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To penetrate the chilling gloom ;Ah! what avails that Britain now

With fculptur'd laurel decks his brow,

And hangs the votive verfe on his unconscious tomb!

From Poems and Plays by Mrs.
Weft, 1799.

To

AGES elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan fwan was heard carry Nature lengths unknown before, To give a MILTON birth, afk'd ages more. Thus Genius rofe and fet at order'd times, And shot a day-spring into distant climes, Ennobling every region that he chose; He funk in Greece, in Italy he rose ; And, tedious years of Gothick darkness pass'd, Emerg'd all splendour in our isle at last. Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show far off their fhining plumes again. COWPER'S Table Talk.

In the

Has

From the fame Author's Tafk, B. iii.

Philofophy, baptiz'd

pure fountain of eternal love,

eyes indeed; and, viewing all the fees

As meant to indicate a God to man,

Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. Learning has borne fuch fruit in other days On all her branches: Piety has found

Friends in the friends of fcience, and true prayer

Has flow'd from lips wet with Caftalian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike fage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,

And in his word fagacious. Such too thine,
MILTON, whofe genius had angelick wings,
And fed on manna. And fuch thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale! for deep difcernment prais'd,
And found integrity, not more than fam'd
For fanctity of manners undefil'd.

AND THOU, with age oppress'd, beset with wrongs,

And "fall'n on evil days and evil tongues,
"In darkness and with dangers compass'd
"round,"

What stars of joy thy night of anguish crown'd?
What breath of vernal airs, or found of rill,
Or haunt by Siloa's brook, or Sion's hill,
Or light of Cherubim, the empyreal throne,
The effulgent car, and inexpreffive One ?
Alas, not thine the foretaste of thy praise;
A dull oblivion wrapt thy mighty lays.
A while thy glory funk, in dread repose;
Then, with fresh vigour, like a giant rose,

And ftrode fublime, and pafs'd, with generous

rage,

The feeble minions of a puny age.

From the Poetical Works of William
Prefton, Efq. Dublin, 1793.

SEE! where the BRITISH HOMER leads
The Epick choir of modern days;
Blind as the Grecian bard, he speeds

To realms unknown to Pagan lays :
He fings no mortal war :-his ftrains
Defcribe no hero's amorous pains;

He chaunts the birth-day of the world, The conflict of Angelick Powers,

The joys of Eden's peaceful bowers,

When fled the Infernal Hoft, to thundering Chaos hurl'd.

Yet, as this deathlefs fong he breath'd,

He bath'd it with Affliction's tear;

And to Pofterity bequeath'd

The cherish'd hope to Nature dear, No grateful praise his labours cheer'd, No beam beneficent appear'd

To penetrate the chilling gloom ;— Ah! what avails that Britain now

With fculptur'd laurel decks his brow,

And hangs the votive verfe on his unconscious tomb!

From Poems and Plays by Mrs.
Weft, 1799.

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