;
Hung forth its dire portents of war,
By signs and beacons in the air;
Alarm'd old women all around
By fearful noises under ground;
While earth for many dozen leagues
Groan'd with her dismal load of whigs?
Was there a meteor far and wide
But muster'd on the tory-side!
A star malign that has not bent
Its aspects, for the parliament,
Foreboding your defeat and misery,
As once they fought against old Sisera?
Was there a cloud, that spread the skies,
But bore our armies of allies?
While dreadful hosts of fire stood forth
'Mid baleful glimm'rings from the north;
Which plainly shows which part they join'd,
For North's the minister, ye mind;
Whence oft your quibblers in gazettes,
On northern blasts have strain'd their wits
And think ye not the clouds know how
To make the pun as well as you?
Did there arise an apparition,
But grinn'd forth ruin to sedition?

[Page 154]A death-watch, but has join'd our leagues,
And click'd destruction to the whigs?
Heard ye not when the wind was fair,
At night, our or'tors in the air,
That, loud as admiralty-libel,
Read awful chapters from the bible,
And death and deviltry denounc'd,
And told you how you'd soon be trounc'd?
I see, to join our conqu'ring side,
Heav'n, earth, and hell, at once ally'd!
See from your overthrow and end,
The tories' paradi
 [...]e ascend;
Like that new world that claims its station
Beyond the final conflagration!

NOBILITY ANTICIPATED. TRUMBULL.I See the day, that lots your share
In utter darkness and despair—
The day of joy, when North our lord
His faith
 [...]l servants shall reward!
No 
 [...]ry then shall set before him
Small wish of squire, or justice quorum;
But 'fore his unmistaken eyes
See lordships, posts, and pensions rise.
Awake to gladness, then, ye tories,
Th' unbounded prospect lies before us:
The pow'r display'd in Gage's banners
Shall cut Amer'can lands to manors,
And o'er our happy, conquer'd ground
Dispense estates and titles round.
Behold, the world shall stare at new setts
Of home-made earls, in Massachusetts;
Admire, array'd in ducal tassels,
Your Ol'vers, Hutchinsons and Vassals;
See join'd in ministerial work
His grace of Albany and York!
What lordships from each carv'd estate,
On our New-York assembly wait!

[Page 155]What titled Jauneys, Gales, and Billops;
Lord Brush, lord Wilkins, and lord Philips!
In wide-sleeve pomp of godly guise,
What solemn rows of bishops rise!
Aloft a card'nal's hat is spread
O'er punster Cooper's rev'rend head!
In Vardell, that poetic zealot,
I view a lawn-bedizen'd prelate!
While mitres fall, as 'tis their duty,
On heads of Chandler and Auchmuty!
Knights, viscounts, barons shall ye meet,
As thick as pavements in the street!
Ev'n I, perhaps—heav'n speed my claim—
Shall fix a sir before my name.
For titles all our foreheads ache;
For what blest changes can they make!
Place rev'rence, grace, and excellence
Where neither claim'd the least pretence:
Transform by patent's magic words
Men, likest devils, into lords;
Whence commoners, to peers translated,
Are justly said to be created!
Now where commissioners ye saw,
Shall boards of nobles deal you law!
Long-rob'd comptrollers judge your rights,
And tide-waiters start up in knights!
While whigs, subdued in slavish awe,
Our wood shall hew, our water draw,
And bless that mildness, when past hope,
Which sav'd their necks from noose of rope.
For as to gain assistance, we
Design their negroes to set free;
For whigs, when we enough shall hang 'em,
Perhaps 'tis better not to hang 'em;
Except their chiefs; the vulgar knaves
Will do more good, preserv'd for slaves.

Description of the first American congress. 
BARLOW.COLUMBUS look'd; and still around them spread,
From south to north, th' immeasurable shade;

[Page 156]At last, the central shadows burst away,
And rising regions open'd on the day.
He saw, once more, bright Del'ware's silver stream,
And Penn's throng'd city cast a cheerful gleam;
The dome of state, that met his eager eye,
Now heav'd its arches in a loftier sky.
The bursting gates unfold: and lo, within,
A solemn train, in conscious glory, shine.
The well-known forms his eye had trac'd before,
In diff'rent realms along th' extended shore;
Here, grac'd with nobler fame, and rob'd in state,
They look'd and mov'd magnificently great.
High on the foremost seat, in living light,
Majestic Randolph caught the hero's sight:
Fair on his head, the civic crown was plac'd,
And the first dignity his sceptre grac'd.
He opes the cause, and points in prospect far,
Thro' all the toils that wait th' impending war—
But, hapless sage, thy reign must soon be o'er,
To lend thy lustre, and to shine no more.
So the bright morning star, from shades of ev'n,
Leads up the dawn, and lights the front of heav'n,
Points to the waking world the sun's broad way,
Then veils his own, and shines above the day.
And see great Washington behind thee rise,
Thy following sun, to gild our morning skies;
O'er shadowy climes to pour the enliv'ning flame,
The charms of freedom and the fire of fame.
Th' ascending chief adorn'd his splendid seat,
Like Randolph, ensign'd with a crown of state;
Where the green patriot bay beheld, with pride,
The hero's laurel springing by its side;
His sword hung useless, on his graceful thigh,
On Britain still he cast a filial eye;
But sov'reign fortitude his visage bore,
To meet their legions on th' invaded shore.
Sage Franklin next arose, in awful mien,
And smil'd, unruffled, o'er th' approaching scene;
High, on his locks of age, a wreath was brac'd,
Palm of all arts, that e'er a mortal grac'd;
Beneath him lies the sceptre kings have borne,
And crowns and laurels from their temples torn.

[Page 157]Nash, Rutledge, Jefferson, in council great,
And Jay and Laurens op'd the rolls of fate.
The Livingstons, fair Freedom's gen'rous band,
The Lees, the Houstons, fathers of the land,
O'er climes and kingdoms turn'd their ardent eyes,
Bade all th' oppress'd to speedy vengeance rise;
All pow'rs of state, in their extended plan,
Rise from consent to shield the rights of man.
Bold Wolcott urg'd the all-important cause;
With steady hand the solemn scene he draws;
Undaunted firmness with his wisdom join'd,
Nor kings nor worlds could warp his stedfast mind.
Now, graceful rising from his purple throne,
In radiant robes, immortal Hosmer shone;
Myrtles and bays his learned temples bound,
The statesman's wreath, the poet's garland crown'd▪
Morals and laws exp
 [...]nd his liberal soul,
Beam from his eyes, and in his accents roll.
But lo! an unseen hand the curtain drew,
And snatch'd the patriot from the hero's view;
Wrapp'd in the shroud of death, he sees descend
The guide of nations and the muses' friend.
Columbus dropp'd a tear. The angel's eye
Trac'd the freed spirit mounting thro' the sky.
Adams, enrag'd, a broken charter bore,
And lawless acts of ministerial pow'r;
Some injur'd right in each loose leaf appears
A king in terrors and a land in tears;
From all the guileful plots the veil he drew,
With eye retortive look'd creation through;
Op'd the wide range of nature's boundless plan,
Trac'd all the steps of liberty and man;
Crouds rose to vengeance while his accents rung,
And Independence thunder'd from his tongue.

AMERICAN REVOLUTION. BARLOW.

NOW, where the sheeted flames thro' Charlestown roar
And lashing waves hiss round the burning shore,

[Page 158]Thro' the deep folding fires, a neighbouring height
Thunders o'er all, and seems a field of fight.
Like shadowy phantoms in an evening grove,
To the dark strife the closing squadrons move;
They join, they break, they thicken thro' the air,
And blazing batteries burst along the war;
Now, wrapp'd in redd'ning smoke, now dim in sight,
They sweep the hill, or wing the downward flight.
Here, wheel'd and wedg'd, whole ranks together turn,
And the long lightnings from their pieces burn:
There, scattering flashes light the scanty train,
And broken squadrons tread the moving plain.
Britons in fresh battalions rise the height,
And, with increasing vollies, give the fight.
Till, smear'd with clouds of dust, and bath'd in gore,
As growing foes their rais'd artillery pour,
Columbia's hosts move o'er the fields afar,
And save, by slow retreat, the sad remains of war.
There strides bold Putnam, and from all the plains,
Calls the tir'd host, the tardy rear sustains,
And, mid the whizzing deaths that fill the air,
Waves back his sword, and dares the following war.
Thro' falling fires, Columbus sees remain
Half of each host in heaps promiscuous slain;
While dying crouds the ling'ring life-blood pour,
And slipp'ry steeps are trod with prints of gore,
There, hapless Warren, thy cold earth was seen,
There spring thy laurels in immortal green;
Dearest of chiefs, that ever press'd the plain,
In Freedom's cause, with early honours slain;
Still dear in death, as when in fight you mov'd,
By hosts applauded and by heaven approv'd;
The faithful muse shall tell the world thy fame,
And unborn realms resound th' immortal name.
Now, from all plains, as smoky wreaths decay,
Unnumber'd shapes start forward to th' affray;
Tall, thro' the lessening shadows, half conceal'd,
They glide and gather in a central field:
There, stretch'd immense, like length'ning groves they stand,
Eye the dark foe, and eager strife demand.
High in the frowning front exalted shone
A hero▪ pointing tow'rd the half-seen son;

[Page 159]As, thro' the mist the bursting splendors glow,
And light the passage to the distant foe;
His waving steel returns the living day,
Clears the broad plains and marks the warrior's way;
The long, deep squadrons range in order bright,
And move impatient for the promis'd fight.
When great Columbus saw the chief arise,
And his bold blade cast lightning on the skies,
He trac'd the form that met his view before,
On drear Ohio's desolated shore.
Matur'd with years, with nobler glory warm
Fate in his eye, and vengeance on his arm,
The great observer here with joy beheld
The hero moving in a broader field.
Unnumber'd chiefs around their leader stand,
Fi
 [...]'d by his voice, and guided by his hand,
Now on his steps their r
 [...]ptur'd eye-balls glow,
And now roll dreadful on the approaching foe.
There rose brave Greene, in all the strength of arms,
Unmov'd and bright'ning as the danger warms;
In counsel great, in every science skill'd,
Pride of the camp and terror of the field.
With eager look, conspi
 [...]uous o'er the croud,
The da
 [...]ing port of great Montgomery strode;
Bar'd the bright blade, with Honour's call elate,
Claim'd the first field, and hasten'd to his fate.
Calm Lincoln next, with unaffected mien,
In dangers da
 [...]ing, active and serene,
Careless of pomp, with steady greatness shone,
Sparing of others' blood and liberal of his own.
Heath, for th' impending st
 [...]ife, his falchion draws;
And fearless Wooster aids the sacred cause.
There stood stern Putnam, seam'd with many a scar,
The vet'ran honours of an earlier war;
Undaunted Stirling, dreadful to his foes,
And Gates and Sullivan to vengeance rose;
While brave M'Dougall, steady and sedate,
Stretch'd the nerv'd arm to ope the scene of fate▪
Howe mov'd with rapture to the toils of fame,
And Schuyler still adorn'd an honour'd name;
Parsons and Smallwood lead their daring bands,
And bold St. Clair in front of thousands stands▪

[Page 160]There gallant Knox his moving engines brings,
Mounted and grav'd, 


* 
the last resort of kings;
The long, black rows in dreadful order wait,
Their g
 [...]im jaws gaping soon to utter fate;
When, at his word, the red-wing'd clouds shall rise,
And the deep thunders rock the shores and skies.
Beneath a waving sword, in blooming prime,
Fayette moves graceful, ardent, and sublime:
In foreign guise, in Freedom's noble cause,
His untried blade the youthful hero draws:
On the great chief his eyes in transport roll,
And Fame and Washington inspire his soul.
Steuben advanced, in vet'ran armour drest,
The noble ensign beaming on his breast;
From rank to rank, in eager haste, he flew,
And marshall'd hosts in dread arrangement drew.
Morris, in aid, with open coffers stood,
And Wadsworth, patron of the brave and good.
While other chiefs and heirs of deathless same
Rise into sight, and equal honours claim;
But who can tell the dew-drops of the morn?
Or count the rays that in the diamond burn?

With his dread host, Montgomery issues forth,
And lights his passage thro' the dusky north;
O'er streams and lakes his conqu'ring banners play,
Navies and forts, surrend'ring, mark his way;
Thro' desert wilds, o'er rocks and fens, they go,
And hills before them, lose their 
 [...]ags in snow.
Unbounded toils they brave; when rise in sight
Quebec's dread walls, and Wolfe's still dreary height.
They climb the steep: he eyes the turrets round,
With piked hosts and dark artillery crown'd,
The daring onset points; and, high in air,
O'er rocky ramparts leads the dreadful war.
As wreaths of morning mist ascend on high
Up the tall mountain's side and reach the sky,

[Page 161]So rose the rapid host; the walls are red
With flashing flames; down roll the heaps of dead,
Now back recoil the ranks, o'er squadrons slain,
And leave their leader, with a scanty train,
Clos'd in the circling terrors of the wall,
Where round his arm the hostile legions fall.
Through the wide streets, collecting from afar,
The foes in shouting squadrons urg'd the war;
The smoke convolv'd, the thunders rock'd around,
And the brave hero prest the gorey ground.
Another Wolfe, Columbus here beheld,
In youthful charms, a soul undaunted yield;
But lost, o'erpower'd, his hardy host remains,
Stretch'd by his side, or led in captive chains.
Now the bright angel turn'd the hero's eye,
To other realms, where other standards fly;
Where the great leader, mid surrounding foes,
Still greater rises, as the danger grows;
And wearied ranks, o'er welt'ring warriors slain,
Attend his course thro' many a crimson'd plain.
From Hudson's banks, along the dreary strand,
He guards, in firm retreat, his feeble band;
While countless foes, with British Howe advance,
Bend o'er his rear, and point the lifted lance;
O'er Del'ware's frozen wave, with scanty force,
He lifts the sword, and points the backward course,
Wings the dire vengeance on the shouting train,
And leads whole squadrons in the captive chain;
Where vaunting foes to half their numbers yield,
Tread back the flight, or press the fatal field.
While, mid the furious strife, brave Mercer strode,
And seal'd the victory with his streaming blood.
Now, where dread Laurence mingles with the main▪
Rose, on the widening wave, a hostile train:
From shore to shore, along th' unfolding skies,
Beneath full sails, th' approaching squadrons rise;
High waving on the right, red banners dance,
And British legions o'er the decks advance;
While at their side, an azure flag, display'd,
Deads a long host, in German robes array'd▪
Tall on the boldest bark, superior shone
A warrior, ensign'd with a various crown:

[Page 162]Myrtles and laurels equal honour join'd,
Which arms had purchas'd, and the muses twin'd;
His sword wav'd forward; and his ardent eye
Seem'd sharing empires in the southern sky.
Beside him rose a herald, to proclaim
His various honours, titles, feats, and fame▪
Who rais'd an opening scroll, where proudly shone

Pardon to realms and nations yet unknown.
Champlain receives the congregated host;
And his dark waves, beneath the sails, are lost:
St. Clair beholds; and, with his scanty train,
In firm retreat, o'er many a fatal plain,
Lures their wild march.—Wide moves their furious force,
And flaming hamlets mark their wasting course;
Thro' pathless realms their spreading ranks are wheel'd
O'er Mohawk's western wave and Bennington's dread field.
Till, where deep Hudson's winding waters stray,
A yeoman host oppos'd their rapid way;
There on a towery height brave Gates arose,
Wav'd the blue steel, and dar'd the headlong foes;
Undaunted Lincoln, moving at his side,
Urg'd the dread strife, and spread the squadrons wide;
Now roll, like winged storms the length'ning lines,
The clarion thunders, and the battle joins;
Thick flames, in vollied flashes, fill the air,
And echoing mountains give the noise of war;
The clouds rise, reddening, round the dreadful height,
And veil the skies, and wrap the sounding sight.
Now, in the skirt of night, where thousands toil,
Ranks roll away and into light recoil.
The rout increases. All the British train
Tread back their steps, and scatter o'er the plain;
To the glad holds precipitate retire,
And wide behind them streams the flashing fire.

 [...] 
 [...]arce mov'd the smoke above the gorey height,

 [...] op'd the slaughter to the hero's fight;

 [...]ack to their fate, when baffled squadrons flew,
Resum'd their rage, and pour'd the strife anew,
Again the batt'ries roar, the lightnings play:
Again they fall, again they roll away.
And now Columbia, circling round the field,
Points her full force; the trembling thousands yield;

[Page 163]When bold Burgoyne, in one disastrous day,
Sees future crowns and former wreaths decay;
While two illustrious armies shade the plain,
The mighty victors and the captive train.

Still to fresh toils, o'er all the western shore,
Britannia's fleets her new battalions pour;
The realms unconquer'd still their terrors wield,
And stain with mingled gore th' embattled field.
O'er Schuylkill's wave, to various fight they move,
And adverse nations equal slaughter prove;
Till, where dread Monmouth lifts a blooming height,
Britannia's thousands met th' observer's sight.
There strode imperious Clinton o'er the field,
And marshall'd hosts for ready combat held.
As the dim sun, beneath the skirts of even,
Crimsons the clouds, that sail the western heaven;
So, in red wavy rows, where spread the train
Of men and standards, shone th' unmeasur'd plain.
But now the chief of heroes mov'd in sight,
And the long ranks roll forward to the fight;
He points the charge: the mounted thunders roa
 [...],
And plough the plain, and rock the distant shore.
Above the folds of smoke, that veil'd the war,
His guiding sword illum'd the fields of air;
The vollied flames, that burst along the plain,
Break the deep clouds, and show the piles of slain;
Till flight begins; the smoke is roll'd away,
And the red standards open into day.
Britons and Germans hurry from the field,
Now wrapp'd in dust, and now to sight reveal'd;
Behind, great Washington his falchion drives,
Thins the pale ranks, and copious vengeance gives.
Hosts captive bow, and move behind his arm,
And hosts before him wing the driv'n storm;
When the glad shore salutes their fainting fight,
And thund'ring navies screen their rapid flight.
Thro' plains of death, that gleam with hostile fires,
Brave Lincoln now to southern climes retires;
Where o'er her streams beleaguer'd Charleston rose,
The hero moves, to meet the assembled foes.

[Page 164]Shading th' invaded isle, on either flood,
Red standards wav'd, and winged batt'ries rode;
While, braving death his scanty host remains,
And the dread strife with various fate sustains.
High from the sable decks, the bursting fires
Sweep the full streets, and cleave the glitt'ring spires.
Vaulted with flying flames, the burning air
Reddens with shells, and pours th' etherial war;
The tented plain, where dauntless heroes tread,
Is torn with broken crags, and strow'd with dead.
Long crouds of suppliants round the gallant chief,
Raise their wild cries, and pour their frantic grief;
Each show'r of flames renews their startled woe,
They wail the strife, they dread th' infuriate foe.
Th' afflicted fair, while tears bedew their charms,
Babes at their side and infants in their arms,
With piercing shrieks his guardian hand implore,
To save them, trembling, from the victor's pow'r,
He shares their anguish with a moist'ning eye,
And bids the balls rain thicker thro' the sky:
When a lost hero, in a neighbouring post,
Gives a lone fortress to the approaching host;
Now gathering thousands croud around the isle,
Threat wider vengeance, and increase the toil;
On temper'd terms, great Lincoln yields the prize,
And plucks the standard from the saddening skies.
The conqu'ring legions now the champaign tread,
And tow'rd the north their fire and slaughter spread;
Thro' towns and realms, where arming peasants fly,
The bold Cornwallis bears his standard high;
O'er many a field displays his dreadful force,
And thousands fall, and thousands aid his course;
While thro' the conquer'd lands, from ev'ry plain,
The fresh battalions join his splendid train.
So mountain streams, o'er climes of melting snow,
Spread with increasing waves, and whelm the world below.
The great Columbus, with an axious sigh,
Saw British ensigns reaching round the sky,
Saw desolation whelm his fav'rite coast,
His children scatter'd and their vigour lost;
De Kalb in furious combat press the plain,
Morgan and Smallwood various shocks sustain▪

[Page 165]When Greene, in lonely greatness, rose to view,
A sew firm patriots to his standard drew;
And, moving stately to a rising ground,
Bade the loud trump to speedy vengeance sound;
Fir'd by the voice, new squadrons, from afar,
Croud to the hero and demand the war.
Round all the shores and plains he turn'd 
 [...] eye▪
Saw forts arise and conqu'ring banners fly:
The sadd'ning scene suspends his rising soul▪
And fates of empires in his bosom roll.
With scanty force where should he lift the steel,
While hosting foes immeasurably wheel?
Or how behold the boundless slaughter spread?
Himself stand idle, and his country bleed?
A silent moment, thus the hero stood,
And held his warriors from the field of blood;
Then points the British legions where to roll,
Marks out their progress, and designs the whole.
He lures their chief, o'er yielding realms to roam
To build his greatness, and to find his doom;
With gain and grandeur feeds his sateless flame,
And leaves the vict'ry to a nobler name;
Gives to great Washington, to meet his way,
Nor claims the glories of so bright a day.
Now to the conquer'd south with gath'ring force,
O'er sanguine plains he shapes his rapid course;
Forts fall around him; hosts before him fly;
And captive bands his growing train supply.
At length, far spreading thro' a fatal field,
Collecting chiefs their circling armies wheel'd;
Near Eutaw's fount, where, long renown'd for blood▪
Pillars of ancient fame in triumph stood,
Britannia's squadrons, rang'd in order bright,
Stand, like a fiery wall, and wait the shock of fight.
When o'er the distant hill brave Greene arose,
Ey'd the far plain, and view'd the glitt'ring foes;
Dispos'd his squadrons, form'd each folded train,
To lead the charge, or the wide wings sustain,
Rous'd all their rage, superior force to prove,
Wav'd the bright blade, and bade the onset move.
As hov'ring clouds, when morning beams arise,
Hang their red curtains round the eastern skies,

[Page 166]Unfold a space to hail the promis'd sun,
And catch their splendors from his rising throne;
Thus glow'd th' approaching fronts, whose steely glare
Glanc'd o'er the hideous interval of war.
Now roll with kindling haste the rapid lines,
From wing to wing the sounding battle joins;
Batteries, and fosses wide, and ranks of fire,
In mingled shocks, their thund'ring blasts expire:
Beneath the smoke, when firm advancing bands,
With piked arms bent forward in their hands,
In dreadful silence tread. As, wrapt from sight,
The nightly ambush moves to secret fight;
So rush the raging files, and sightless close,
In plunging strife, with fierce conflicting foes;
They reach, they strike, they struggle o'er the slain,
Deal heavier blows, and strow with death the plain;
Ranks crush on ranks, with equal slaughter gor'd,
While dripping streams, from ev'ry lifted sword,
Stain the thin carnag'd hosts; who still maintain,
With mutual shocks, the vengeance of the plain.
Till, where brave Williams strove, and Campbell fell,
Unwonted strokes the British force repel:
The rout begins; the shatter'd wings, afar,
Roll back in haste, and scatter from the war;
They drop their arms; they scour the marshy field;
Whole squadrons fall, and faint battalions yield.
O'er all the great observer fix'd his eye,
Mark'd the whole strife; beheld them fall and fly;
He saw where Greene thro' all the combat drove,
And Death and Vict'ry with his presence move;
Beneath his arm, saw Marion pour the strife,
Pickens and Sumner, prodigal of life;
He saw young Washington, the child of fame,
Preserve in fight the honours of his name;
Brave Lee, in pride of youth, and vet'ran might,
Swept the dread field, and put whole troops to flight;
While num'rous chiefs, that equal trophies raise,
Wrought, not unseen, the deeds of deathless praise.
Columbus now his gallant sons beheld
In triumph move thro' many a banner'd field;
When o'er the main, from Gallia's crouded shore,
To the glad strife a host of heroes pour.

[Page 167]On the tall, shaded decks the leaders stand,
View lessening waves, and hail th' approaching strand▪
Brave Rochambea
 [...], in gleamy steel array'd,
The ascending scenes with eager joy survey'd;
Saw Washington, amid his thousands, stride,
And long'd to toil and conquer by his side.
Great Chastelleux, with philosophic view,
Mark'd the glad prize that rising realms pursue;
Intent in thought, his glowing bosom warms,
To grace the walks of science and of arms.
Two brother chiefs, in rival lustre, rose,
Rear'd the long lance, and claim'd the field of foes▪
The bold Viominils, of equal fame,
And eager both t' exalt the noble name.
Lauzon, beneath his sail, in armour bright,
Frown'd o'er the wave, impatient for the fight;
A fiery steed beside the hero stood,
And his broad blade wav'd forward o'er the croud.
And now, with eager haste, they tread the coast▪
Thro' grateful regions lead the vet'ran host;
Hail the great chief; beneath his banners join;
Demand the foe; and bid the strife begin.
Again Columbus cast his anxious eye,
Where the red standard wav'd along the sky;
And, grac'd with spoils of many a field of blood,
The bold Cornwallis on a bulwark stood.
O'er conquer'd provinces and towns in flame,
He mark'd his recent monuments of fame,
High rais'd in air, his hands securely hold,
With conscious pride a sheet of cypher'd gold;
There, in delusive haste, his skill had grav'd
A clime subdu'd, a flag in triumph wav'd:
A middle realm, by fairer figures known,
Adorn'd with fruits, lay bounded for his own;
Deep thro' the centre, spreads a beauteous bay,
Full sails ascend, and golden rivers stray;
Bright palaces arise, reliev'd in gold,
And gates and streets the crossing lines un
 [...]old.
O'er all the mimic scene, his fingers trace
His future seat and glory of his race.
While thus the raptur'd chief his conquests view'd,
And gazing thousands round the rampart stood,

[Page 168]Whom future ease and golden dreams employ,
The songs of triumph and the feast of joy;
Sudden, great Washington arose in view,
And union'd flags his starely steps pursue;
Blest Gallia's bands, and young Columbia's pride,
Bend the long march▪ and glitter at his side.
Now on the wave the warring fleets advance,
And diff'rent ensigns o'er their pinions dance;
From northern shores, great Albion's flag, unfurl'd,
Wav'd proud defiance to the wat'ry world;
While, from the southern isles, a daring train,
With Gallic banners, shades the billowy main.
Here brave de Grasse, in awful splendor, rode,
And there stern Graves a rival splendor show'd.
Th' approaching sails, as far as eye can sweep,
Look thro' the skies, and shade the shudd'ring deep.
As, when the winds of heav'n, from each far pole,
Their adverse storms across the concave roll,
The fleecy vapours thro' the expansion run,
Veil the blue vault, and tremble o'er the sun;
Till the dark folding wings together drive,
And, ridg'd with fires, and rock'd with thunders, strive;
So, bearing thro' the void, at first appear
White clouds of canvass, floating on the air;
Then frown th' approaching fronts; the sails are laid,
And the black decks extend a dreadful shade;
While rolling flames and tides of smoke arise,
And thund'ring cannons rock the seas and skies.
Where the long bursting fires the cloud disclose,
Hosts heave in sight, and blood the decks o'erflows▪
There, from the strife, tost navies rise to view,
Drive back to vengeance and the toil renew;
Here, shatter'd barks in squadrons move afar,
Led thro' 
 [...]he smoke, and struggling from the war;
While hulls half-seen, beneath a gaping wave,
And pl
 [...]ging heroes fill the wat'ry grave.
Now the dark, smoky volumes roll'd away,
And a long line ascended into day;
The pinio
 [...]s swell'd, Britannia's flag arose,
And flew the vengeance of triumphing foes.
When up the bay, Virginian lands that laves,
Great Gallia's line its conqu'ring standard waves:

[Page 169]Where still dread Washington illumes the way,
And fleets and moving realms his voice obey;
While the brave Briton, mid the gath'ring host,
Perceives his glories and his empire lost.
The heav
 [...]n-taught sage in this broad scene beheld
His fav'rite sons the fates of nations wield;
There joyous Lincoln shone in arms again,
Nelson and Knox mov'd a
 [...]dent o'er the plain,
Unconquer'd Scammel, mid the closing strife,
In sight of victory, pour'
 [...] his gallant life;
While Gallic thousands eager toils sustain,
And death and danger brighten every train.
Where Tarleton strides, with hopes of flight elate,
Brave Lauzon moves, and drives him back to fate
In one dread view, two chosen bands advance,
Columbia's vet'rans and the pride of France;
These bold Viominil exalts to fame,
And those Fayette's conducting guidance claim
They lift the sword, with rival glory warm,
O'er piked ramparts pour the flaming storm;
The mounted thunders brave, and lead the foe,
In captive squadrons, to the plain below.
O'er all great Washington his arm extends,
Points ev'ry movement, ev'ry toil defends,
Bids closer strife and bloodier strokes proceed,
New batteries blaze, and heavier squadrons bleed;
Round the grim foe approaching banners rise,
And shells like meteors vault the flaming skies.
With dire dismay the British chief beheld
The foe advance, his vet'rans quit the field;
Despair and slaughter when he turns his eye,
No hope in combat and no pow'r to fly;
There dread de Grasse o'ershades the loaded tide,
Here conqu'ring thousands all the champaign hide;
Fosses and batteries, growing on the sight,
Still pour new thunders and increase the sight;
Shells rain before him, rock the shores around,
And crags and balls o'erturn the tented ground;
From post to post, the driv'n ranks retire,
The earth in crimson and the skies on fire.
Now grateful truce suspends the burning war,
And groans and shouts, promiscuous, load the air

[Page 170]When the pent squadrons, where the smokes decay,
Drop all their arms, and move in open day.
Columbus saw th' immeasurable train,
Thousands on thousands, redden all the plain:
Beheld the glorious leader stand sedate,
Hosts in his chain, and banners at his feet;
Nor smile o'er all, nor chide the fallen chief,
But share, with pitying eye, his manly grief.
Thus thro' th' extremes of 
 [...]se, in ev'ry state,
Shines the clear soul, beyond all fortune great;
While smaller minds, the dupes of fickle chance,
Slight woes o'erwhelm, and sudden joys entrance.
So the full sun thro' all the changing sky,
Nor blasts, nor overpow'rs the naked eye;
Tho' transient splendors, borrow'd from his light,
Glance on the mirror, and destroy the sight.
He points brave Lincoln, as they move along,
To claim the triumph of the trembling throng;
Who sees, once more, two armies shade the plain,
The mighty victors and the captive train.

AMERICAN SAGES. BARLOW.SEE on yon dark'ning height bold Franklin tread,
Heav'n's awful thunders rolling o'er his head;
Convolving clouds the billowy skies deform,
And forky flames emblaze the black'ning storm.
See the descending streams around him burn,
Glance on his rod, and with his guidance turn;
He bids conflicting heav'ns their blasts expire,
Curbs the fierce blaze, and holds th' imprison'd fire.
No more, when folding storms the vault o'erspread,
The livid glare shall strike thy race with dread;
Nor tow'rs nor temples, shuddering with the sound,
Sink in the flames, and spread destruction round.
His daring toils, the threat'ning blast that wait,
Shall teach mankind to ward the bolts of fate;
The pointed steel o'er-top th' ascending spire,
And lead o'er trembling walls the harmless fire;

[Page 171]In his glad fame while distant worlds rejoice,
Far as the lightnings shine, or thunders raise their voice,
See the sage Rittenhouse, with ardent eye,
Lift the long tube, and pierce the starry sky;
Clear in his view the circling systems roll,
And broader splendors gild the central pole.
He marks what laws th' eccentric wanderers bind,
Copies creation in his forming mind,
And bids, beneath his hand, in semblance rise,
With mimic orbs, the labours of the skies.
There wond'ring crouds with raptur'd eye behold
The spangled heavens their mystic maze unfold;
While each glad sage his splendid hall shall grace,
With all the spheres that cleave th' etherial space.
To guide the sailor in his wand'ring way,
See Godfrey's toils reverse the beams of day.
His lifted quadrant to the eye displays
From adverse skies the counteracting rays;
And marks, as devious sails bewilder'd roll,
Each nice gradation from the stedfast pole.

AMERICAN PAINTERS. BARLOW.SEE, West with glowing life the canvass warms;
His sov'reign hand creates impassion'd forms,
Spurns the cold critic rules, to seize the heart,
And boldly bursts the former bounds of art.
No more her pow'rs to ancient scenes confin'd,
He opes her liberal aid to all mankind;
She calls to life each patriot chief or sage,
Garb'd in the dress and drap'ry of his age,
Again bold Regulus to death returns;
Again her falling Wolfe Britannia mourns;
Warriors in arms to frowning combat move,
And youths and virgins melt the soul to love;
Grief, rage, and fear beneath his pencil start,
Roll the wild eye, and pour the flowing heart;
While s
 [...]mb'ring heroes wait his wakening call,
And distant ages fill the storied wall.

[Page 172]With rival force, see Copley's pencil trace
The air of action and the charms of face;
Fair in his tints unfold the scenes of state,
The senate listens and the peers debate;
Pale consternation every heart appalls,
In act to speak, while death-struck Chatham falls.
His strong, deep shades a bold expression give,
Rais'd into light the starting figures live:
With polish'd pride the finish'd features boast
The master's art in nature's softness lost.
Fir'd with the martial toils, that bath'd in gore
His brave companions on his native shore,
Trumbull with da
 [...]ing hand the scene recalls,
He shades with night Quebec's beleagur'd walls,
Mid flashing flames, that round the turrets rise.
Blind carnage raves, and great Montgomery dies.
On Charlestown's height, thro' floods of rolling fire,
Brave Warren falls, and sullen hosts retire;
While other plains of death, that gloom the skies,
And chiefs immortal o'er his canvass rise.
See rural seats of innocence and ease,
High tufted towers, and walks of waving trees,
The white waves dashing on the craggy shores,
Meand'ring streams and meads of spangled flow'rs,
Where nature's sons their wild excursions lead,
In just design, from Taylor's pencil spread.
Steward and Brown the moving portrait raise,
Each rival stroke the force of life conveys;
See c
 [...]rcling beauties round their tablets stand,
And rise, immortal, from their plastic hand;
Each breathing form preserves its wonted grace,
And all the soul stands speaking in the face.
Two kindred arts the swelling statue heave,
Wake the dead wax, and teach the stone to live.
While the bold chissel claims the rugged strife,
To rouse the sceptred marble into life;
While Latian shrines their figur'd patriots boast,
And gods and heroes croud each orient coast;
See Wright's fair hands the livelier fire controul,
In waxen forms she breathes th' impassion'd soul;
The pencil'd tint o'er moulded substance glows,
And diff'rent pow'rs th' unrivall'd art compose.

[Page 173]

AMERICAN POETS. BARLOW.TO equal fame ascends the tuneful throng,
The boast of genius, and the pride of song;
Warm'd with the scenes that grace their various clime,
Their lays shall triumph o'er the lapse of time.
With ke
 [...]-ey'd glance thro' nature's walks to pierce,
With all the pow'rs and every charm of verse,
Each science op'ning in his ample mind,
His fancy glowing, and his taste resin'd,
See Trumbull lead the train. His skilful hand
Hurls the keen darts of Satire thro' the land;
Pride, Knavery, Dullness, feel his mortal stings,
And list'ning Virtue triumphs while he sings;
Proud Albion's sons, victorious now no more,
In guilt retiring from the wasted shore,
Strive their curst cruelties to hide in vain—
The world shall learn them from his deathless strain▪
On glory's wing to raise the ravish'd soul,
Beyond the bounds of earth's benighted pole,
For daring Dwight the epic muse sublime
Hails her new empire on the western clime.
Fir'd with the themes by seers seraphic sung,
Heav'n in his eye, and rapture on his tongue,
His voice divine revives the promis'd land,
The heaven-taught leader and the chosen band.
In Hanniel's fate, proud faction finds her doom,
A
 [...]'s midnight flames light nations to their tomb,
In visions bright supernal joys are giv'n,
And all the dread futurities of heav'n.
While Freedom's cause his patriot bosom warms,
In lore of nations skill'd, and brave in arms,
See Humphreys, glorious, from the field retire,
Sheathe the glad sword, and string the sounding lyre▪
That lyre which, erst, in hours of dark despair,
Rous'd the sad realms, to urge th' unfinish'd war.
O'er fallen friends, with all the strength of woe,
His heart-felt sighs in moving numbers flow;
His country's wrongs, her duties, dangers, praise,
Fire his full soul, and animate his lays;

[Page 174]Immortal Washington with joy shall own
So fond a fav'rite and so great a son.

EULOGIUM ON RUM. JOS. SMITH.

ARISE! ye pimpled, tipling race, 
 [...]ise!
From ev'ry town and village tavern, come!
Shew your red noses, and o'erflowing eyes,
And help your poet chant the praise of Rum.
The cordial drop, 
 [...]e morning dram, I sing,
The mid-day toddy, and the evening sling.

Hail, mighty Rum! and by this general name
I call each species—whisky, gin, or brandy:
(The kinds are various—but the effects the same;
And so I choose a name that's short and handy;
For, reader, know, it takes a deal of time,
To make a crooked word lie smooth in rhyme.)

Hail, mighty Rum! thy song-inspiring merit
Is known to many a bard in these our days:
Apollo's drink, they find, is void of spirit—
Mere chicken-broth—insipid as their lays:
And, pleas'd, they'd give a riv'let—aye a sea
Of tuneful water, for one quart of thee!

Hail, mighty Rum! how wond'rous is thy pow'r!
Unwarm'd by thee, how would our spirits fail,
When dark December comes, with aspect sour,
And, sharp as razor, blows the northern gale!
And yet thou'rt grateful in that sultry day,
When raging Sirius darts his fervid ray.

Hail, mighty Rum! to thee the wretched fly:
And find a sweet oblivion of their woes;
Lock'd in thy arms, as in the grave, they lie—
Forget their kindred—and forgive their foes.
And Lethe's stream, (so much extoll'd by some,
In ancient times) I shrewdly guess, was Rum.

Hail, mighty Rum! what can thy pow'r withstand!
E'en lordly Reason slies thy dreadful face:

[Page 175]And Health, and Joy, and all the lovely band
Of social Virtues, shun thy dwelling place:
(For in whatever breast it rears its throne,
Like Turkish monarchs, Rum must rule alone.)

When our bold fathers cross'd th' Atlantic wave,
And here arriv'd—a weak defenceless band—
Pray, what became of all the tribes so brave—
The savage owners of this happy land?
Were they sent headlong to the realms below,
"By doom of battle?" friend, 


* I answer no.

Our fathers were too wise to think of war;
They knew the woodlands were not quickly past:
They might have met with many an ugly scar—
Lost many a foretop—and been beat at last.
But Rum, assisted by his son, Disease,
Perform'd the business with surprising ease.

And would our western brethren be less proud, or,
In other words, throw by their gun and drum—
For ducks and squirrels, save their lead and powder,
And send the tawny rogues some pipes of rum—
I dare predict, they all would gladly suck it;
And ev'ry mother's sun soon 
kick the bucket.

But lo! th' ingratitude of Adam's race!
Tho' all these clever things to Rum we owe—
Gallons of ink are squirted in his face;
And his bruis'd back is bang'd with many a blow▪
Some hounds of note have rung his funeral knell,
And ev'ry puppy joins the gen'ral yell.

So have I seen (the simile is fine—
And wonderfully pat—tho' rather old)
When rising Phoebus shot his rays benign,
A flock of sheep come skipping from the sold;
Some restless sheep cries baa: and all the throng,
Ewes, rams, lambs, wethers, bellowing pour along▪

But fear not, Rum, tho' fiercely they assail,
And 
 [...]one but I, the bard, thy cause defend,
Think not thy foes—tho' num'rous—shall prevail,
Thy pow'r diminish, or thy being end:

[Page 176]Tho' spurn'd from table, and the public eye,

 [...]n the snug closet safely shalt thou lie.

 [...]nd oft, when Sol's proud chariot quits the sky,
And humbler Cynthia mounts her one-horse chair,
To that snug closet shall thy vot'ry fly;
And, rapt in darkness, keep his orgies there;
Lift the full bottle, joyous, to his head,
Then, great as Caesar, reel sublime to bed.

Burlington, Dec. 7 th, 1789.

FAITH. AN ODE.—MARKOE.HIGH on a rock—whose stedfast base
The rage of ocean braves;
Around whose summit, far from human gaze,
The light'ning innocently plays,
And the loud tempest idly raves—
Firm Faith behold!—Prepar'd for flight,
Tow'rds heav'n she boldly casts her daring eyes;
Enraptur'd, views the flood of light,
Expands her rapid wings, and claims the promis'd skies.
In vain frail Vanity prepares,
With simulated smiles,
To lure her back. In vain she spreads her snares▪
Faith hears her not, or faintly hears;
Superior to her artful wiles,
Her eyes the blissful realms explore;
Her ears anticipate each heav'nly strain;
Av'rice, unseen, displays his store;
Unheard, Ambition calls, and Beauty pleads in vai
 [...] ▪
The Virtues at a distance stand,
Contemplating the scene.
No more authority exerts command;
Duty in vain, with accents bland,
'Twixt her and heav'n would intervene.
Affection modestly retires,
Nor arrogantly mourns her lost control;
Her boldness Fortitude admires;
Whilst with unslacken'd zeal, she seeks the glorious goal.

[Page 177]Her eyes the faithful chart survey,
By sacred Truth design'd;
By this she regulates her daring way,
And gaining on the so
 [...]rce of day,
To rapture yields her mind.
Th' angelic throng, for her, prepares
A glorious mansion in the blest abode:
Where melting in seraphic ai
 [...]s,
She piously adores her Father and her God.

HOPE. AN ODE.—MARKOE.

HEARD ye that sigh?—Soft as the gales,
Which gently stole thro' Eden's vales,
Ere man, as yet not desp'rate grown by vice,
Mourn'd his lost innocence and Paradise,
To heav'n it rises—Angels, bear the sound,
Far, far above the starry frame!
From Hope's aspiring breast it came;
And whilst glad myriads wait around,
With never-fading glory crown'd,
Present it at the throne of grace,
An off ring worthy of the place.

Heart-soothing Hope! thou friend of man!
With thee our earliest bliss began!
To thee, sweet comforter! our wishes tend;
Ah! deign thy humble vot'ries to befriend!
Guard us, bright seraph! from corroding care!
When all our weak resources fail,
When friends forsake, and foes assail,
Thy sure assistance let us share,
And chace the monster, fell Despair.
Compell'd to seek his native hell,
In torments let him rage and yell!

Soul-cheering Hope! the verse inspire,
As with bold hand I strike the lyre,
As, urged by thee, I wake the willing muse,
Who, warm'd by patriot cares, extends her views.
Reason and truth the heart-felt wish allow.

[Page 178]Hail, self-dependent Industry!
A nation's bliss must spring from thee:
I form no visionary vow;
Since active Science guides the plough;
And Valour rivalling old Rome,
The shuttle throws, or rears the dome.

Yet, yet, thou universal friend!
To all the race thy views extend;
And faintly sketch, sweet Hope, the happy plan,
Which may exalt the savage into man.
Base Av'rice! from th' uncultur'd scene remove,
Who dar'st the garb of Justice wear!
To scenes of polish'd life repair;
Nor think, thy maxims can improve
Th' untutor'd tenant of the grove.
Can Avarice religion preach?
Shall they, who rob, pretend to teach?

Ye, whom superior talents bless,
Whom virtue leads to happiness!
By moral culture first prepare the soil;
Religion's fruit shall then reward your toil,
On earth the visionary ladder stood,
Which reach'd at length, the yielding skies▪
And man, by slow degrees, must rise.
Uncheck'd by fear, unstained with blood,
Thus shall ye rear the public good
On Justice, which shall time defy,
'Till Hope 
 [...] swallow'd up in Joy.

CHARITY. AN ODE, Sacred to the memory of William Penn. MARKOE.

"ASCEND the bark, the sail expand,

 [...] And fly the blood-polluted land!
"
 [...] tyrant's rage and bigot's zeal
"Already whet the murd'ring steel,
"While Virtue from the scene retires,
"As Persecution lights her fires.

[Page 179]
"Ascend the bark, expand the sail!
"Thy God shall grant the fav'ring gale,
"And awe-struck waves the ship respect,
"Which Piety and Faith direct,
"As from this land of rage and tears,
"The philosophic chief she bears.

"I see, I see the untaught band.
"Mildly they welcome thee to land.
"Thy brow no sullen fury wears;
"No dark resentment low'rs on theirs.
"Can Piety and Justice fail?
"Ascend the bark; expand the sail!"

Thus Charity the chief address'd,
And warm'd with sacred zeal his breast.
His ready feet the bark ascend;
His friends, a pious train, attend.
Hope smiles, Affection vainly pleads,
And Albion's guilty shore recedes.

Each wind in gentler breezes blows;
With gentler current ocean flows,
As if—(what will not Virtue charm?)—
His pious vows, their rage disarm;
And Delaware's capacious breast
Exulting bears the welcome guest.

"Ye gazing tribes! your fears forego;
"No plund'rer I, or cruel foe.
"These hands, in war's dire trade unskill'd,
"No spear protend, or falchion wield;
"Nor from my bark, with art accurst,
"Shall lightning fly, or thunder burst:

"O'er wide-extended lands you roam;
"We seek, alas! a peaceful home.
"These gifts your kindness shall repay;"—
His friends the useful stores display.
Virtue the treaty ratified,
And Reason smil'd with decent pride.

"Ye people, hear! (again he spoke)
"Who groan beneath a double yoke,
"The voice of Charity revere;
"No holy tyrant threatens here;

[Page 180]"No despot rules with cruel sway;
"Securely toil, securely pray.

"Religion who shall dare restrain?
"New systems choose, or old retain.
"From temples, let your vows ascend;
"Or private in your closets bend.
"By priestly zeal or pow'r, unaw'd,
"Let all in freedom worship God."

The British isles with rapture heard;
His voice the suff'ring German chear'd.
In crowds they hasten to the shore,
And hear unmov'd old Ocean roar.
Their shores they quit, and dangers slight;
Religion, Freedom, Peace invite.

Ye statesmen, whom weak minds revere!
Ye kings, who empire build on fear!
With candid minds, survey the plan,
And venerate the upright man,
Who, not to selfish views confin'd,
Studied the good of all mankind.

He spoke not to unwilling slaves;
The forest falls, the harvest waves;
The curve-disdaining street extends;
The dock resounds, the mast ascends.
Hope vig'rous Labour sweetly chears,
And Property the bliss endears.

To neighb'ring shores and distant lands,
His worth a bright example stands.
A fertile region bears his name;
Philosophy exalts his fame;
The arts his matchless deeds record,
And heav'n bestows the great reward.

ON A LADY's BIRTH DAY. W. M. SMITH.

SHEPHERDS, shepherds, hither come!
What, tho' lost the vernal bloom,
What, tho' Winter rules the year,
Yet the joys of Spring are here:

[Page 181]Here we taste the sweets of May,
On Eliza's natal day.
Do we want the blushing rose?
In Eliza's cheek it grows:
See the cherry's tempting red
O'er her dewy lips is spread;
And the lily's ev'ry grace
Is exceeded in her face.

Where's the fragrance of the vale?
Where the music of the dale?
Balmy is her breath as spring,
Or the odour zephyrs bring:
Soft as is a seraph's song,
Is the music of her tongue.

Shepherds, then, the chorus join:
Haste the festive wreath to twine:
Come, with bosoms all sincere,
Come with breasts devoid of care:
Bring the pipe, and merry lay,
'Tis Eliza's natal day.

Description of Jehovah, from the XVIIIth psalm. LADD.

HE spoke: and lo! the heav'ns were bow'd;
High on cherubic wings he rode,
Majestic to behold.
Profoundest night, the dark abyss,
And the thick gloom of all the skies,
Beneath his feet were roll'd.

Tempestuous winds about him past,
Sublime upon each winged blast,
The great Jehovah came.
He flew abroad, all cloth'd in fire,
But bade thick clouds of smoke aspire,
To wrap the awful flame.

Infolding skies his brightness veil'd:
And, in the depth of night, conceal'd,
His dread pavilion stood.

[Page 182]The blacken'd clouds around him sweep,
And the dark waters of the deep
Enthrone their sovereign God.

Midst pealing thunders, fire, and smoke,
Jehovah awful silence broke,
And shook the pow'rs beneath:
The rapid lightnings of the sky,
In awful dread of the MOST HIGH,
Were scatter'd by his breath.

THE COUNTRY MEETING ^*. T. C. JAMES.

OF war's tremendous deeds, the din of arms,
And acts by Fame renown'd, fain would I sing,
But that Ambition ne'er my bosom warms,
Nor would Calliope her succour bring
To bard that soars with too advent'rous wing.
O Shenstone! sweetest child of fancy fair,
Dart one fond ray, and guide the weakest quill,
That ever rashly claim'd thy guardian care,
To point the high path up the slipp'ry hill,
Where thou thy lyre dost touch with still improving skill.

Themes that have ne'er been polish'd into rhyme,
Would a faint pencil in this verse pourtray,
If in the fond attempt to gain on time,
No taunting critic meet me on my way,
And with these accents rude my heart dismay:
'Vain youth, forbear, by desp'rate folly mov'd,
'Of poetasters the mean herd to swell;
'But mark his strain whom laurell'd Phoebus lov'd,
'What Horace, tuneful bard, has sung so well,
'How Daedalus's son, bold artist, headlong fell.'

View yonder ancient dome with trees beset,
From which no lofty spire doth proudly rise,
Nor hence each week, when congregation's met,
Are studied hymns e'er wing'd unto the skies,
Nor doth amen from parish clerk arise.
E'en music's lulling charms beseemeth wrong

[Page 183]To those who did this modest temple rear;
For all, who to those lonely confines throng,
Worship in guise of solemn silent prayer;
Nor can they think that words their sinful deeds repair.

No pulpit here doth grace the naked wall,
Nor doth the sculptor his gay art express:
For thus they teach: 'Religion does not call
'For the vain ornaments of splendid dress,
'Nor will meek heav'n superfluous grandeur bless.'
And wrong they hold it, that the flock should pay
For truths which ought to flow without controul,
Free as the silver dew, or light of day,
To beam mild virtue on th' expanding soul,
And spread celestial sparks, free gift, from pole to pole.

But see, o'er yonder field, the elder train
Of village dames their little infants bring,
Who else might loiter on the grassy plain,
And wet their new clothes in yon bubbling spring,
Which would their parents' minds with sorrow sting.
The sportive urchins oft will skip away,
To chase the partridge from the neighb'ring bush;
And oft, with balls of well-attemper'd clay,
Will from its covert fright the trembling thrush,
Nor mind the matron's careful voice, which would them hush.

Down the slop'd hill the gayer tribe descend,
On neighing steeds, that champ the steeled bit,
Strait to the fane their pompous way they tend;
There 'midst their peers in goodly order sit,
Young swains for strength renown'd, and maids for wits
Such strength as at the mill-door oft is seen
When Colin lifts the sack of mighty weight;
Such wit as sports in gambols o'er the green,
And would the ear of nicer townsman grate:
He'd call it shocking stuff, and rude, unseemly prate.

Yet Humour her abode will deign to fix
Amidst the lively 
 [...]u
 [...]ies of the place,
And with the village hinds will often mix,
Giving to ev'ry feat a festive grace,
And spreading chearfulness o'er ev'ry face,

[Page 184]Let the polite, the polish'd, blame their joys,
Whom Nature, unconstrain'd, can never charm:
This is the life which ennui never cloys,
Nor e'er can fell Ambition work it harm,
Blowing with hideous blast its poisonous alarm.

See yonder youth on prancing bay steed ride,
While satisfaction on his broad front beams;
And view his gentle charmer by his side,
For whom he wishes, and of whom he dreams;
Of heav'nly form and mind to him she seems.
For her each ev'ning anxiously he culls,
Of wild flow'rs fair, a nosegay scented sweet;
For her the chesnut drops its prickly hulls,
And the wood pigeon yields its sav'ry meat,
With thousand tempting gifts which verse cannot repeat.

And now thro' folding doors, full wide display'd,
Th' assembly's grave and pious numbers throng,
While well each noisy buzzing murmur's stay'd,
With the loose prattling of each infant tongue;
For oft confusion has from childhood sprung.
See the wise elder's venerable grace,
Mark with what slow-pac'd dignity he moves;
See ev'ry little eye hangs on his face,
And over all his features fondly roves,
For he the junior train affectionately loves.

The village teacher sits with looks profound,
And marks the ent'ring throng, with eye askance;
If, as he careful views the dome around,
He should on careless pupil's visage chance,
He sends him straight a play-forbidding glance.
Of looks like these he hath a plenteous store,
To fright his students from each frolic mood:
And well they watch to see his aspect lour,
Trying each art t' avert the baleful wood,
By sitting wond'rous still, and seeming e'en as good.

Silence with Sleep his empire now divides,
While some on this, and some on that side nod;
The ploughman still his steers and ploughshare guides,
And breaks in pleasing dreams the fancied sod;
While the school-mistress wields the birchen rod.

[Page 185]Others, more wakeful, plan their future deeds,
While on increase of wealth their wishes stray:
The farmer thus in rapture counts his steeds,
And deals to each his part of winter's hay,
Till spring renews the grass, and gives returning May.

Where will not thirst of treach'rous gold approach,
Since here, e'en here, it holds its wide domain!
From the warm cit who rolls in gilded coach,
To the dull carter, whistling o'er the plain,
Does Plutus, god of shining lucre, reign.
Happy, th
 [...]ice happy are th' instructed few,
On whom fell Want ne'er lays her harpy claw,
But, far retir'd from 'midst the toiling crew,
Live in observance of wise Nature's laws,
And learn from her to trace the great Eternal Cause.

ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF GEN. WASHINGTON. MARKOE.

RECITATIVE.
PARENT of soothing airs and lofty strains,
Who near the throne of God,
Hast fix'd thy blest abode,
Descend to gladden our war-wasted plains.

CHORUS.
Hither thy course, lov'd cherub, bend;
The drum shall drive thee hence no more;
Hush'd is the cannon's angry roar;
Celestial HARMONY, descend.

AIR.
Thee the prudent merchant gre
 [...] ▪
Commerce spreads her ready sail,
Fearless now of hostile fleets,
And invokes the fav'ring gale.
GANGES, starting from his bed,
Hails the barks of DELAWARE:
Asia's tyrants view with dread
FREEDOM's ensigns waving there.

[Page 186]

RECITATIVE.

Secure from harm, the swain his hours employs

In healthful labours and domestic joys;

Scatters the future harvest, void of care,

Nor fears a horrid interval of war.

AIR.

The cruel invader is fled:
The sounds of Hostility cease:
Mild Industry reigns in its stead,
And the husbandman's heart is at ease;

N
 [...] terrors his bosom assail:
Securely he bends o'er the plough:
At evening he tells the soft tale:
And the maiden repeats the fond vow.

RECITATIVE.
Genius and Art in happy union meet:
This to invent and that the plan complete;
And, as her work firm Industry pursues,
The gen'ral bliss exulting Freedom views.

AIR.
See the stately mansion rise;
Swift the ready shuttle flies!
Labour, as he deals his blows,
O'er the sounding anvil glows.
Arts shall thrive without controul,
FREEDOM animates the whole.
CHORUS. Hither thy course, &c.

RECITATIVE.
LEARNING, disgusted with the monkish cell,
Delights amidst the busy scene to dwell:
With scorn she views her former narrow plan,
And in the studious youth prepares the active man.

AIR.

In Academus' sacred shade,
Delighted Plato fondly stray'd,
Sicilia's sons his aid implore,
To soothe their tyrant's rage with philosophic lore.

[Page 187]

ART AND NATURE.

In vain he tries, with lenient art,

To heal the cruel despot's heart.

Forc'd by experience to despair,

He gives the loose to Dion and to war.

RECITATIVE.
The muse a bolder strain in rapture pours:
"Plato and Dion both," she cries, "are ours.
"FRANKLIN the sage's true reward has won:
"Conquest and glory grace our WASHINGTON."

AIR.
Oft as this auspicious day,
Sacred to honour, shall return,
Let Freedom pour the grateful lay,
And haughty tyrants mourn.
On this auspicious day was giv'n
A CHIEF as good as brave,
Who, emulous of gracious heav'n,
Ne'er conquer'd but to save.
CHORUS. Hither thy course, &c.

RECITATIVE.
Ye virtuous men, whom wisdom led to share
Your well-earn'd freedom with each younger heir;
Thus firmly binding to the gen'ral weal
Hearts which, by reason taught, abound in zeal;
With candour listen to th' ingenuous lays,
Which sound the HERO'S and the PATRIOT'S praise.

AIR.
From various lands and climes we come,
Invited to this common home,
Resolv'd to guard the sacred rights you gave;
Unwarp'd by favour or by fear,
In FREEDOM's cause to persevere,
To hate a tyrant, and to scorn a slave.

ART AND NATURE. W. M. SMITH, ESQ.

'TIS said that once upon a time,
(So tales begin, and so my rhyme)

[Page 188]Nature held high dispute with Art,
Which had most pow'r upon the heart.

They each agreed, to end debate,
A lovely maiden to create,
Endow'd with their respective charms,
To fill the soul with love's alarms.

Obedient to each high command,

Two female forms before them stand.

A
 [...]t flew for lightning to the skies,
An
 [...] pl
 [...]c'd it in her daughter's eyes:
But Nature, tender and sincere,
Taught her's to shed soft Pity's tear.

While Art from her abundant store,
Her fav'rite's cheeks vermillion'd o'er—
Another method Nature chose,
In her's she plac'd the blushing rose.

Art wander'd through Arabia's plain,
Each richest, costliest gum to gain.
She rifled ev'ry region o'er,
And left Ambara's valley poor:
Then with her gather'd sweets she hied,
To grace the object of her pride.

Such gales as kiss the daisied meads,
When Spring the jocund Hours leads,
When ev'ry object, grown more gay,
Joins to hail returning May,
Through even rows of pearly teeth,
Nature taught her child to breathe.

A neck, that caught the gazer's sight,
As alabaster, cold and white,
Where symmetry's extremest point
Was tortur'd into ev'ry joint—
Rising from a snowy breast,
The sculptor's curious art confest—
Such Art bestow'd upon her child,
While indignant Nature smil'd.

A spotless skin of fairest hue,
With veins of sky, eye-tinctur'd blue—

[Page 189]A bosom which conceal'd a heart
That bore in ev'ry pang a part,
And throbb'd responsive to each groan,
Soft Nature bade her child to own.

Next Art to Persia's regions flew,
From thence the richest silks she drew.
Transparent emeralds she sought,
The Ceylon-ruby, too, she brought;
Golconda's richest mine explor'd,
To add the di'mond to her hoard;
And on her idol she bestow'd
The curious, costly, cumbrous load;
While Youth, Simplicity, and Ease
Gave Nature's daughter pow'r to please.

Thus deck'd, each mother gave her charge,

Before she set her child at large.

"Now go,"—said Art—"and let your eyes
"Fill each beholder with surprise:
"Go—be but seen—without controul,
"You'll lord it o'er the human soul;
"Before your feet, you'll daily see
"Unnumber'd cap
 [...]ives bow the knee:
"But let them drag a hopeless chain,
"And sigh, and swear, and rave in vain."

In humbler accents, NATURE said:
"Be not of yonder form afraid:
"Perhaps she'll wound the fopling's heart,
"Be your's, my dear, a nobler part:
"The trifling conquests of her eyes,
"Are such as all your sex despise.

"But if some tender youth you find,
"In whom good sense to virtue's join'd,
"Within whose open gen'rous breast,
"Dissimulation cannot rest,
"Of him a worthy conquest make,
"He'll love my child for Nature's sake.
"In him no short-liv'd flame you'll fear;
"Where virtue dwells, the soul's sincere;
"Go then, my life, my joy my pride,
"Go—be the counterpart of F—d."

[Page 190]

THE OLD SOLDIER. FENTHAM. "Pity the sorrows of a poor old man."CLEAR was the blue expanse—the day serene—
All nature wore an universal green:
Smooth pass'd fair Schuylkill's wave, delightful flood!
As, musing, on its verdant banks I stood,
There wrap'd in praise, O bounteous God! to thee,
Who blest this happy land with liberty:
And thou


*, the instrument in Virtue's cause,
Who bravely freed us from oppressive laws!
An aged soldier in a voice of grief,
Show'd his grey locks, and thus implor'd relief:
Oh youth, who, yet a stranger to distress,
Feel not (like me) th' extremes of wretchedness!
If, in thy country's cause, thy 
 [...]som glows,
That country, late o'erspread by barb'rous foes—
In whose defence, life's richest blood was drain'd
From these poor limbs, while yet a drop remain'd.
Now, worn with toil, and impotent with age,
Soon shall I leave this joyless, mortal stage.
Yet if Humanity, with genial heat,
Expands thy soul to actions good and great,
Some trifling help, (which may you never need!)
Oh give, and heav'n reward the pious deed.
Once, gay in life, and free from anxious care,
I through the furrows drove the shining share—
I saw my waving fields with plenty crown'd,
And yellow Ceres, joyous, smile around;
'Till rous'd by Freedom at my country's call,
I left my peaceful home, and gave up all.
Now forc'd, alas! to beg my hard-earn'd bread,
This crazy body longs to join the dead:
Ungrateful country! when the danger's o'er,
Your bravest sons cold charity implore.
Children of wealth, in downy pleasure bred,
Pamper'd in ease, by fav'ring fortune fed;
Who view with thoughtless eye the humble poor,
That glean their scanty meals from door to door;

[Page 191]Ah! heave for me a sympathetic sigh▪
And wipe the falling tear from Sorrow's eye.

THE WAR-HORSE. LADD.

PARAPHRASED FROM JOB. ‘"And hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?"’

AGAIN th' Almighty from the whirlwind broke,
And thus to Job, in stern continuance spoke,
"Didst thou the horse with strength unequall'd mould,
Whose lofty neck the writhen thunders fold?
And canst thou make the intrepid courser fly,
When steely dangers glitter in his eye?

"See! all around him spreads the flamy cloud,
Spurn'd from his nostils, while he snorts aloud;
Trembling with vigour, how he paws the ground,
And hurls the thunder of his strength around!
Behold! he pants for war, and, scorning flight,
Collects his strength; and rushes to the fight.

"When clouds of darts a sable horror spread,
And the full quiver rattles o'er his head—
To him no dread the sound of battle bears,
The clash of armour and the strife of spears;
But o'er his neck, his waving mane reclin'd,
Spreads to the gale, and wantons to the wind:
He spurns the field, fierce, terrible, and strong,
And rolls the earth back, as he shoots along.

"Lo! where their strife the distant warriors wage,
The neighing courser snuffs the sanguine rage;
While roaring trumpets, and the dire affray,
Provoke his laughter on that dreadful day—
More loud he snorts▪ more terribly he foams,
When nearer still the storm of battle comes;
And mingling roars are dreadful on the heath,
In shouts of vict'ry, and in groans of death,"

[Page 192]

On the migration to America, and peopling the Western Country. FRENEAU.

TO western woods and lonely plains,
Palemon from the crowd departs,
Where Nature's wildest genius reigns,
To tame the soil, and plant the arts—
What wonders there shall Freedom show!
What mighty states successive grow!

From Europe's proud, despotic shores,
Hither the stranger takes his way,
And, in our new-found world, explores
A happier soil—a milder sway—
Where no proud despot holds him down,
No slaves insult him with a crown.

What charming scenes attract the eye
On wild Oh
 [...]o's savage stream!
Here Nature reigns, whose works outvie
The boldest pattern Art can frame—
Here ages past have roll'd away,
And forests bloom'd but to decay.

From these fair plains, those rural seats▪
(So long conceal'd, so lately known)
Th' unsocial Indian far retreats,
To make some other clime his own—
Where other streams, less pleasing flow,
And darker forests round him grow.

Great fire of floods


*! whose rapid wave
Thro' various countries takes its way,
To which creating Nature gave
Unnumber'd streams to swell thy sway:
No longer shall they useless prove,
Nor idly thro' the forest rove.

No longer shall thy princely flood
From distant lakes be swell'd in vain;
Nor longer, through a darksome wood,
Advance, unnotic'd, to the main:

[Page 193]Far other ends the fates decree,
And Commerce plans new freights for thee.

While Virtue warms the gen'rous breast,
Here heaven-born Freedom shall reside;
Nor shall the voice of War molest,
Nor Europe's all-aspiring pride:
Here Reason shall new laws devise,
And order from confusion rise.

Forsaking kings and regal state,
With all their pomp and fancied bliss,
The trav'ller owns—convinc'd—tho' late.
No realm so free, so blest as this:
The east is half to slaves consign'd,
And half to slavery more refin'd.

O come the time, and haste the day,
When man shall man no longer crush!
When Reason shall enforce her sway,
Nor those fair regions raise our blush,
Where still the African complains,
And mourns his, yet unbroken, chains.

Far brighter scenes, a future age,
The muse predicts, these states shall hail,
Whose genius shall the world engage,
Whose deeds shall over Death prevail!
And happier systems bring to view,
Than ever eastern sages knew.

A PASTORAL SONG. BRADFORD.

THE shepherd, of fortune possest,
May scorn, if he please, my poor cot,
May think in his wealth to be blest,
But I never will envy his lot:
The pleasures, which riches impart,
Are fleeting, and feeble, when known;
They never give peace to the heart,
It scorns to be happy alone.

[Page 194]
That shepherd true happiness knows,
Whose bosom by beauty is mov'd,
Who tastes the pure pleasure that flows,
From loving and being belov'd.
'Tis a joy of angelical birth,
And when to poor mortals 'tis giv'n,
It chears their abode upon earth,
And sweetens their journey to heav'n.

How briskly my spirits would move!
What peace in this bosom would reign!
Were I blest with the nymph that I love,
Sweet Emma, the pride of the plain!
Ye shepherds, she's fair as the light!
The critic no blemish can find;
And all the soft virtues unite,
And glow in her innocent mind,

Her accents are fitted to please,
Her manners engagingly free:
Her temper is ever at ease,
And calm as an angel's can be.
Her presence all sorrow removes,
She enraptures the wit and the clown:
Her heart is as mild as the dove's,
Her hand is as soft as its down.

Yon lily, which graces the field,
And throws its perfume to the gale,
In fairness and fragrance must yield
To Emma, the pride of the vale.
She's pleasant, as yonder cool rill
To trav'llers who faint on the way;
She's sweet, as the rose on the hill,
When it opens its bosom to day.

I ask not for wealth, or for pow'r:
Kind heaven! I these can resign;
But hasten, O hasten the hour,
When Emma shall deign to be mine.
O teach her to pity the pain
Of a heart, that, if slighted, must break;
O teach her to love the fond swain,
Who would lay down his life for her sake.

[Page 195]

 [...]hough poor, I will never repine,
Content that my Emma is true;
I'll press her dear bosom to mine,
And think myself rich as Peru.
With her I will stray thro' the grove,
And fondly I'll pour out my soul,
Indulge my effusions of love,
And find myself blest to the full.

And oft in the cool of the day,
We'll ramble to hear the sweet song,
That vibrates so soft from each spray,
Where Codorus rolls gently along.
With flowers I'll crown her dear hair,
Then gaze on her beauties; and cry,
What nymph can with Emma compare,
What shepherd so happy as I!

Thus chearful the moments shall roll,
Of all my fond wishes possest;
And peace shall descend on my soul,
And make it her favourite rest:
Contentment my life shall prolong,
All trouble and sorrow forgot;
And Time, as he hurries along,
Shall smile upon Corydon's cot.

THE SEASONS MORALIZED. DWIGHT.

BEHOLD the changes of the skies,
And see the circling seasons rise;
Hence, let the moral truth refin'd,
Improve the beauty of the mind.

Winter, late with dreary reign,
Rul'd the wide, unjoyous plain;
Gloomy storms with solemn 
 [...]oar
Shook the hoarse, resounding shore.

Sorrow cast her sadness round,
Life and joy forsook the ground,
Death, with wild imperious sway,
Bade th' expiring world decay.

[Page 196]

Now cast around thy raptur'd eyes,

And see the beauteous spring arise;

See, flow'rs invest the hills again,

And streams re-murmur o'er the plain.

Hark, hark, the joy-inspiring grove
Echoes to the voice of love;
Balmy gales the sound prolong,
Wasting round the woodland song.

Such the scenes our life displays,
Swiftly fleet our rapid days;
The hour that rolls forever on,
Tells us our years must soon be gone.

Sudden, Death, with mournful gloom
Sweeps us downwards to the tomb;
Life, and health, and joy decay,
Nature sinks, and dies away.

But the soul in gayest bloom,
Disdains the bondage of the tomb;
Ascends above the clouds of even,
And, raptur'd, hails her native heaven.

Youth, and peace, and beauty there
Forever dance around the year;
An endless joy invests the pole,
And streams of ceaseless pleasure roll.

Light, and joy, and grace divine
With bright and lasting glory shine:
Jehovah's smiles, with heav'nly ray,
Diffuse a clear, unbounded day.

CHARACTER OF ST. TAMANY. PRICHARD.IMMORTAL Tamany, of Indian race,
Great in the field, and foremost in the chase!
No puny saint was he, with fasting pale,
He climb'd the mountain, and he swept the vale,
Rush'd thro' the torrent with unequall'd might;
Your ancient saints would tremble at the sight;

[Page 197]Caught the swift boar, and swifter deer, with ease,
And work'd a thousand miracles like these,
To public views he added private ends,
And lov'd his country most, and next his friends;
With courage long he strove to ward the blow,
(Courage we all respect ev'n in a foe,)
And when each effort he in vain had tried,
Kindled the flame in which he bravely died!
Let the full horn to Tamany go round,
His fame let every honest tongue resound!
With him let ev'ry gen'rous patriot vie,
To live in freedom, or with honour die.

A SONG. DWIGHT.

LOOK, lovely maid, on yonder flow'r,
And see that busy fly,
Made for th' enjoyment of an hour,
And only born to die.

See, round the rose he lightly moves,
And wantons in the sun,
His little life in joy improves,
And lives, before 'tis gone.

From this instinctive wisdom, learn,
The present hour to prize;
Nor leave to-day's supreme concern,
'Till morrow's morn arise.

Say, loveliest fair, canst thou divine
That morrow's hidden doom?
Know'st thou, if cloudless skies will shine,
Or heaven be wrapp'd in gloom?

Fond man, the trifle of a day,
Enjoys the morning light,
Nor knows, his momentary play
Must end, before 'tis night.

The present joys are all we claim;
The past are in the tomb;
And, like the poet's dream of fame,
The future never come.

[Page 198]

No longer then, fair maid, delay

The promis'd scenes of bliss;

Nor idly give another day,

The joys assign'd to this.

If 
then my breast can soothe thy care,
'Twill 
now that care allay;
If joy this hand can yield, my fair,
'Twill yield that joy to-day.

Quit then, oh quit! thou lovely maid,
Thy bashful, virgin pride;
To-day the happy plot be laid,
The bands, to-morrow, tied!

The purest joys shall be our own,
That e'er to man were giv'n;
And those bright scenes, on earth begun,
Shall brighter shine in heav'n.

THE FEDERAL CONVENTION.CONCENTR'D here th' united wisdom shines,
Of learn'd judges, and of sound divines:
Patriots, whose virtues, searching time has tried,
Heroes, who fought, where brother heroes died;
Lawyers, who speak, as Tully spoke before,
Sages, deep read in philosophic lore;
Merchants, whose plans are to no realms confin'd,
Farmers—the noblest title 'mongst mankind:
Yeomen and tradesmen, pillars of the state;
On whose decision hangs Columbia's fate.


September, 1787.

A FAIR BARGAIN. HOPKINSON.

AS Satan was taking an airing one day,
Columbia's fair genius fell plump in his way,
Array'd like a goddess, and blooming as May:

[Page 199]"Vile monster," said she, "you oppose me in vain;
"My people shall surely their wishes obtain:
"You can but perplex us, and so mark the end on't,
"For, sooner or later, they'll be independent."

"What you say," quoth the fiend, "I confess is too true?
"But why not allow the poor devil his due?
"Give me 
one of your states; and the rest shall be free
"To follow their fate, unmolested by me."

"Agreed," said the lady, "if that's all you want,

"He [...]e, take and enjoy it—it is my Vermont."

"Oh! ho!" exclaim'd Satan, "how gen'rous you'rs grown,
"So kindly to give—what's already my own!
"So thank you for nothing, fair lady, I trow,
"The devil is not to be bamboozled so.
"Come—down with your dust—you know what I mean,
"I must have at least 
one of you
 [...] fav'rite 
thirteen."

A tear in her eye, and a sigh from her breast,
The doubts and the fears of the genius confest;
But while she was puzzled, unable to find
Which state might with ease be to Satan resign'd,
The five per cent. impost-law popt in her mind.
This settled the point. She look'd up with a sm
 [...], and
Presented his fiendship the state of Rhode island.
He seiz'd the fair prize—cram'd it into his pocket—
And darted away in a blaze, like a rocket,

Song sung in St. Andrew's society, New York, [...] [...]uesday, August 22, 1790, when colonel Alexander M Gil livray was present. Tune—Nottingham Ale.

AMONG polish'd nations, for centuries past,
The hero, the saint, have, by custom, assign'd
A day to their honour, which ever shall last,
While gratitude softens the hearts of mankind▪
For this we display
The cross here to-day,
To honour St. Andrew, the great and the good;
Who, despising the shame,
Laid to glory the claim,
And seal'd, as a ma
 [...]tyr, the truth with his blood▪

[Page 200]
Perhaps his last moments—those moments of pain—
Might be sweeten'd with prospects of what would ensue,
When one of his children should make the way plain,
And people 
 [...] converts from you.
When Ohio's for 
 [...]
Should enlarge the 
 [...]
Of the Prince, and 
 [...]he 
 [...]ov
 [...], and Giver of peace,
And a son of his own
Have the merit alone,
Of making all Indian hostilities cease.

The time is at hand—nay, already appears,
When the empire of Reason shall govern the world;
And Error, tho' sanction'd by thousands of years,
With contempt, as it ought, from our bosoms be hurl'd.
With a great and just view,
This truth we'll pursue,
That in feature or colour no diff'rence can be
In the eye of that mind
Which call'd forth mankind,
To make them one family, happy and free.

What a wide scene of rapture my eye now beholds,
When I turn, to the west, the enkindling view!
Their frank, tawny children my bosom enfolds,
And clasps them with ardour, as brothers, like you.
Perhaps, ere I die,
My children or I
With safety and comfort may traverse that land;
And bless this fair day,
When saint Andrew's sway
Impell'd their brave leader to give me his hand.

May plentiful seasons—a sun ever mild—
A spirit of kindness—and friendship sincere,
Transform to an Eden your deserts so wild,
And sympathy only occasion a tear.
When you're gone far away,
Oh! remember the day,
When here joy and harmony mingled their pow'rs,

Col. M
 [...]Gillivray's father was a native of Scotland.

[Page 201]To keep up the fame
Of saint Andrew's name,
And embellish'd his shrine with a chaplet of flowers.

ADDRESS TO THE ROBIN RED-BREAST. BAYARD.

SEE, perch'd on yonder lofty spray,
The red-breast sits, so blithe and gay;
Far from danger, void of fear,
Warbling to the list'ning ear,
Notes of pleasure, airy, wild,
Softly plaintive—sweetly mild;
Whisp'ring to the shady grove
Tender strains of artless love.
Of real or of fancy'd ills,
That human life incessant feels,
Our visionary hopes or fears,
It nothing knows, and nothing cares.
Often when the streaks of morn,
First the groves and hills adorn,
When, bursting on the verdant mead,
They bid the shades of night recede;
Or on the lawn clear splendors break,
And all the feather'd choir awake;
Then little red breast takes her seat,
Near my lone—my cool retreat.
There, in nature's melting lays,
She tunes her great Creator's praise.
Her music there so sweetly trills,
That rapture all my bosom fills.
Sweet bird! whose softly-soothing strain
Lulls the smart of fancy'd pain;
Whose tender accents, mild and clear,
Seize the heart, and charm the ear.
And when, remote from Reason's coast,
On mental Mis'ry's waves we're tost,
Or Fancy, overcast by glooms,
In darkness and in error roams—
Thy voice can still the boist'ro
 [...]s sea;
Thy voice can bid the darkness flee.

[Page 202]Sweet bird! who, with the dawning day
Dost to thy Maker homage pay—
And when the shades of eve appear,
Off'rest up thy humble pray'r,
Bidding zephyr, as he floats,
Bear to heav'n thy grateful notes.
Oh! would man (who lives like thee,
On mercy, infinite, as free)
Like thee, in nature's language raise
His morning and his ev'ning praise;
Render to the "
Source of bliss,"
That tribute, which by right is his;
His soul would then such feelings know,
As but from heav'nly fountains flow.
And by thy fair example taught,
Could I oft clothe the grateful thought,
In tenderly expressive lays,
And thus exalt my Maker's praise,
Sure affections, soft and kind,
Would spring to gild and bless my mind.
Songster of the lonely vale!
Often, when thy plaintive tale,
Trilling from some thicket near,
Vibrates on my raptur'd ear,
Thy strains, so sweet, yet sadly flow—
That all my heart's dissolv'd in woe.
Oft I conceive, in this retreat,
Thou sitt'st to mourn thine absent mate;
Or near yon gently murm'ring flood,
Deplor'st thy lost—thy hapless brood.
Perhaps, while here thou sweetly sung,
Some serpent stole thy new-fledg'd young;
Or boys, perhaps, in cruel play,
Have borne thy tender care away.
If such has been thy case, sweet bird,
For this if flow'd the strains I heard,
Tho' great the cause and just the woe,
Sure I can sympathize with you.
I had a friend—nay still he is,
Whose pleasure is my highest bliss—
Whose heart is kind, whose soul sincere,
Whose welfare, as my life, is dear—

[Page 203]Whose breast has felt the shafts of pain
Struck deep into the tend'rest vein—
Whose soul has known sharp pangs of grief,
Beyond expression and relief.

Like thee, sweet warbler! he'd a mate
Kind in her heart; in temper, sweet;
In manners, mild; appearance, fair;
Her bosom, gentle; judgment, clear;
Devote to friends; to strangers, kind;
Benign her looks, and meek her mind.
Her heart she 
would not 
think her own;
Her best affections all had flown;
They rested on her little brood:
I was her son—and oh, I lov'd.

For num'rous years quite uncontroul'd
Joy's crystal current smoothly roll'd:
No strife nor care our lives annoy'd;
No broils, domestic peace, destroy'd,

The purest bliss each hour beguil'd,
Heav'n▪ nature, and the world, all smil'd.
But, ah! how dark a change was near!
No more did pleasing scenes appear;
Clouds of distress, collecting fast,
Joy's whole horizon soon o'ercast.
We fear'd—we hop'd—but all in vain;
Our hopes were dash'd:—bliss turn'd to pain▪

Two brothers first, of tender years,
Whose brows were yet unmark'd with cares—
Whose souls were gen'rous, as their birth—
Whose virtues were just op'ning forth,
At once were summon'd—
Friendship sigh'd,

Affection wept—but oh!—they dy'd.

Tho' hard this stroke—tho' great our woe,
We felt too soon a heavier blow.
That tender parent—loving wife,
The glory of domestic life—
The boast of friends—her husband's pride,
The poor man's trust, her children's guid
 [...]—
Whose smiles could sinking hope enliv'n,
Who show'd and led the way to heav'n,

[Page 204]Pour'd pious precepts on our ear,
And with her precepts, join'd her pray'r—
That best of mothers—best of wives,
Oh! can I say—no more survives—

Burst, Sorrow! burst, and soothe the smart,
That tortures and consumes my heart.
Shall ev'ry softer charm we praise,
Each 
christian and 
domestic grace,
Forsake us, never to return,
And shall not 
filial fondness mourn?
Tho' more than twice two years have flown,
Since to the vale of death she's gone,
Yet oft, by love and duty taught,
On her I fix the tender thought;
For her, escapes the sigh sincere;
For her I drop the pious tear.

Dear angel (for in heav'n you dwell,
And taste delight, no tongue can tell,)
Shall not thy secret influence still
Sway my heart, and rule my will?
Arrest me, if inclin'd to stray;
And keep my feet in Virtue's way?

Sweet parent! yes! my willing feet
Shall tread the path, which thou hast set.
Thy 
precept and 
example, join'd,
Shall be the pole-star of my mind,
Till this fond heart shall cease to beat,
Till thou and I in heav'n shall meet.

A WINTER PIECE. LATHROP.

SURLY Winter now returns;
Nature droops her head, and mourns:
Sol's oblique, descending ray
Lends a faint and transient day;
Night the realms of day invades,
And her dark dominion spreads.

[Page 205]

Brooks no more meandering run;

Streams are harden'd into stone;

Where the boatman oft has ply'd,

Pond'rous sleds securely glide.

Naked and deform'd are seen
Meadows lately dress'd in green.
Groves and fields are disarray'd;
Leaves are wither'd, dry'd the blade.
Songsters of the wood are flown,
All their cheerful music gone;
Not a swallow strains his throat,
The lark forgets his sprightly note;
Zephyrs, with their gentle breeze,
Sport no more along the trees:
Winds in angry murmurs howl,
Skies with gathering tempests scowl;
Proudest forests humbly bend;
Thick the woolly flakes descend.
See, how fast the valley fills!
How the driving snow-bank swells!
Batt'ring hail-stones urge the hind,
Refuge in her shed to find;
Trembling stands the hardy steer,
Lowing for the master's care.

Farmers now their stables tend,
And from storms the herds defend;
Load with new-thresh'd grain the floor;
Prudent deal the winter's store;
Shiv'ring from the cold retire;
Heap fresh fuel on the fire;
From the evening borrow day,
Drive the piercing frosts away;
Sit secure within the doors,
And defy the storm that roars;
With a book, or chat, deceive
The slow hours of winter's eve;
Teach the list'ning you
 [...]hs the lore,
Which their grandsi
 [...]es taught before;
And their admiration raise
With good things of ancient days:

[Page 206]Or the works of distant clim
 [...]s,
Or the news of modern times.
Thus dull winter rolls away:
Thus we pass the irksome day.

Ah! a deadlier winter speeds—
Winter which no spring succeds.
When our blooming youth is gone,
And our frosty age comes on,
Then no more will spring return—
Age is hopeless—age forlorn—
Hopeless?—no—the silver'd head
Shows, the storms of life are fled:
So the sunshine tips the hills,
As it louring clouds dispels.

Happy christian, who has trod
All the length of virtue's road,
From the goal his eye can cast
Back on storms and dangers past,
And with hope anticipate
Pleasures of the heav'nly state!
When is clos'd this varied scene,
Calmer seasons then begin.

ELEGIAC EPISTLE. OSBORNE. On the death of one of his sisters—and sent to another.DEAR sister, see the smiling spring,
In all its beauties here;
The groves a thousand pleasures bring,
A thousand grateful scenes appear;
With t
 [...]er leaves the trees are crown'd;
And scatter'd blossoms, all around,
Of various dies,
Salute our eyes,
And cover o'er the speckled ground.
Now thicke
 [...] shade the glassy fountains;
Trees o'erhang the pu
 [...]ling streams;
Whisp'ring breezes brush the mountains;
Grots are fill'd with balmy steams.

[Page 207]But, sister, all the sweets that grace
The spring, and blooming nature's face—
The chirping birds,
Nor lowing herds,
The woody hills,
Nor murm'ring rills,
The sylvan shades,
Nor flow'ry meads
To me their former joys dispense,
Though all their pleasures court my sense:
But melancholy damps my mind;
I lonely walk the field,
With inward sorrow fill'd,
And sigh to ev'ry breathing wind.
I mourn our tender sister's death,
In various plaintive sounds;
While hills above, and vales beneath,
The fault'ring notes rebound.
Perhaps, when, in the pains of death,
She gasp'd her latest breath,
You saw our pensive friends around,
With tears bedew the ground,
Our loving father stand,
And press her trembling hand,
And gently cry, "my child, adieu!
We 
 [...] must follow you."
Some tender friend did then perhaps arise,
And close her dying eyes:
Her sti
 [...]en'd body, cold and pale,
Was then convey'd within the gloomy vale
Of Death's unhallow'd shade.
Weak mortals, O! how hard our fate!
How sure our death—how short our date!
We all are doom'd to lay our heads
Beneath the earth, in mournful shades,
To hungry worms a prey.
But, loving sister, let's prepare,
With Virtue's steady feet,
That we may boldly mee
 [...]
The 
rider of the pale horse, void of fear.
But why should you and I forever mourn

[Page 208]Our dear relation's death? She's gone—
We've wept enough, to prove
Our grief, and tender love:
Let joy succeed, and smiles appear,
And let us wipe off ev'ry tear:
Not always the cold winter lasts,
With snows, and storms, and northern blasts:
The raging seas, with fury tost,
Not always break and 
 [...]oar;
Sometimes their native anger's lost—
The smooth-hush'd waves glide softly to the shore.

Hymn sung at the universal meeting house in Boston, Eas­ter Sunday, 
April 
4, 1790.JESUS, all hail! Thou risen Saviour, hail!
At thy command the seventh trump shall sound—
The sun retire— the moon, the stars turn pale,
And heav'n, and earth, and sea no more be found.
Rous'd at thy word, the slumb'ring nations rise:
The dead, who live not till the trump be blown,
Lift up to thee their supplicating eyes:
And they, who pierc'd thee, weep at Mercy's throne.
On all their sins the cleansing fountain rolls—
Their robes are wash'd in thine all-saving blood:
The fount of life supplies their thirsty souls,
And ev'ry nation drinks the living flood.
Bath'd in the crimson stream of life divine,
With tears of joy, in extacy they cry:
"The east, the west, the south, the north, are thine,
"From everlasting, thine, we shall not die."
"All souls are mine: all live to GOD in me,
"The first the last, the last the first proclaim;
"Jew, Centile, Greek, Barbarian, bond or free,
"Are one new man: and bear Immanuel's name.'

[Page 209]

THE DEITY, AND HIS DISPENSATIONS. DWIGHT.

FAR, very far beyond this lower sky,
Beyond the sun, beyond the flames on high,
Dwells in pure light, in heav'n's serene abode,
The Source of life, the Spring of endless good;
All scenes, all heights above, sublimely reigns
All worlds created, and all worlds sustains.
Yon orb, whose brightness wakes thy raptur'd praise,
Is but a beam of his unbounded blaze;
His breath illum'd, his hand exalted high,
And roll'd him flaming thro' th' expanded sky.
His bounteous influence, thro' all nature driv'n,
Warms the wide earth, and cheers the wider heav'n.
All scenes, all beings his pure sight surveys,
Where morn begins, and where pale eye decays;
Where hell's dark shores the glooms of night display;
Or heav'n's broad palace glows in lasting day;
Thro' worlds of endless youth, where angels shine,
And unknown nations rove in light divine:
He moves, informs, directs, and rules the whole;
Their cause, their end, their guardian, and their soul.
He wakes the beauties of the vernal morn;
He bids the flames of sultry summer burn;
He show'rs th' autumnal wealth; and his dread pow'r
Sounds in the wintry storm, and bids the wild waves roar.
In these vast regions countless beings move,
Live in his smiles, and wanton in his love:
In all, his power, and boundless wisdom, shine,
The works, the glories of a band divine.
Thron'd in high heaven, in starry mansions reign,
Of purest intellect, th' angelic train;
All sense, all soul, all love, eternal power
Their thoughts contemplate, and their songs adore.
Thro' earth's wide realms unnumber'd tribes we find,
Of diff'rent ranks, for diff'rent ends design'd.
On every leaf the insect millions swarm,
Hum round the flow'r, or in the sun-beam warm;
The birds, on painted pinions, gaily fly
Thro' the wide regions of the sapphire sky;

[Page 210]Beasts climb the cliff, or walk the savage wood;
And fishes sport around the foamy flood.
These, with the reptile race, to time a prey,
Of dust were fashion'd, and to dust decay.

To man, of nobler rank, two parts were giv'n,
This form'd of earth, and that inspir'd by heav'n.
Such as the texture, such th' allotted doom;
His body moulders in the narrow tomb:
But the wing'd soul, when earth in dust is hurl'd,
Shall spring, immortal, from the sinking world;
Ordain'd, if crimes its earthly course distain,
To bathe in fire, and waste with endless pain;
If cleans'd from guilt, with active joy to rise
To the pure transports of angelic skies.
But man, unmindful of his nobler birth,
In vain seeks pleasure from surrounding earth.
Far different, far, the scenes by heav'n design'd
To fill the wishes of the active mind.
This bounded point is but our being's morn;
To endless life th' etherial soul was born.
Upward with nimble flight her thoughts should soar,
And, wing'd by virtue, brighter worlds explore;
Earth's groveling joys disdain with conscious pride,
Like angels fashion'd, and to heaven allied.

For this fair train our nature to prepare,
And the pure fragrance of immortal air,
To raise the downward heart from earthly toys,
And mould our wishes to sublimer joys,
Thro' earth's wide realms, afflictions first began,
The noblest blessings heav'n bestows on man.
Toil, disappointment, hunger, thirst, and pain,
A long, long, dismal, melancholy train,
Cleanse the dim eye, dissolve the pow'rful lust,
And loose the chains, tha
 [...] bind our hearts to dust.
From sorrow's fire, like silver well refin'd,
Freed from vile earth, shall rise th' undrossy mind,
Each hour, with beams of clearer beauty shine,
And ceaseless claim an image mo
 [...]e divine.
At length, when sickness brings th' expected doom,
Its powers shall rise triumphant o'er the tomb,

[Page 211]Forward to nobler scenes with rapture spring,
And hail the message of th' undreaded king;
While life's long stream its farthest shore shall lave,
And seek the bosom of th' eternal wave.
Then shall we see diviner winds arise,
The main grow calm, and smiles invest the skies:
Then shall our happy hands exalt the sail,
Launch on the deep, and call th' etherial gale;
With joy, our spirits leave the fading shore,
And hear the less'ning storms at distance roar.
Inwrapp'd in beams of uncreated light,
All heaven, disclos'd, shall burst upon the sight;
Streams of immortal bliss in vision roll,
And hosts of angels hail the kindred soul.

CREATION. DWIGHT.

FROM realms divine, high-rais'd beyond all height,
Th' almighty Parent cast his piercing sight;
With boundless view, he saw the etherial vast
A clouded gloom, an undelightsome waste:
Around the extended wild, no sun's broad ray
Mark'd the clear splendor of immortal day;
No varying moon, ordain'd at eve to rise,
Led the full pomp of constellated skies;
No day in circling beauty learn'd to roll;
No fair spring smil'd, nor frost congeal'd the pole;
Substantial darkness space unmeasur'd fill'd,
And nature's realms lay desolate and wild.
He spoke: at once, o'er earth's far distant bounds
The heavens wide-arching stretch'd their sapphire rounds.
With hoary cliffs the far-seen hills ascend;
Down sink the vales, and wide the plains extend;
Headlong from steep to steep the billows roar,
Fill the broad main, and toss against the shore.
He spoke; and beauty thro' all nature flow'd;
With springing verdure earth's wide regions glow'd.
Forth rush the flowery tribes; and trees on high
Shroud their tall summits in the ambient sky.
He spoke; the heav'ns with sudden glory shone;
In godlike pomp burst forth the golden sun;

[Page 212]Far thro' immensity his kindling ray
Shot life and joy, and pour'd the new-born day;
With milder lustre rose the charms of even,
The moon's broad beam, and all the pride of heav'n.

He spoke; and fishes fill'd the watry rounds,
Swarm'd in the streams and swam the Ocean's bounds;
The green sea sparkled with unnumber'd dies,
And varying beauty wav'd upon the skies;
Whales through the foaming billows proudly rode,
And unknown monsters gambol'd o'er the flood.
From the deep wave, adorn'd with nobler grace,
In countless millions sprang the feather'd race.
Thro' the far clouds, the eagle cleft his way,
And soar'd, and wanton'd in the flames of day;
Full on the morn the peacock op'd his beams;
And swans majestic row'd th' expanded streams.

He spoke; and, wondering, from disparted plains,
In throngs unnumber'd, rose the bestial trains:
Their snowy robes the harmless flocks reveal'd;
Gay steeds, exulting, pranc'd the vernal field.
The lion glar'd; and, mid the gazing throng,
Shook his rough main, and grimly stalk'd along.

The wide earth finish'd, from his western throne,
In splendid beauty look'd the gladsome sun;
Calm were the skies▪ the fields with lustre crown'd,
And nature's incense fill'd th' etherial round.
Enshrin'd in sacred light, the Maker stood,
Complacent smil'd, and own'd the work was good.
Then from his hand, in silent glory, came
A nobler form, and man his destin'd name;
Erect, and tall, in solemn pomp he stood,
And living virtue in his visage glow'd.
Then, too, a fairer being show'd her charms;
Young Beauty wanton'd in her snowy arms;
The heav'ns around her bade their graces fly,
And Love sat blooming in her gentle eye.
O pair divine! superior to your kind;
To virtue fashion'd, and for bliss design'd!

He, born to rule, with calm, uplifted brow,
Look'd down majestic on the world below;

[Page 213]To heav'n, his mansion, turn'd his thoughts sublime,
Or rov'd far onward thro' the scenes of time;
O'er nature's kingdom cast a searching eye,
And dar'd to trace the secrets of the sky;
On fancy's pinions scann'd the bright abode,
And claim'd his friend, an angel, or a God.

Her he indu'd with nature more refin'd,
A lovelier image, and a softer mind.
To her he gave to kindle sweet desire,
To rouse great thoughts and fan th' heroic fire;
At Pity's gentle call to bend his ear;
To prompt for woe the unaffected tear;
In scenes refin'd his soft'ning soul improve,
And tune his wishes with the hand of love.
To her he gave with sweetness to obey,
Inspire the friend, and charm the lord away;
Each bleeding grief with balmy hand to heal,
And teach his rending sinews not to feel;
Each joy t' improve, the pious wish to raise,
And add new raptures to his languid praise.

To this lov'd pair a bless'd retreat was given,
A seat for angels, and an humbler heaven;
Fair Eden nam'd: in swift succession, there
Glad scenes of rapture led the vernal year;
Round the green garden, living Beauty play'd;
In gay profusion Earth her treasures spread;
The air breath'd fragrance: streams harmonious rung,
And love, and transport, tun'd th' aerial song.

With tranquil beams the seventh bright morn appear'd,
And thus, from fiery clouds, a voice was heard:
This day, O man, to sacred transports rise,
And pass the hours in converse with the skies:
To prayer, to praise, be all thy wishes given;
Soar from the world, and here begin thy heaven!
So shall thy sons pursue the virtuous road,
And, each returning sabbath, wake to God.
The sovereign voice the reverend pair obey'd;
A solemn beauty earth and heaven array'd;
With joy the pinion'd tribes, in every grove,
Hymn'd the blest influence of immortal love.
Man join'd the concert: and his raptur'd lays
Charm'd the gay fields, when angels ceas'd to praise.

[Page 214]

ORIGINAL STATE OF MAN. DWIGHT.

WHEN from the deep, ascended earth and heav'n,
To man, sole heir, the mighty boon was giv'n.
Unlike his sons, no guilt his mind deform'd;
His life, his limbs, no fierce diseases storm'd;
Nor Death's cold poison pal'd his glowing bloom,
Nor knew his feet the journey to the tomb.
Young Beauty's purple splendor round him play'd:
Immortal Health his vigorous limbs array'd;
Life, eldest heiress of th' empyreal sky,
Smil'd on his cheek, and blossom'd in his eye.
Array'd in endless light, his infant mind
Shone with fair Truth, and glow'd with grace refin'd;
Her robe, sky-tinctur'd, Virtue round him threw;
Unchanging jubilee his passions knew;
Heaven's living lamp, with clear and constant shine,
Sunn'd the pure regions of the world within.

Far other glories then arose to view;
Parts answering parts, and beauties ever new.
With strong, bright charms the heav'n angelic shin'd;
The varying prospect charm'd th' enchanted mind:
Soft strains of rapture bade all ether ring;
The gales, all fragrance, shed the light of spring;
From stars, from moonbeams, life's sweet influence flew,
Inspir'd the streams, and glow'd in fost'ring dew;
Bade with strong life the purpling fruits refine,
And warm'd the bosom with a youth divine.

Then reign'd fair Love, th'immortal bliss of heav'n:
Then social angels came on clouds of ev'n;
Here t
 [...]ac'd new wonders of th' omniscient Mind,
Strange to their world, and first on earth design'd;
In countless forms where Love and Beauty glow'd,
And stamp'd a rival of the bright abode.

His hand such nature to the man assign'd,
His form so temper'd, and so wrought his mind,
All gave delight; where spring display'd her prime—
Or where blank winter froze the desert clime—
The vale's soft pride— the flow'r's etherial form—
The mountain's grandeur, and the solemn storm.

[Page 215]
But when foul guilt debas'd the beauteous mind,
The skies grew dim, and sick'ning nature pin'd.
With converse sweet, no more kind angels came:
No blissful morning shed th' eternal beam;
No more from starry realms life's influence fell,
And Peace, and Eden bade the world farewell.

Yet still with clear, though faded lustre, glow'd
The love, the greatness, of a bounteous God.
What though cold east winds wither'd all the plain;
Though blasts, and mildews shrunk the golden grain;
Pale evening's skirts the frost, and damp o'erhung;
Air bred disease, and worms the fruitage stung:
Still o'er the mountains stars serenely rise;
Still the soft moonbeam trembles from the skies:
The sun, fair image of unborrow'd day,
Lights heaven, and earth, and cheers the boundless sea;
Reviving seasons, crown'd with lustre, roll,
And plains of plenty glad th' expecting soul.

THREE FOLD STATE OF MAN EMBLEMATIZED. DWIGHT.

HEAVEN's high behest, had faithless man obey'd,
A peaceful earth his eye had still survey'd;
Mild hours and seasons soft o'er nature run;
His sons, in millions, spread to lands unknown;
To Eden's bowers the filial nations come,
Hail'd their great fire, and own'd their happier home.
While from his throne, supreme of all below,
He saw, well-pleas'd, his mighty kingdom grow!
His subject children love his potent sway,
And one vast household spread to every sea.

But, sprung from earth, and still to earth confin'd,
No fairer bliss had flow'd for poor mankind,
No law had giv'n the high, stupendous claim,
To soar, and brighten in th' immortal flame.
Now to those climes, where 'twixt delight and pain,
Expands, untravers'd, night's eternal main,
Worms, born of dust, may point their lofty way,
And seize the bliss of ever-rising day.

[Page 216]Oft on the flow'r, embosom'd in perfume,
Thou seest gay butterflies in beauty bloom;
With curious eye, the wond'rous insect scan,
By heav'n ordain'd a threefold type of man.
First from the dung-hill sprang the shining form,
And crawl'd to view, a hideous, loathsome worm;
To creep, with toil, his inch-long journies, curs'd;
The ground his mansion, and his food the dust:
To the next plant, his moment o'er, he drew,
And built his tomb, and turn'd to earth anew.
Oft, from the leaf depending, hast thou seen
Their tombs, with gold bedropp'd, and cloth'd in green.
There slept th' expectant, 'till the plastic beam
Purg'd his vile dross, and bade his splendors flame;
Then burst the bonds: at once in glory rise
His form etherial, and his changing dies;
Full on the lucid morn his wings unfold,
Starr'd with strong light, and gay in living gold;
Through fields of air at large the wonder flies,
Wafts on the beams, and mounts th' expanded skies,
O'er flowery beauties plumes of triumph waves;
Imbibes their fragrance, and their charms out-braves;
The birds his kindred, heaven his mansion, claims,
And shines, and wantons, in the noon-day flames.

So man, poor worm! the nursling of a day!
Springs from the dust▪ and dwells in humble clay;
Around his li
 [...]le mole-hill doom'd 
 [...]o creep,
To drag life's load, and end his toil with sleep.
In silence to the grave his form descends,
And waits the 
 [...]rump, that time and nature ends.
There strength imbibes, the beam of heaven to bear;
There lea
 [...]s, refin'd, to breathe its fragrant air;
O
 [...] life the bloom, of youth the splendor, gains,
And, cloth'd in beauty, hopes empy
 [...]eal plains.
Then, wing'd with light, the deathless man shall rise,
Sail through yon stars, and soar from skies to skies;
See heavens o'er heavens▪ beneath him lessening roll,
And feel the Godhead wa
 [...]m his changing soul;
From beauty's fo
 [...]n
 [...] inhale th' immortal 
 [...]ay,
And grow from light to light, in cloudless day▪

[Page 217]Mid morn's fair legions, crown'd with grace, be known
The peer of angels, and of God the son.
But O what scenes in that far region glow!
What crowns of patience! what rewards of woe!

PROSPECT OF AMERICA. DWIGHT.

FROM Salem's favour'd hills, the bliss shall stray,
Glad every land, and stretch to every sea;
But chief far onward speed its western flight,
And bless the regions of descending light.
Far o'er yon azure main thy view extend,
Where seas, and skies, in blue confusion blend:
Lo, there a mighty realm, by heav'n design'd
The last retreat for poor, oppress'd mankind!
Form'd with that pomp, which marks the hand divine,
And clothes yon vault, where worlds unnumber'd shine,
Here spacious plains in solemn grandeur spread;
Here cloudy forests cast eternal shade:
Rich vallies wind; the sky tall mountains brave,
And inland seas for commerce spread the wave;
With nobler floods, the sea-like rivers roll,
And fairer lustre purples round the pole.
Here, warm'd by happy suns, gay mines unfold
The useful iron, and the lasting gold;
Pure, changing gems in silence learn to glow,
And mock the splendors of the covenant bow▪
On countless hills, by savage footsteps trod,
That smile to see the future harvest nod,
In glad succession, plants unnumber'd bloom,
And flowers unnumber'd breathe a rich perfume.
Hence Life once more a length of days shall claim,
And Health, reviving light her purple flame.

Far from all realms this world imperial lies;
Seas roll between, and threatening storms arise;
Alike unmov'd, beyond Ambition's pale,
And the bold pinions of the venturous sail:
Till circling years the destin'd period bring,
And a new Moses lifts the daring wing,

[Page 218]Through trackless seas, an unknown flight explores,
And hails a new Canaan's promis'd shores.

On yon far strand, behold that little train
Ascending, venturous, o'er th' unmeasur'd main.
No dangers fright; no ills the course delay;
'Tis virtue prompts, and God directs the way.
Speed, speed, ye sons of truth! let Heaven befriend,
Let angels waft you, and let peace attend.
O smile, thou sky, serene! ye storms, retire!
And airs of Eden, every sail inspire!
Swift o'er the main, behold the canvas fly,
And fade, and fade, beneath the farthest sky;
See verdant fields the changing waste unfold;
See sudden harvests dress the plains in gold:
In lofty walls the moving rocks ascend,
And dancing woods to spires and temples bend!

Meantime, expanding o'er earth's distant ends,
Lo, Slavery's gloom in sable pomp descends;
Far round each eastern clime her volumes roll,
And pour, deep-shading, to the sadden'd pole.
How 
 [...]he world droops beneath the fearful blast;
The plains all wither'd, and the skies o'ercast!
From realm to realm extends the general groan;
The fainting body stupifies to stone;
Be numb'd, and fix'd, the palsied soul expires,
Blank'd all its views, and quench'd its living fires;
In clouds of boundless shade, the scenes decay;
Land after land departs, and nature fades away.

In that dread hour, beneath auspicious skies,
To 
 [...]obler bliss yon western world shall rise.
Unlike all forme
 [...] realms, by wa
 [...] that stood,
And saw the guilty throne as
 [...]end in blood,
He
 [...]e union'd Choice shall form a rule divine;
Here countless lands in one great system join;
The sway of Law 
 [...]nbroke, unrivall'd grow,
And bid her blessings every land o'erflow.

In fertile plains behold the tree ascend,
Fai
 [...] leaves unfold and spreading branches bend!
The fierce, invading storm secure th
 [...]y brave▪
And the strong influence of the creeping wave.

[Page 219]In heavenly gales with endless verdure rise,
Wave o'er broad fields, and fade in friendly skies.
There, safe from driving rains, and battering hail,
And the keen fury of the wintry gale,
Fresh spring the plants; the flowery millions bloom,
All ether gladdening with a choice perfume;
Their hastening pinions birds unnumber'd spread,
And dance, and wanton, in th' aerial shade.

Here Empire's last, and brightest throne shall rise;
And Peace, and Right, and Freedom, greet the skies▪
To morn's far realms her ships commercing 
 [...]il,
Or lift their canvas to the evening gale;
In Wisdom's walks, her sons ambitious soar,
Tread starry fields, and untried scenes explore.
And hark! what strange, what solemn-breathing strain▪
Swells, wildly murmuring, o'er the far, far main!
Down time's long, lessening vale, the notes decay,
And, lost in distant ages, roll away.

PROGRESS OF SCIENCE EVANS.AS from the east, yon orb first darts his ray
O'er heav'n's blue vault, and westward bends his way;
So Science in the orient climes began,
And, like bright Sol, a western circuit ran:
From Egypt's schools to Greece was learning brought,
What Cadmus old, or Palamedes 
 [...]aught;
Her form illustrious Athens did illume,
And rais'd the genius of imperial Rome.
From Latium's plains she sought Britannia's shore,
And bid her barb'rous sons be rude no more.
Fierce nations roam'd around the rugged isle,
Till Science on its fields began to smile.
Fair Cam and Isis heard no Muse's strains,
Their shades were trod by wolves and fiercer Danes;
'Till, with the Arts, Augusta's grandeur rose,
And her loud thunder shook the deep's repose:
And such in time (if right the Muse descries)
Shall this wide realm with tow'ry cities rise.

[Page 220]The spacious Delaware through future song,
Shall roll in deathless majesty along;
Each grove and mountain shall be sacred made,
As now is Cooper's-Hill and Windsor's shade.
Flush'd with the thought, I'm borne to ages hence,
The Muse-wrought vision rushes on my sense.
Methinks Messiah's ensign I behold
In the deep gloom of yonder shades inroll'd,
And hear the gospel's silver clarion sound,
Rousing with heav'nly strains the heathen round:
Methinks I hear the nations shout aloud,
And to the glory-beaming standard croud;
New inspiration shake each trembling frame,
The Paraclete pour forth the lambent flame,
In unremitting streams on ev'ry soul,
While thro' their breasts celestial transports roll.
Stupendous change! methinks th' effects appear.
In the dark region sacred temples rear
Their lofty heads. Fair cities strike my sight;
And heav'n-taught Science spreads a dazzling light
O'er the rough scene where Error's court was found,
And red-ey'd Slaughter crimson'd all the ground.

PHILOSOPHIC SOLITUDE. LIVINGSTON.

LET ardent heroes seek renown in arms,
Pant after fame, and rush to war's alarms;
To shining palaces let fools resort,
And dunces cringe, to be esteem'd at court.
Mine be the pleasure of a rural life,
From noise remote, and ignorant of strife;
Far from the painted belle, and white-glov'd beau,
The lawless masquerade, and midnight show;
From ladies, lap-dogs, courtiers, garters, stars,
Fops, fidlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars.
Full in the centre of some shady grove,
By nature form'd for solitude and love;
On banks array'd with ever-blooming flowers,
Near beauteous landskips, or by roseate bow'rs,
My neat, but simple mansion I would raise,
Unlike the sumptuous domes of modern days;

[Page 221]Devoid of pomp, with rural plainness form'd,
With savage game, and glossy shells adorn'd.

No costly furniture should grace my hall;
But curling vines ascend against the wall,
Whose pliant branches should luxuriant twine,
While purple clusters swell'd with future wine:
To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distil
From craggy rocks, and spread a limpid rill.
Along my mansion, spiry firs should grow,
And gloomy yews extend the shady row;
The cedars flourish, and the poplars rise,
Sublimely tall, and shoot into the skies:
Among the leaves, refreshing zephyrs play,
And crouding trees exclude the noon-tide ray;
Whereon the birds their downy nests should form,
Securely shelter'd from the battering storm;
And to melodious notes their choir apply,
Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky:
While all around th' enchanting music rings,
And ev'ry vocal grove responsive sings.

Me to sequester'd scenes ye muses guide,
Where nature wantons in her virgin pride;
To mossy banks, edg'd round with op'ning flow'rs,
Elysian fields and amaranthine bow'rs,
T' ambrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills,
To herbag'd vales, gay lawns, and sunny hills.

Welcome, ye shades! all hail, ye vernal blooms!
Ye bow'ry thickets, and prophetic glooms!
Ye forests, hail! ye solitary woods!
Love-whispering groves, and silver-streaming floods!
Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale!
Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties, hail!
Oh how I long with you to spend my days,
Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays!

No trumpets there with martial clangor sound,
No prostrate heroes strew the crimson'd ground;
No groves of lances glitter in the air,
Nor thund'ring drums provoke the sanguine war:
But white-rob'd Peace, and universal Love
Smile in the field, and brighten ev'ry grove:

[Page 222]There all the beauties of the circling year,
In native ornamental pride appear.
Gay, rosy-bosom'd Spring, and April show'rs,
Wake, from the womb of earth, the rising flow'rs:
In deeper verdure, Summer clothes the plain,
And Autumn be
 [...]ds beneath the golden grain;
The trees weep amber; and the whispering gales
Breeze o'er the lawn, or murmur through the vales;
The flow'ry tribes in gay confusion bloom,
Profuse with sweets, and fragrant with perfume;
On blossoms blossoms, fruits on fruits arise,
And varied prospects glad the wand'ring eyes.
In these fair seats, I'd pass the joyous day,
Where meadows flourish, and where fields look gay;
From bliss to bliss with endless pleasure rove,
Seek crystal streams, or haunt the vernal grove,
Woods, fountains, lakes, the fertile fields, or shades,
Aeriel mountains, or subjacent glades.
There from the polish'd fetters of the great,
Triumphal piles, and gilded rooms of state—
Prime ministers, and sycophantic knaves,
Illustrious villains, and illustrious slaves,
From all the vain formality of fools,
And odious task of arbitrary rules;
The ruffling cares, which the vex'd soul annoy,
The wealth the rich possess, but not enjoy,
The visionary bliss the world can lend,
Th' insidious foe, and false, designing friend,
The seven-fold fury of Xantippe's soul,
And S—'s rage, that burns without controul;
I'd live retir'd, contented, and serene,
Forgot, unknown, unenvied, and unseen.

Yet not a real hermitage I'd choose,
Nor wish to live from all the world recluse;
But with a friend sometimes unbend the soul,
In social converse, o'er the sprightly bowl.
With cheerful W—, serene and wisely gay,
I'd often pass the dancing hours away:
He, skill'd alike to profit and to please,
Politely talks with unaffected ease;

[Page 223]Sage in debate, and faithful to his trust,
Mature in science, and severely just;
Of soul diffusive, vast and unconfin'd,
Breathing benevolence to all mankind;
Cautious to censure, ready to commend,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted friend▪
In early youth, fair wisdom's paths he t
 [...]d,
In early youth, a minister of God:
Each pupil lov'd him, when at Yale he shone,
And ev'ry bleeding bosom weeps him gone.
Dear A— too, should grace my rural seat,
Forever welcome to the green retreat:
Heav'n for the cause of righteousness design'd
His florid genius, and capacious mind:
Oft' have I heard, amidst th' adoring throng,
Celestial truths devolving from his tongue:
High o'er the list'ning audience seen him stand,
Divinely speak, and graceful stretch his hand;
With such becoming grace and pompous sound,
With long-rob'd senators encircled round,
Before the Roman bar, while Rome was free,
Nor bow'd to Caesar's throne the servile knee,
Immortal Tully plead the patriot cause,
While ev'ry tongue resounded his applause.
Next round my board should candid S— appear,
Of manners gentle, and a friend sincere,
A verse to discord, party-rage and strife,
He sails serenely down the stream of life.
With these three friends, beneath a spreading shade,
Where silver fountains murmur thro' the glade;
Or in cool grots, perfum'd with native flow'rs,
In harmless mirth, I'd spend the circling hours;
Or gravely talk, or innocently sing,
Or, in harmonious concert, strike the trembling string.
Amid sequester'd bow'rs, near gliding streams,
Druids and bards enjoy'd serenest dreams.
Such was the seat where courtly Horace sung,
And his bold harp immortal Maro strung:
Where tuneful Orpheus' unresisted lay
Made rapid tigers bear their rage away:
While groves, attentive to th' extatic sound,
Burst from their roots, and, raptur'd, danc'd around.

[Page 224]Such seats the venerable seers of old
(When blissful years in golden circles roll'd)
Chose and admir'd: e'en goddesses and gods
(As poets feign) were fond of such abodes:
Th' imperial consort of fictitious Jove
For fount-full Ide forsook the realms above.
Oft' to Idalia, on a golden cloud,
Viel'd in a mist of fragrance, Venus rode:
There num'rous altars to the queen were rear'd,
And love-sick youths their am'rous vows prefer'd,
While fair-hair'd damsels (a lascivious train)
With wanton rites ador'd her gentle reign.
The silver-shafted huntress of the woods,
Sought pendant shades, and bath'd in cooling floods.
In palmy Delos by Scamander's side,
Or whore Cajister roll'd his silver tide,
Melodious Phoebus sang; the muses round
Alternate warbling to the heavenly sound.
E'en the feign'd monarch of heav'n's bright abode,
High thron'd in gold, of gods the sov'reign god,
Oft' time prefer'd the shade of Ida's grove
To all th' ambrosial feasts, and nectar'd cups above.

Behold, the rosy-finger'd morning dawn,
In saffron rob'd, and blushing o'er the lawn!
Reflected from the clouds, a radiant stream
Tips with etherial dew the mountain's brim.
Th' unfolding roses, and the op'ning flow'rs
Imbibe the dew, and strew the varied bow'rs,
Diffuse nectareous sweets around, and glow
With all the colours of the show'ry bow.
Th' industrious bees their balmy toil renew,
Buz o'er the field, and sip the rosy dew.
But yonder comes th' illustrious god of day,
Invests the east, and gilds th' etherial way;
The groves rejoice, the feather'd nations sing,
Echo the mountains, and the vallies ring.

Hail, orb! array'd with majesty and fire,
That bids each fable shade of night retire!
Fountain of light! with burning glory crown'd,
Darting a deluge of effulgence round!
Wak'd by thy genial and prolific ray,
Nature resumes her verdure, and looks gay:

[Page 225]Fresh blooms the rose, the drooping plants revive,
The groves reflourish, and the forests live.
Deep in the teeming earth, the rip'ning ore
Confesses thy consolidating pow'r;
Hence Labour draws her tools, and artists mould
The fusile silver and the ductile gold;
Hence war is furnish'd; and the regal shield
Like light'ning flashes o'er th' illumin'd 
 [...]eld.
If thou so fair with delegated light,
That all heav'n's splendors vanish at thy sight;
With what effulgence must the ocean glow,
From which thy borrow'd beams incessant flow!
Th' exhaustless source whose single smile supplies
Th' unnumber'd orbs that gild the spangled skies!

Oft' would I view, in admiration lost,
Heav'n's sumptuous canopy, and starry host;
With level'd tube, and astronomic eye,
Pursue the planets whirling thro' the sky:
Immeasurable vault! where thunders roll,
And forky lightnings flash from pole to pole.
Say, railing infidel! canst thou survey
Yon globe of fire, that gives the golden day,
Th' harmonious structure of this vast machine,
And not confess its architect divine?
Then go, vain wretch! tho' deathless be thy soul,
Go, swell the riot, and exhaust the bowl;
Plunge into vice—humanity resign—
Go fill the stie—and bristle into swine!

None but a pow'r omnipotent and wise
Could frame this earth, or spread the boundless skies:
He made the whole; at his omnific call,
From formless chaos rose this spacious ball,
And one Almighty God is seen in all.
By him our cup is crown'd, our table spread
With luscious wine, and life-sustaining bread.
What countless wonders doth the earth contain!
What countless wonders the unfathom'd main!
Bedrop'd with gold, there scaly nations shine,
Haunt coral groves, or lash the foaming brine.
Jehovah's glories blaze all nature round,
In heaven, on earth, and in the deeps profound;

[Page 226]Ambitious of his name, the warblers sing,
And praise their maker, while they hail the spring;
The zephyrs breathe it; and the thunders roar,
While surge to surge, and shore resounds to shore.
But man, endu'd with an immortal mind,
His Maker's image, and for heaven design'd!
To loftier notes his raptur'd voice should raise,
And chaunt sublimer hymns to his Creator's praise.

When rising Phoebus ushers in the morn,
And golden beams th' impurpled skies adorn:
Wak'd by the gentle murmur of the floods,
Or the soft music of the waving woods;
Rising from sleep with the melodious quire,
To solemn sounds I'd tune the hallow'd lyre.
Thy name, O God! should tremble on my tongue,
Till ev'ry grove prov'd vocal to my song:
(Delighful task! with dawning light to sing
Triumphant hymns to heav'n's eternal king.)
Some courteous angel should my breast inspire,
Attune my lips, and guide the warbled wire,
While sportive echoes catch the sacred sound,
Swell ev'ry note, and bear the music round;
While mazy streams meand'ring to the main,
Hang in suspence to hear the heav'nly strain,
And, hush'd to silence, all the feather'd throng
Attentive listen to the tuneful song.

Father of light! exhaustless source of good!
Supreme, eternal, self-existent God!
Before the beamy sun dispens'd a ray,
Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day;
Before the glimm'ring moon, with borrow'd light,
Shone queen amid the silver host of night;
High in the heav'ns, thou reign'dst superior Lord,
By suppliant angels worship'd and ador'd.
With the celestial choir then let me join
In cheerful praises to the pow'r divine.
To sing thy praise, do thou, O God! inspire
A mortal breast with more than mortal fire;
In dreadful majesty thou fit'st enthron'd,
With light encircled, and with glory crown'd;

[Page 227]Thro' all infinitude extends thy reign,
For thee, nor heav'n, nor heav'n of heav'ns contain;
But tho' thy throne is fix'd above the sky,
Thy omnipresence fills immensity.
Saints, rob'd in white, to thee their anthems bring,
And radiant martyrs hallelujahs sing:
Heaven's universal host their voices raise
In one eternal chorus, to thy praise;
And, round thy awful throne, with one accord,
Sing, holy, holy, holy is the Lord.
At thy creative voice, from ancient night,
Sprang smiling beauty, and yon worlds of light:
Thou spak'st—the planetary chorus roll'd,
And all th' expanse was starr'd with beamy gold;
Let there be light, said God—light instant shone,
And from the orient, burst the golden sun;
Heav'n's gazing hierarchs, with glad surprise,
Saw the first morn invest the recent skies,
And strait th' exulting troops thy throne surround
With thousand thousand harps of heav'nly sound:
Thrones, powers, dominions, (eve
 [...] shining trains!)
Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains:
Great are thy works, they sing▪ and, all around,
Great are thy works, the echoing heav'ns resound.
The effulgent sun, insufferably bright,
Is but a beam of thy o'erflowing light;
The tempest is thy breath: the thunder hurl'd,
Tremendous 
 [...]oa
 [...]s thy vengeance o'er the world;
Thou bow'st the heav'ns, the smoking mountains nod,
Rocks fall to dust, and nature owns her God;
Pale tyrants shrink, the atheist stands aghast,
And impious kings in horror breathe their last.
To this great God alternately I'd pay
The ev'ning anthem and the morning lay.

For sov'reign gold I never would repine,
Now wish the gli
 [...]t'ring dust of monarchs mine.
What tho' high columns heave into the skies,
Gay cielings shine, and vaulted arches rise;
Tho' f
 [...]ted gold the sculptur'd roof adorn,
The rubies redden, and the jaspers burn▪

[Page 228]O what, alas! avails the gay attire
To wretched man, who breathes but to expire!
Oft' on the vilest, riches are bestow'd,
To show their meanness in the fight of God.
High from a dunghill, see a Dives rise,
And, Titan-like, insult th' evenging skies:
The crowd, in adulation, calls him Lord,
By thousands courted, flatter'd and ador'd:
In riot plung'd, and drunk with earthly joys,
No higher thought his grov'ling soul employs:
The poor he scourges with an iron rod,
And from his bosom banishes his God.
But oft' in height of wealth and beauty's bloom,
Deluded man is fated to the tomb!
For, lo! he sickens; swift his colour flies,
And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes:
Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan,
Extort th' unwilling tear, and wish him gone;
His sorrowing heir augments the tender show'r,
Deplores his death—yet hails the dying hour.
Ah bitter comfort! Sad relief! to die,
Tho' sunk in down, beneath the canopy!
His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light,
Weigh'd down by death in everlasting night,
And now the great, the 
 [...]ich, the proud, the gay,
Lie breathless, cold—unanimated clay!
He, that just now was flatter'd by the crowd
With high applause, and acclamations loud—
That steel'd his bosom to the orphan's cries,
And drew down torrents from the widow's eyes—
Whom, like a God, the rabble did adore—
Regard him now—and, lo! he is no more.

My eyes no dazzling vestments should behold,
With gems insta
 [...]'d, and stiff with woven gold;
But the tall ram his downy fleece afford,
To clothe, in modest garb, his frugal lord.
Thus the great fa
 [...]her of mankind was drest,
When shaggy hides compos'd his flowing vest;
Doom'd to the cumb'rous load, for his offence,
When clothes supply'd the want of innocence:
But now his sons (forgetful whence they came)
Glitter in gems, and glory in their shame.

[Page 229]
Oft' would I wander thro' the dewy field,
Where clust'ring roses balmy fragrance yield;
Or in lone grots, for contemplation made,
Converse with angels and the mighty dead;
For all around unnumber'd spirits fly,
Waft on the breeze, or walk the liquid sky,
Inspire the poet with repeated dreams,
Who gives his hallow'd muse to sacred themes,
Protect the just, serene their gloomy hours,
Becalm their slumbers, and refresh their pow'rs.
Methinks I see th' immortal beings fly,
And swiftly shoot athwart the streaming sky:
Hark! a melodious voice I seem to hear,
And heav'nly sounds invade my list'ning ear!
"Be not afraid of us, innoxious band,
"They cell surrounding by divine command;
"Ere while, like thee, we led our lives below,
"(Sad lives of pain, of misery, and woe!)
"Long by affliction's boist'rous tempests tost,
"We reach'd at length the ever blissful coast:
"Now in th' embow'ring groves, and lawns above,
"We taste the raptures of immortal love,
"Attune the golden harp in roseate bow'rs,
"Or bind our temples with unfading flow'rs.
"Oft' on kind errands bent, we cut the air,
"To guard the righteous, heav'n's peculiar care!
"Avert impending harms, their minds compose,
"Inspire gay dreams, and prompt their soft repose.
"When from thy tongue divine hosannas roll,
"And sacred raptures swell thy rising soul,
"To heav'n we bear thy pray'rs, like rich perfumes;
"Where, by the throne, the golden censer fumes;
"And when with age thy head is silver'd o'er,
"And, cold in death, thy bosom beats no more,
"Thy soul, exulting, shall desert its clay,
"And mount, triumphant, to eternal day."

But to improve the intellectual mind,
Reading should be to contemplation join'd.
First I'd collect from the Parnassian spring,
What muses dictate, and what poets sing.—
Virgil, as prince, shou'd wear the laurel'd crown,

[Page 230]And other bards pay homage to his throne;
The blood of heroes now effus'd so long,
Will run forever purple thro' his song.
See! how he mounts toward the blest abodes,
On planets rides, and talks with demigods!
How do our ravish'd spirits melt away,
When in his song Sicilian shepherds play!
But what a splendor strikes the dazzled eye,
When Dido shines in awful majesty!
Embroider'd purple clad the Tyrian queen,
Her motion graceful, and august her mien;
A golden zone her royal limbs embrac'd,
A golden quiver rattled by her waist.
See her proud steed majestically prance,
Contemn the trumpet, and deride the launce▪
In crimson trappings, glorious to behold.
Confus'dly gay with interwoven gold!
He champs the bit, and throws the foam around,
Impatient paws, and tears the solid ground.
How stern Aeneas thunders thro' the field!
With tow'ring helmet, and refulgent shield!
Coursers o'erturn'd, and mighty warriors slain,
Deform'd with gore, lie welt'ring on the plain,
Struck through with wounds, ill-fated chieftains lie,
Frown e'en in death, and threaten as they die.
Thro' the thick squadrons see the hero bound!
(His helmet flashes, and his arms resound!)
All grim with rage, he frowns o'er Turnus' head,
(Re-kindled ire! for blooming Pallas dead)
Then in his bosom plung'd the shining blade—
The soul indignant sought the Stygian shade!

The far-fam'd bards that grac'd Britannia's isle,
Should next compose the venerable pile.
Great Milton first, for tow'ring thought renown'd,
Parent of song, and fam'd the world around!
His glowing breast divine Urania fir'd,
Or God himself th' immortal bard inspir'd,
Borne on triumphant wings he takes his flight,
Explores all heaven, and treads the realms of light:
In martial pomp he clothes th' angelic train,
While warring myriads shake th' etherial plain.

[Page 231]First Michael stalks, high tow'ring o'er the rest,
With heav'nly plumage nodding on his crest:
Impenetrable arms his limbs infold.
Eternal adamant, and burning gold!
Sparkling in fiery mail, with dire delight,
Rebellions Satan animates the fight:
Armipotent they sink in rolling smoke,
All heav'n resounding, to its centre shook.
To crash his foes, and quell the dire alarms,
Messiah sparkled in refulgent arms:
In radiant panoply divinely bright,
His limbs incas'd, he flash'd devouring light:
On burning wheels, o'er heav'n's crystalline road
Thunder'd the chariot of the filial God;
The burning wheels on golden axles turn'd,
With flaming gems the golden axles burn'd.
Lo! the apostare host, with terror struck,
Roll back by millions! Th' empyrean shook!
Sceptres, and orbed shields, and crowns of gold,
Cherubs and seraphs in confusion roll'd;
Till from his hand the triple thunder hurl'd,
Compell'd them, headlong, to th' infernal world.

Then tuneful Pope, whom all the nine inspire,
With saphic sweetness, and pindaric fire,
Father of verse! melodious and divine!
Next peerless Milton should distinguish'd shine.
Smooth slow his numbers, when he paints the grove,
Th' enraptur'd virgins list'ning into love.
But when the night, and hoarse resounding storm
Rush on the deep and Neptune's face deform,
Rough runs the verse, the son'rous numbers roar,
Like the hoarse surge that thunders on the shore.
But when he sings th' exhilirated swains,
Th' embow'ring groves, and Windsor's blissful plains,
Our eyes are ravish'd with the sylvan scene,
Embroider'd fields, and groves in living green:
His lays the verdure of the meads prolong,
And wither'd forests blossom in his song.
Thames' silver streams his flowing verse admire,
And cease to murmur while he tunes his lyre.

Next should appear great Dryden's lofty muse,
For who would Dryden's polish'd verse refuse?

[Page 232]His lips were moisten'd in Parnassus' spring,
And Pho
 [...]bus taught his laureat son to sing.
How long did Virgil untranslated moan,
His beauties fading, and his slights unknown;
Till Dryden rose, and, in exalted strain,
Re-sang the fortune of the god-like man!
Again the Trojan prince, with dire delight,
Dreadful in arms, demands the ling'ring fight:
Again Camilla glows with martial fire,
Drives armies back, and makes all Troy retire.
With more than native lustre, Virgil shines,
And gains sublimer heights in Dryden's lines.

The gentle Watts, who strings his silver lyre
To sacred odes, and heav'n's all-ruling Sire;
Who scorns th' applause of the licentious stage,
And mounts yon sparkling worlds with hallow'd rage,
Compels my thoughts to wing the heav'nly road,
And wafts my soul, exulting, to my God:
No fabled nine, harmonious bard! inspire
Thy raptur'd breast with such seraphic fire;
But prompting angels warm thy boundless rage,
Direct thy thoughts, and animate thy page.
Blest man! for spotless sanctity rever'd,
Lov'd by the good, and by the guilty fear'd:
Blest man! from gay, delusive scenes remov'd,
Thy Maker loving, by thy Maker lov'd,
To God thou tun'st thy consecrated lays,
Nor meanly blush to sing Jehovah's praise.
Oh! did, like thee, each laurel'd bard delight
To paint Religion in her native light,
Not then with plays the lab'ring press would groan,
Nor Vice defy the pulpit and the throne;
No impious rhymers charm a vicious age,
Nor prostrate Virtue groan beneath their rage:
But themes divine in lofty numbers rise,
Fill the wide earth, and echo thro' the skies.

These for delight. For profit I would read
The labour'd volumes of the learned dead.
Sagacious Locke, by Providence design'd,
T' exalt, instruct, and rectify the mind.

[Page 233]Th' unconquerable sage


* whom virtue fir'd,
And from the tyrant's lawless rage retir'd,
When victor Caesar freed unhappy Rome
From Pompey's chains, to substitute his own.
Longinus, Livy, fam'd Thucydides,
Quintilian, Plato, and Demosthenes,
Persuasive Tully, and Corduba's sage,


†
Who fell by Nero's unrelenting rage;
Him 


‡ whom ungrateful Athens doom'd to bleed,
Despis'd when living, and deplor'd when dead.
Raleigh I'd read with ever fresh delight,
While ages past rise present to my sight:
Ah man unblest! he foreign realms explor'd,
Then fell a victim to his country's sword!
Nor should great Derham pass neglected by,
Observant sage! to whose deep-piercing eye
Nature's stupendous works expanded lie.
Nor he, Britannia, thy unmatch'd renown!
(Adjudg'd to wear the philosophic crown)
Who on the solar orb uplifted rode,
And scann'd th' unfathomable works of God!
Who bound the silver planets to their spheres,
And trac'd th' elliptic curve of blazing stars!
Immortal Newton; whose illustrious name
Will shine on records of eternal fame.

By love directed, I wou'd choose a wife,
T' improve my bliss, and ease the load of life.
Hail, wedlock! hail, inviolable tye!
Perpetual fountain of domestic joy!
Love, friendship, honour, truth, and pure delight
Harmonious mingle in the nuptial rite.
In Eden, first the holy state began,
When perfect innocence distinguish'd man;
The human pair, th' Almighty pontiff led,
Gay as the morning, to the bridal bed;
A dread solemnity th' espousals grac'd,
Angels the witnesses, and God the priest!
All earth exulted on the nuptial hour,
And voluntary roses deck'd the bow'r;

[Page 234]The joyous birds on ev'ry blossom'd spray,
Sung hymeneans to th' important day,
While Philomela swell'd the spousal song,
And Paradise with gratulation rung.

Relate, inspiring muse! where shall I find
A blooming virgin with an angel mind?
Unblemish'd as the white-rob'd virgin quire
That fed, O Rome! thy consecrated fire?
By reason aw'd, ambitious to be good,
Averse to vice, and zealous for her God?
Relate, in what blest region can I find
Such bright perfections in a female mind?
What phoenix woman breathes the vital air
So greatly good, and so divinely fair?
Sure not the gay and fashionable train,
Licentious, proud, immoral, and profane;
Who spend their golden hours in antic dress,
Malicious whispers, and inglorious ease.—

Lo! round the board a shining train appears
In rosy beauty, and in prime of years!
This hates a flounce, and this a flounce approves,
This shows the trophies of her former loves;
Polly avers, that Sylvia drest in green,
When last at church the gaudy nymph was seen;
Chloe condemns her optics; and will lay
'Twas azure sattin, interstreak'd with grey;
Lucy, invested with judicial pow'r,
Awards 'twas neither—and the strife is o'er.
Then parrots, lap-dogs, monkeys, squirrels, beaux,
Fans, ribands, tuckers, patches, furb
 [...]es,
In quick succession, thro' their fancie 
 [...]un,
And dance incessant on the flippant tongue.
And when, fatigu'd with ev'ry other sport,
The bell 
 [...]s prepare to grace the sacred court,
They marshal all their forces in array,
To kill with glances, and destroy in play.
Two skilful maids with reverential fear
In wanton wreaths collect their silken hair;
Two paint their cheeks, and round their temples pour
The fragrant unguent, and th' ambrosial show'r;

[Page 235]One pulls the shape-creating stays; and one
Encircles round her waist the golden zone;
Not with more toil t' improve immortal charms,
Strove Juno, Venus, and the queen of arms,
When Priam's son adjudg'd the golden prize,
To the resistless beauty of the skies.
At length, equip'd in Love's enticing arms,
With all that glitters, and with all that charms,
Th' ideal goddesses to church repair,
Peep thro' the fan, and mutter o'er a pray'r,
Or listen to the organ's pompous sound,
Or eye the gilded images around;
Or, deeply studied in coquettish rules,
Aim wily glances at unthinking fools;
Or show the lily hand with graceful air,
Or wound the fopling with a lock of hair:
And when the hated discipline is o'er,
And misses tortur'd with repent, no more,
They mount the pictur'd coach; and, to the play,
The celebrated idols hie away.

Not so the lass that should my joys improve,
With solid friendship, and connubial love:
A native bloom, with intermingled white,
Should set her features in a pleasing light;
Like Helen flushing with unrival'd charms,
When raptur'd Paris darted in her arms.
But what, alas! avails a ruby cheek,
A downy bosom, or a snowy neck!
Charms ill supply the want of innocence,
Nor beauty forms intrinsic excellence:
But in her breast let moral beauties shine,
Supernal grace and purity divine:
Sublime her reason, and her native wit
Unstrain'd with pedantry, and low conceit;
Her fancy lively, and her judgment free
From female prejudice and bigotry:
A verse to idol pomp, and outward show,
The flatt'ring coxcomb, and fantastic beau.
The fop's impertinence she should despise,
Tho' sorely wounded by her radiant eyes;

[Page 236]But pay due rev'rence to th' exalted mind,
By learning polish'd, and by wit refin'd,
Who all her virtues, without guile, commends,
And all her faults as freely reprehends.
Soft Hymen's rites her passion should approve,
And in her bosom glow the flames of love:
To me her soul, by sacred friendship, turn,
And I, for her, with equal friendship burn:
In ev'ry stage of life afford relief,
Partake my joys, and sympathize my grief;
Unshaken, walk in Virtue's peaceful road,
Nor bribe her Reason to pursue the mode;
Mild as the saint whose errors are forgiv'n,
Calm as a vestal, and compos'd as heav'n.
This be the partner, this the lovely wife,
That should embellish and prolong my life;
A nymph! who might a second fall inspire,
And fill a glowing cherub with desire!
With her I'd spend the pleasurable day,
While fleeting minutes gayly danc'd away:
With her I'd walk, delighted, o'er the green,
Thro' ev'ry blooming mead, and rural scene;
Or sit in open fields damask'd with flow'rs,
Or where cool shades imbrown the noon-tide bow'rs.
Imparadis'd within my eager arms,
I'd reign the happy monarch of her charms;
Oft' on her panting bosom would I lay,
And, in dissolving raptures, melt away;
Then lull'd, by nightingales, to balmy rest,
My blooming fair should slumber at my breast.

And when decrepid age (frail mortals' doom!)
Should bend my wither'd body to the tomb,
No warbling syrens should retard my flight
To heav'nly mansions of unclouded light.
Tho' Death, with his imperial horrors crown'd,
Terrific grinn'd, and formidably frown'd,
Offences pardon'd and remitted sin,
Should form a calm serenity within:
Blessing my natal and my mortal hour,
(My soul committed to th' eternal pow'r)
Inexorable Death should smile, for I
Who 
 [...]ew to live, would never fear to die.

[Page 237]

SKETCHES OF AMERICAN HISTORY. FRENEAU.

THE American world, as our histories say,
Secluded from Europe long centuries lay,
But peopled by beings whom white men detest,
The sons of the Tartars that came from the west.
These Indians, 'tis certain, were here long before ye all,
And dwelt in their wigwams from time immemorial;
In a mere state of nature, untutor'd, untaught,
They did as they pleas'd, and they spoke as they thought:
No priests they had then for the cure of their souls,
No lawyers, recorders, nor keepers of rolls;
No learned physicians vile nostrums conceal'd—
Their druggist was Nature—her shop was the field.
In the midst of their forests how happy and blest,
In the skin of a bear or a buffalo drest!
No care to perplex, and no luxury seen
But the feast, and the song, and the dance on the green.
Some bow'd to the moon, and some worshipp'd the sun,
And the king and the captain were center'd in one;
In a cabin they met, on their councils of state,
Where age and experience alone might debate:
With quibbles they never essay'd to beguile,
And nature had taught them the orator's stile;
No pomp they affected, nor quaintly refin'd
The nervous idea that glanc'd on the mind.
When hunting or battle invited to arms,
The women they left to take care of their farms—
The toils of the summer did winter repay,
While snug in their cabins they snor'd it away.
If Death came among them, his dues to demand,
They still had some prospect of comfort at hand—
The dead man they sent to the regions of bliss,
With his bottle and dog, and his fair maids to kiss.
Thus happy they dwelt in a rural domain,
Uninstructed in commerce, unpractic'd in gain,
Till, taught by the loadstone to traverse the seas,
Columbus came over, that bold Genoese.
From records authentic, the date we can show,
One thousand four hundred and ninety and two
Years, borne by the seasons, had vanish'd away,
Since the babe in the manger at Bethlehem lay.

[Page 238]What an era was this, above all that had pass'd,
To yield such a treasure, discover'd at last—
A new world, in value exceeding the old,
Such mountains of silver, such torrents of gold!
Yet the schemes of Columbus, however well plann'd,
Were scarcely sufficient to find the main land;
On the islands alone with the natives he spoke,
Except when he enter'd the great Oronoque:
In this he resembled old Moses, the Jew,
Who, roving about with his wrong-headed crew,
When at length the reward was no longer deny'd,
From the top of mount Pisgah he saw it, and dy'd.
These islands and worlds in the wat'ry expanse,
Like most mighty things, were the offspring of chance,
Since, steering for Asia, Columbus, they say,
Was astonish'd to find such a world in his way:
No wonder, indeed, he was smit with surprise—
This empire of nature was new to their eyes—
Cut short in their course by so splendid a scene,
Such a region of wonders intruding between!

Yet great as he was and deserving, no doubt,
We have only to thank him for finding the route;
These climes to the northward, more stormy and cold,
Were reserv'd for the efforts of Cabot the bold.

Where the sun in December appears to decline,
Far off to the southward, and south of the line,
A merchant 


* of Florence, more fortunate still,
Explor'd a new track, and discover'd Brazil:
Good fortune, Vespucius, pronounc'd thee her own.
Or else to mankind thou hadst scarcely been known—
By giving thy name, thou art ever renown'd—
Thy name to a world that another had found!
Columbia the name was, that merit decreed,
But Fortune and Merit have never agreed—
Yet the poets, alone, with commendable care,
Are vainly attempting the wrong to repair.

The bounds I prescribe to my verse are too narrow,
To tell of the conquests of Francis Pizarro;

[Page 239]And Cortez 'tis needless to bring into view,
One Mexico conquer'd, the other Peru.
Montezuma with credit in verse might be read,
But Dryden has told you the monarch 


†is dead!
And the woes of his subjects—what torments they bore
Las Casas, good bishop, has mention'd before:
Let others be fond of their stanzas of grief—
I hate to descant on the fall of the leaf—
Two scenes are so gloomy, I view them with pain,
The annals of Death, and the triumphs of Spain.
Poor Ata-bualpa I cannot forget—
He gave them his utmost, yet died in their debt.
His wealth was a crime, that they could not forgive,
And when they possess'd it—forbade him to live.
Foredoom'd to misfortunes (that came not alone)
He was the twelfth Inca that sat on the throne,
Who fleecing his brother 


* of half his domains,
At the palace of Cusco confin'd him in chains.

But what am I talking—or where do I roam?
'Tis time that our story was brought nearer home—
From Florida's cape did Cabot explore
To the fast frozen regions of cold Labradore.
In the year fourteen hundred and ninety and eight
He came, as the annals of England relate:
But finding no gold in the lengthy domain,
And coasting the country, he left it again.
Next Davis—then Hudson adventur'd, they say,
One found out a streight, and the other a bay,
Whose desolate region, or turbulent wave
One present bestow'd him—and that was a grave.

In the reign of a virgin (whom some call'd a w—)
Drake, Hawkins, and Raleigh in squadrons came o'er—
While Barlow and Grenville succeeded to these,
Who all brought their colonies over the seas.
These, left in a wilderness teeming with woes,
The natives, suspicious, concluded them foes,
And murder'd them all without notice or warning,
Ralph Lane with his vagabonds, scarcely returning

[Page 240]In the reign of king James (and the first of the name)
George Summers with Hacluit to Chesapeake came,
Where far in the forests, not doom'd to renown,
On the river Powhatan 


* they built the first town. 


†

Twelve years after this, some scores of dissenters
To the northernmost district, came seeking adventures;
Outdone by the bishops, those great faggot fighters,
They left them to hell with their cassocks and mitres.
Thus banish'd forever, and leaving the sod,
The first land they saw was the pitch of Cape Cod,
Where, famish'd with hunger, and quaking with cold,
They plann'd their new Plymouth—so call'd from the old.
They were, without doubt, a delightful collection;—
Some came to be rid of a Stuart's direction;
Some sail'd with a view to dominion and riches,
Some to pray without book, and a few to hang witches;
Some came, on the Indians to shed a new light,
Convinc'd, long before, that their own must be right,
And that all, who had died in the centuries past,
On the devil's lee shore were eternally cast.
These exiles were cast in a whimsical mould,
And were aw'd by their priests, like the Hebrews of old;
Disclaim'd all pretences to jesting and laughter,
And sigh'd their lives through to be happy hereafter.
On a crown immaterial their hearts were intent,
They look'd towards Zion, wherever they went,
Did all things in hope of a future reward,
And worry'd mankind—for the sake of the Lord.
With rigour excessive they strengthen'd their reign,
Their laws were conceiv'd in the ill-natur'd strain;
With mystical meanings the saint was perplext,
And the flesh and the devil were slain by a text.
The body was scourg'd, for the good of the soul,
All folly discourag'd by peevish controul,
A knot on the head was the sign of no grace,
And the pope and his comrade were pictur'd in lace.
A stove in their churches, or pews lin'd with green,
Were horrid to think of, much more to be seen.

[Page 241]Their bodies were warm'd with the linings of love,
And the sire was sufficient that flash'd from above.
'Twas a crime to assert, that the moon was opaque;
To say the earth mov'd, was to merit the stake;
And he, that could tell an eclipse was to be,
In the college of satan had ta'en his degree.
On Sundays their faces were dark as a cloud—
The road to the meeting was only allow'd;
And those they caught rambling, on bus'ness or pleasure,
Were sent to the stocks, to repent at their leisure.
This day was the mournfullest day in the week:
Except on religion, none ventur'd to speak:
This day was the day to examine their lives,
To clear off old scores, and to preach to their wives.
In the school of oppression though woefully taught,
'Twas only to be the oppressors they sought;
All, all but themselves were be-devil'd and blind,
And their narrow-soul'd creed was to serve all mankind.
This beautiful system of nature below
They neither consider'd, nor wanted to know,
And call'd it a dog-house wherein they were pent,
Unworthy themselves, and their mighty descent.
They never perceiv'd, that in nature's wide plan
There must be that whimsical creature. call'd man,
Far short of the rank he affects to attain,
Yet a link in its place, in creation's vast chain.

Whatever is foreign to us and our kind,
Can never be lasting, though seemingly join'd—
The hive swarm'd at length, and a tribe that was teaz'd,
Set out for Rhode-Island, to think as they pleas'd.
Some hundreds to Britain ran murmuring home—
While others went o
 [...] in the forests to roam,
When they found they had mist what they look'd for at first,
The downfall of sin, and the reign of the just.
Hence, dry controversial reflexions were thrown,
And the old dons were vex'd in the way they had shown;
So those, that are held in the work-house all night,
Throw dirt the next day at the doors, out of spite.

Ah, pity the wretches that liv'd in those days,
(Ye modern admirers of novels and plays)

[Page 242]When nothing was suffer'd but musty, dull rules,
And nonsense from Mather, and staff from the schools.
No story, could tempt them, like Rachel's, to sigh,
Susannah and Judith employ'd the bright eye—
No fine-spun adventures tormented the breast,
Like our modern Clarissa, Tom Jones, and the rest.
Those tyrants had chosen the books for your shelves,
(And, trust me, no other than suited themselves,
For always by this may a bigot be known,
He speaks well of nothing but what is his own.)
From indwelling evil these souls to release,
The quakers arriv'd, with their kingdom of peace—
But some were transported, and some bore the lash,
And four they hang'd fairly for preaching up thrash.
The lands of New England (of which we now treat)
Were famous, ere that, for producing of wheat;
But the soil (or tradition says strangely amiss)
Has been pester'd with pumpkins from that day to this.
Thus, feuds and vexations distracted their reign,
(And perhaps a few vestiges still may remain.)
But time has presented an offspring as bold,
Less free to believe, and more wise than the old.
Their phantoms, their wizzards, their witches are fled—
Matthew Paris's story with horror is read—
His daughters, and all the enchantments they bore—
And the demon that pinch'd them, are heard of no more.
Their taste for the fine arts is strangely increas'd,
And Latin's no longer a mark of the beast;
Mathematics, at present, a farmer may know,
Without being hang'd for connexions below.
Proud, rough, independent, undaunted and free,
And patient of hardships, their task is the sea,
Their country too barren their wish to attain,
They make up the loss by exploring the main.
Wherever bright Phoebus awakens the gales,
I see the bold Yankees expanding their sails,
Throughout the wide ocean pursuing their schemes,
And chasing the whales on its uttermost streams.
No climate, for them, is too cold or too warm,
They reef the broad canvass, and fight with the storm;
In war with the foremost their standards display,
Or glut the loud cannon with death, for the fray.

[Page 243]No valour, in fable, their valour exceeds,
Their spirits are fitted for desperate deeds;
No rivals have they in our annals of fame,
Or if they are rivall'd, 'tis York has the claim.
Inspir'd at the sound, while the name she repeats,
Bold Fancy conveys me to Hudson's retreats—
Ah, sweet recollection of juvenile dreams
In the groves, and the forests that skirted his streams!
How often, with rapture, those streams were survey'd,
When, sick of the city, I flew to the shade—
How often the bard, and the peasant shall mourn
Ere those groves shall revive, and those shades shall re­turn!
Not a hill, but some fortress disfigures it round!
And ramparts are rais'd where the cottage was found!
The plains and the vallies with ruin are spread,
With graves in abundance, and bones of the dead.
The first that attempted to enter this streight,
(In anno one thousand six hundred and eight),
Was Hudson (the same that we mention'd before,
Who was lost in the gulph that he went to explore.
For a sum that they paid him (we know not how much)
This captain transferr'd all his right to the Dutch;
For the time has been here, to the world be it known,
When all a man sail'd by, or saw, was his own.
The Dutch on their purchase sat quietly down,
And fix'd on an island to lay out a town;
They modell'd their streets from the horns of a ram,
And the name that best pleas'd them was New Amsterdam
They purchas'd large tracts from the Indians for beads,
And sadly tormented some runaway Swedes,
Who, none knows for what, from their country had flown
To live here in peace undisturb'd and alone.
New Belgia, the Dutch call'd their province, be sure,
But names never yet made possession secure;
For Charly (the second that honour'd the name)
Sent over a squadron, asserting his claim.
(Had his sword and his title been equally slender,
In vain had they summon'd Mynheer to surrender)
The soil they demanded, or threaten'd their worst,
Insisting that Cabot had look'd at it first.
The want of a squadron to fall on their rear,
Made the argument perfectly plain to Mynheer—
Force ended the contest—the right was a sham,

[Page 244]And the Dutch were sent packing to hot Surinam.
'Twas hard to be thus of their lab
 [...] 
 [...] priv'd,
But the age of republics had not yet arriv'd—
Fate saw—tho' no wizzard could tell them as much—
That the crown, in due time, was to fare like the Dutch.

AN INDIAN ECLOGUE. JOS. SMITH. Scene the banks of the Ohio.SCARCE had the morn her orient course begun,
Or early breezes fann'd the rising sun,
When Mingo on Ohio's margin stood,
And told his sorrows to the gliding flood;—
"With love of glory would the chiefs inflame
"My breast; and lead me to the field of fame;
"In vain with glee, they show their scalps and scars,
"The glorious trophies of their former wars.
"On me their praises and reproofs are lost,
"No flame but love, but scorching love I boast,
"The nimble Lawrah does my breast inspire,
"Wakes every sense, and sets me all on fire;
"Enraptur'd while I view her yellow neck,
"As soft as bear-grease, and as beaver sleek.
"From her grey eyes the living lightnings rush,
"Like the fresh dew-drops glitt'ring thro' a bush.
"But vain my songs re-echo through the shade,
"Nor vows, nor tears, can move the haughty maid.
"E'en late I met her fainting in the track,
"Her child and blanket dangling at her back;
"Scarce mov'd her feet beneath the heavy load,
"And drops of sweat bedew'd the groaning road.
"Yet other nymphs with fruitless ardour burn,
"And feel a passion I can ne'er return.
"In vain with gifts of fish Agolla strove
"To shake my constancy and win my love.
"Her rough advances like a skunk I shun,
"And f
 [...]o
 [...] her face with eager footsteps run;
"But vain my songs re-echo thro' the grove,
"Nor vows, nor tears, the haughty maid can move:
"Then cease these fruitless plaints. I'll take my spear,
"And thro' the forest chace the shaggy bear;
"The bounding buck shall own my of
 [...]-try'd art,
"And feel this arrow rankling in his heart."

THE END.

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2006-06

AMERICAN POETRY.

FIRST PART. FROM BRITISH POETS.

AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM. POPE.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. GOLDSMITH.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.— A ballad. GOLDSMITH.

THE HERMIT. PARNELL.

An Elegy, written in a Country Church-Yard. GRAY.

THE EPITAPH.

ADAM AND EVE's MORNING HYMN. MILTON.

An hymn, from the beginning of the XIXth psalm. ADDISON.

A HYMN ON THE SEASONS. THOMSON.

DESPONDENCY.— An Ode. BURNS.

ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE.

AN EPITAPH ON A POOR, BUT HONEST MAN.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. COWPER.

THE NATURAL BEAUTY. To Stella. Dr. JOHNSTON.

SONG. WALLER.

SONG. AKENSIDE.

SONG. MOORE.

SONG. GARRICK.

DEATH's FINAL CONQUEST. SHIRLEY.

THE LAST DAY. YOUNG. Venit summa dies. VIRG.

THE LAST DAY. BOOK II.

THE LAST DAY. BOOK III.

A country bumpkin and razor-seller. PETER PINDAR.

ELEGY. Written on the plain of Fontenoy. MERRY.

THE SLAVES. An elegy. MERRY.

THE ADIEU AND RECAL TO LOVE. MERRY.

TO DELLA CRUSCA. THE PEN. Mrs. COWLEY.

TO ANNA MATILDA. MERRY.

TO DELLA CRUSCA. Mrs. COWLEY.

TO ANNA MATILDA. MERRY.

THE HERMIT. BEATTIE.

A PASTORAL BALLAD. In four parts. SHENSTONE.

I. ABSENCE.

II. HOPE.

III. SOLICITUDE.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT

ON GENERAL WASHINGTON.

THE PREFERENCE: TO MARIA.

Address inscribed under a lady's skull, in a gentleman's garden, in England.

Address inscribed under a gentleman's skull, in the same garden as the foregoing.

TWO BLANKS TO A PRIZE.

THE ROSE.

HOW COLD IT IS.

Advice from a matron to a young lady, concerning wedlock.

APOLOGY FOR VAGRANTS. ANON.

FEW HAPPY MATCHES. WATTS.

THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. WATTS.

ON BEAUTY. PALMERSTON.

THE BEGGAR's PETITION. ANON.

THE HERO's SCHOOL OF MORALITY. WATTS.

FREEDOM. WATTS.

ON THE PROSPECT OF ARTS AND SCIENCES IN AMERICA. Written near sixty years ago by the celebrated dr. George Berkley, dean of Derry, and afterwards lord bishop of Cloyne, while he was in America.

MORTALITY. PENROSE.

MADNESS. PENROSE.

SONG. THOMSON.

Verses occasioned by the burning of mr. Wilberforce's effigy at Bristol.

BEAUTIES OF POETRY SECOND PART. FROM AMERICAN POETS.

COLUMBIA. DWIGHT.

BENEVOLENCE. DAWES.

WOMAN's FATE. BAYARD. Written in the character of a lady under the influence of a strong, but unfortunate attachment.

Future state of the western territory. HUMPHREY [...].

AMERICAN WINTER. HUMPHREYS.

ON LOVE AND THE AMERICAN FAIR. HUMPHREYS.

Depredations and destruction of the Algerines. HUMPHREYS.

EXCELLENT LOGIC. TRUMBULL.

BRITISH FAVOURS TO AMERICA. TRUMBULL.

EXTREME HUMANITY. TRUMBULL.

OMENS. TRUMBULL.

NOBILITY ANTICIPATED. TRUMBULL.

Description of the first American congress. BARLOW.

AMERICAN REVOLUTION. BARLOW.

AMERICAN SAGES. BARLOW.

AMERICAN PAINTERS. BARLOW.

AMERICAN POETS. BARLOW.

EULOGIUM ON RUM. JOS. SMITH.

FAITH. AN ODE.—MARKOE.

HOPE. AN ODE.—MARKOE.

BEAUTIES OF POETRY
SECOND PART. FROM AMERICAN POETS.

THE COUNTRY MEETING ^*. T. C. JAMES.

Song sung in St. Andrew's society, New York, [...] [...]uesday, August 22, 1790, when colonel Alexander M Gil livray was present. Tune—Nottingham Ale.

Hymn sung at the universal meeting house in Boston, Easter Sunday, April 4, 1790.