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" strain,

When years thy judgment shall mature, Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deccirer, say, And Reason thew's thofe ills it cannot cure, Where is the promis'd period of my woes?

Wilt thou, a father's grief t' assuage, Full three long, ling'ring years have rollid 1825, For virtue prove the Phænix of the earth And yet I weep, a stranger to repole : (Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth), o what delusion did thy tongue chaplos! And be the comfort of my age ? :

“ That Emma's fatal pledge of love, When fick and languishing I lie,

“ Her last bequest, with all a mother's cart,

“ The bitternels of sorrow should remove, Wilt thou my Emma's wontcu care supply?

“ Soften the horrors of despair, And, oft as to thy liftening car

* And cheer a heart long lost to joy !" Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,

How oft, when fondling in my arms,
Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear,
Whilft on the mournful theme I dwell

Gazing enraptur'd on its angel-face,

My soul the maze of Fate would vaidly trice, Then, fondly stealing to thy father's fide,

And burn with all a father's foje! alarms! Whene'er thou feeii the loft distress, Which I would vaiply seek to hide,

And oh what fate'ring scenes had fancy frigod! Say, wilt thou strive to make it less :

How did I rave of blessings yet in fiore ! Tooth my forrows all thy cares employ,

Till ev'ry aching sense was sweetly pain'd,

And my full heart could bear, nor tuocx And in my cup of grief infule une drop of joy?

could utter more. • Just Heaven!''I cried, with recent hopes elate

, 9 105. An Evening Addiefs 10 a Vigbtingale. Yet will I live will live,tho' Emma's dad:

Shaw." So long bow'd down beneath the storms of lite, S WEET bird! that, kindly perching near,

“ Yit will I raise my woe-dejceed bead! Poureit thy plaints melodious in mine car,

• My little Emma, now my all,

“ Will want a father's care; Not, like kale worldlings, tutor'dl to forego The melancholy haunts of woe; ** Iler looks, her wants, my rath resolves recall

, Thanks for thy forrow-foothing frain :

“ And for her fake the ills of life I'll bear: For, furely, thou hast known to prove,

And ott together we 'll complain, Like me, the pangs of hapless love;

Complaint the only bliss my loul can knom. Elfe why to feelingly complain, [grove :

“ From me my child ihall learn the mournful And with thy piteous notes thus fadden all the

“ And prattle tales of woe. Say, dust chou mourn thy ravish'd mate,

“ And, oh! in that auspicious hour, That ofc enamour'd on thy strains has hung: “ When Fate resigns her persecuting pow's, Or has the cruel hand of Fate

« With dutcous zeal her hand thall clcre, Bercft thee of thy darling young ?

“ No more to weep, my sorrow-streaming eyes, Alas! for both I weep :

“ When death gives mifery repose, In all the pride of youthful charms,

And opes a glorious partage to the skies.” A beauteous bride forn from my circling arms ! A lovely babe that should have liv'd to bless, Vain thought! it must not be the too is dead,

And fill my doting eyes with frequent tears, The flatt'ring scene is o'er ;
At once the fource of rapture and distress, My hopes for ever, ever fed ;

The flattering prop of my declining years ! And vengeance can no more,
In vain from death to rescue I essay'd, Crush'd by misfortune, blasted by difcase,

By ev'ry art that science could devise; And none none left to bear a friendly part ! Alas! it languith'd for a mother's aid, To meditate my welfare, health, or eafe,

And wing'd its Hight to seek her in the skies. Or footh the anguilh of an aching heart! Then, oh! our comforts be the fame, Now all one gloomy scene, till welcome death, At evening's peaceful hour,

With lenient hand (oh falsely deem'd severe), To sun che noily paths of wealth and fame, Shall kindly stop my grief-exhausted breath, And breathe our sorrows in this lonely

And dry up ev'ry tear. bow'r.

Perhaps, obsequious to my will, But why, alas! to thee complain,

But, ah! from my affections far remor'd! To thei-unconscious of my pain !

The last fad office strangers may fulfil, Soon shalt thou cease to mourn thy lot severe,

As if I ne'er had been belov'd; And hail the dawning of a happier year:

As if, unconscious of poetic fire, The gevial warmth of joy-renewing spring

I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre; Again thall pluine thy snatter'd wing;

As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief, Again thy little heart shall transport prove,

Nor my heart melted at another's grief. Again thall How thy notes responsive to thy Yet, while this weary life shall last, But, oh! for me in vain may seasons roll, [love. While yet my tongue can form th' impaffon'd Nought can dry up the fountain of my icars :

strain, Deploring till the comfort of my soul,

In piteous accents shall the mufe complain, I count my sorrows by increasing years. And dwell with fond delay on blessings pui:


For oh how grateful to a wounded heart Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy
The tale of inifery to impart !

The rage and rigour of a polar sky,
From others' eyes bid artless forrows Aow, And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rafe

And raise esteem upon the base of woe ! On icy plains, and in eternal fnows.
Even He *, the noblest of the tuncful throng,

Oh bleft within th'inclosure of


rocks, Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear, Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating Rocks; Shall catch the loft contagion of my fong, No fertilizing streams your fields divide, And pay my pensive Mufe the tribuce of a tear. That shew revers'd the villas on thcir fide;

No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, § 106. An Ode to Narcissa. SMOLLET.

Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;

Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
THY fatal shafts unerring more;
I bow before thinc altar, Love!

Of thote that walk at ev'ning where you dwell: I feel thy soft, resistless fame

But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,

Sits absolute on his unthaken throne; Glide swift thro' all my vital frame !

Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, For while I gaze my bosom glows,

And bids the mountains he has built stand fast; My blood in rides impetuous Hows;

Beckons the legions of his forms away Hope, fear, and jov alternate roll,

From happier Icenes, to make your land a prey ; And fioods of tranfport whelm my soul ! Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, My falt'ring tongue attempts in vain

And scorns to share it with the distant fun. In soothing murinurs to complain ;

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ise ; My tongue fome secret magic ties,

And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile; My murmurs sink in broken fighs !

The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds Condemnd to nurse eternal care,

In chains of error our accomplish'd minds; And ever drop the filent tcar;

That decks with all the splendour of the true Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh,

A false religionis unknown to you.
Unfriended live, unpiticd dic!

Nature indeed vouchlafes for our delight
The (wcet viciffitudes of day and night;

Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer § 107. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus.

Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here; SMOLLET.

But brighter beams than his who fires the skics WHERE now are all my flattering dreams of Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,

That shoot into your darkest caves the day Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest : From which our nicer optics turn away. Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast ! $ 109.Pn Slavery, andtbe Slave Trade. Cow PER. Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call, BUT, an!, what wish can prosper, or what With festive songs beguile the Aceting hour,

pray'r, Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,

For merchants rich in cargoes of defpair, Or press her wanton in love's roseate bow'r. Who drive a loathlome traffic, gage and span, For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead, The tender ties of father, husband, friend,

And buy the muscles and the bones of man ? Where thepherds pipe and virgins dance around, All bonds of nature in that moment end; Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, To hear the music of the grove


A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall, The fable warrior. fraotic with regret Where fancy paints the glimm*ring taper blue, Of her he loves, and never can forget, Where damps hang inould'ring on the ivy'd wall, Loses in tears the far-receding shore, And theeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew : But not the thought that they must ineet no more. There, leagued with hopelefs anguish and despair, Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine :

What has he left that he can yer forego ? Then, with a long farewell to love and care,

Yes, to deep fadness fullenly resignd, To kindred dust my weary limbs consyn.

He feels his body's bondage in his mind;

Puts off his gen'rous nature, and, to fuit Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear

His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest;

Oh must degrading of all ills that wait Serew vernal flow'ss, applaud my love fincere,

On man, a mourner in his best estate! And bid the turf lie easy on my breast ? All other sorrows virtue may endure,

And find submission more than half a cure; & 108. Tbe Propagation of tbe Gospel in Greenland. Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd

Cow PER. T'improve the fortitude that bears a load ;
ND still it spreads. See Germany send forth To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase,
Her sons to pour it on the farthest north † : {The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.

Lord Lyttelton.
The Moravian millionaries in Greenland. Vide Krantz,


joy ?

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Butllarivi--vistic dreads it as her grave; To quit the bliss thy rural scenes beftow,
Patience iticif is meanness in a Nave :

To leck a nobler amidst scenes of wot;
Or if the will and fovereignty of God

To traverse feas, range kingdoms, and bring home, Bid fufter it awhile, and kits the rod;

Not the proud monuments of Greece or Kars, Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, But knowledge such as only dungeons teab, And snap the chain the moment when you may. And only sympathy like thine could reach; Narurc iinprints upon whate'er we fec, That grief, requester'd from the public itage, Tlaat has a heart and life in it, Be frec! Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her ca The beatis are charter'd--peither age nor force Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : The boldes patriot might be proud to fuel. lle breaks the cord that held him at the rack, Oh that the voice of camour and debate, And, conscious of an uncncumber'd back, That pleads for peace till it difturbs the fate, Snuifs up the morning air, forgets the rein,

Were hushi in favour of thy gen'rous plea, Leofe fiy his forelock and his ample inane ;


poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy feel Responlive to the distant neigh he neighs, Nor stops till, overleaping all delays,

§ 117. On Domestic Happiness, as ibe Frized

Virtue, and of the fulpe Good-nature of

COFFEE s 110. On Liberty, and in Praije of Mr. Hozword. DOMESTIC happiness, thou only blis

Of Paradise that fall! H could I worship aught bencath the skies, Tho' few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure,

That earth hath seen or fancy could devise, Or, tasting, long enjoy thee; too infirm Thire altar, sacred Liberty, should fand, Or too incautious to preserve thy fiveets Buile by no mercenary, vulgar hand,

Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect With fragrant turf and flow'rs as wild and fair Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup. As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms Duly as ever on the mountain's height

She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, The peep of morning lhed a dawning light;

Heaven-born, and destin'd to the skies again. Again, when evening in her sober vest

Thou art not known where Pleasure is adoré, Drew the grev curtain of the fading Weft; That recling goddess with the zoneless waith My louishould yield thee willing thanks and praise And wand'ring eyes, fill leaning on the arm For the chief blessings of my fai rest days : Of Novelty, her tickle frail suppert ; But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine,

For thou art meek and constant, hating changes, But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine:. And finding in the calm of truth-tied love Elle I would say, and as I spake bid fly

Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. A captive bird into the boundless íky,

Fortaking thee, what shipwreck have we made This -iple realm adores thee-thou art come Of honour, dignity, and fair renown, From Sparta hither, and art here at home; Till prostitution elbows us aside We feel thy force still active, at this hour In all our crowded streets, and senates seem Enjov immunity from prickly pow'r;

Conven'd for purpofęs of empire less While conscience, happier than in ancient years, Than to relcale th' adult'ress from her bond! Oins po superior but the God the fears. Th' adult'refs! what a theme for angry verleg I'ropitious Spirit, vet expunge a wrong

What provocation to th' indignant heart Thy rites have suffer'd, and our land, too long; That feels for injur'd love ! But I d flain Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share The nauseous taík to paint her as the is, The fears and hopes of a commercial care : Cruel, abandon'd, gloying in her shame. Prisons expect the wicked, and were built No. Let her pass; and, charioted along, To bind the lawless, and to punith guilt; In guilty Splendour shake the public ways: But ship vreck, earthquake, battle, fire and flood, The frequency of crimes has wath'd them white; Are mighty mischiefs, not to be with tood; And verle of mine shali never brand the wretch And honçit merit stands on flipp'ry ground, Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd, Where covert guile and artifice abound : And chafe themfibres, are not abamd to on 3. Let just restraint, for public peace design'd, Virtue and vice had bourd'ries in old time Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind; Not to be pafsd: and the that had renounc'd The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,

ler fex's honour, was renounc'd herself But let insolvent innocence go free.

By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fake, Patron of else the most despis'd of men,

But Dignity's releatful of the stong. Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen ; 'Twas liard perhaps on here and there a waif Verle, like the laurel its immortal meed, Desirous to return, and not receivid; Should be the guerdon of a noble deed : But was an wholesome rigour in the main, I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame

And taught th’unblcroith'd to preserve with care (Charity chosen as my theme and aim) That purity, whole loss was lols.of all. I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. Men too were pice in honour in those days, Bleft with all wealth can give thee-to refign And judgid offenders kell: and he that iharp, jo;s doubly sweet to foolings quick as thine ; And pockcted a prise by fraud obtain'd,


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. Was mark'd and thunn'd as odious. He that sold | Bestrides the wint'sy flood, in which the moon His country, or was lack when the requir’d Sees her unwrivkled face reflected bright, His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch, He comes, the herald of a noily world, [locks, Paid with the blood that he had bafely spar'd With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen The price of his default. But now=yes, now, News from all nations lumb’ring at his back. We are become so candid and so fair,

True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, So liberal in construction, and so rich

Yet careless what he brings, his one concern In Christian charity, a good-natur'd age !

Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn; That they are tafe ; finners of either lex [bred, And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass oo. Transgress what laws they may. Well dress’d, weil He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief To pass us readily through ev'ry door. Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to fome; Hypocrify, deteft her as we may,

To himn indiff'rent whether grief or joy. (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, May claim this merit still, that the admits Births, deaths, and marriagcs, epistles wet The worth of what the mimics with such care, With tears that trickled down the writer's checks And thus gives virtue indirect applause. Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, But she has burnt her masks, not nceded here, Or charg'd with am'rous fighs of ab'ont rivains, Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts Or nymphs responsive, equally affect And specious semblances heve lost their use. His horie and him, unconscious of them all.

But oh th' important budget! uther'd in $112. On tbe Employments of wbat is called an With fuch heart-shaking music, who can say Idle Life.

CowPER. What are its tidings : have our troops awak'd ? How various his employments whom the world Or do they drill

, as if with opium drugg'd, Calls ide,

Snore to of wave? Esteems that busy world an idler too!

Is India free? and does the wear her plum'd Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his peo, And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace, Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,

Or do we grind her ftill? The grand debate, And nature in her cultivated trim

The popular harangue, the tart reply, Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, Can he want occupation who has these? And the loud laugh--l long to know them all; Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy! I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free, Me therefore, studious of laborious eale, And give them voice and utt'rance once again. Not flothful; happy to deceive the time,

Now ftir the fire and close the shutters faft, Not waste it; and aware that human life Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa, round, Is but a loan to be repaid with use,

And while the bubbling and loud-hilling urn When He shall call his debtors to account Throws up a steamy column, and the cups From whom are all our bletlings-businels finds That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, Ev'n here. While fedulous I seek t'improve, So let us welcome peaceful ev’ning in. At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, Not fuch his ev'ning who wich Mining face The mind lie gave me; driving it, though Nack Swears in the crowded theatre, and squeezid, Too oft, and much impeded in its work And bord with elbow-points thro' both his fides, By causcs not to be divuly'd in vain,

Outfcolds the raðsing actor on the stage. To its just point-the service of mankind. Nor his, who patient stands till his fect throb, He that attends to his interior self,

And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind Of patriots bursting with heroic ragc,

That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks Or placemen all tranquillity and miles.
A social, not a diffipated life-

This folio of four pages, happy work!
Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve Which not ev'n critics criticile, that holds
No unimportant, though a filent talk.

Inquisitive attention while I read
A life all turbulence and noise may seem Fart bound in chains of Silence, which the fair,
To him that leads it wise, and to be prais'd ; Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break
But wisdom is a pearl with most success What is it but a map of busy life,
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ?
He that is ever occupied in storins

Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, That tempts ambition. On the summit, tee, Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.

The seals of office glitter in his eyes; [heels,

He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. Ac his
113. Tbe Poft comes in-tbe News-faper is Clote at his heels, a demagogue afcends,
read-The World contemplated at a distance. And with a dext'rous jerk foon twists him down,

Cow PER And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.
ARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder Here rills of oily eloquence in soft

Meanders lubricate the course they take: That with its wearisome but necdful length The modelt speaker is asham d and griev'd.


T'engross a nioment's notice; and yet begs, And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, A mountain fades into the sky;
However trivial all that he conceives.

While, winding round, diffus d and deep,
Sweet bathfulness! it claims at least this praise, A river rolls with sounding sweep.
The dearth of information and good sense

Of human art no traces near,
That it foretels us, always comes to pass.

I seein alone with nature here !
Cataracts of declamation thunder here,

Here are thy walks, O sacred Health !
There forests of no meaning spread the page The Monarch's bliss, the Beggar's wealth,
In which all comprehenfion wanders loft ; The seas'ning of all good below,
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there, The fov'reign friend in joy or woe.
With merry descants on a nation's woes. o Thou, most courted, most despis'd,
The reft appears a wildernels of strange And but in absence duly priz'd!
But gay confufion-roses for the cheeks Pow'r of the soft and roly face !
And blies for the brows of faded age,

The vivid pulse, the vermeil grace,
Tecth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, The spirits, when they gayest thine,
Heaven, earth, and ocean plunderdof their sweets, Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!
Nectarcous essences, Olympian dews,

O fun of life, whose heavenly ray Sermons and city feasts, and fav’rite airs, Lights up and cheers our various day, Æthereal journeys, submarine exploits, The turbulence of hopes and fears, And Katterfelto with his hair on end

The form of fate, the cloud of years,
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. Till nature, with thy parting light,

'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat Repofes late in Death's calm night:
To peep at such a world : to see the stir Fled from the trophicd roofs of ftate,
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd: Abodes of splendid pain and hate ;
To hear the roar the sends through all her gates Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep,
At a safe distance, where the dying found Hot Riot would his anguish scep,
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear. But tosses through the midnight shade,
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease Of death, of life, alike afraid ;
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd For ever Aed to shrady cell,
To some secure and more than mortal height, Where temp'rance, where the Muses divell,
That lib’rates and exempts me froin them all. Thou oft art seen, at early dawn,
It turns submitted to my view, turns round Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn ;
With all its generations; I behold

Or, on the brow of mountain high,
The tumult, and am ftill. The found of war In filence feasting ear and eye,
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ;

With song and prospect which abound
Grieves but alarms me not. I mourn the pride From birds, and woods, and waters round.
And av'rice that makes man a wolf to man, But when the sun, with noon-tide ray,
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats Flaines forth intolerable day ;
By which he speaks the language of his heart, While Heat fits fervent on the plain,
And figh, but never tremble at the found. With Thirst and Languor in his train
He travels and expatiates, as the bee

(All nature Gck'ning in the blaze), From flow'r to fiow'r, so he from land to land; Thou in the wild and woody maze The manners, customs, policy of all

That clouds the vale with umbrage deep
Pay contribution to the store he gleans ; Impendeot from the neighb'ring steep,
Hé sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,

Wilt find betiines a calm retreat,
And spreads the honcy of his deep research Where brcathing Coolness has her seat.
At his return, a rich repast for me!

There plung 'd amid the shadows brown,
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Imagination lays bim down;
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes Attentive, in his airy mood,
Discover countries, with a kindred heart To ev'ry murmur of the wood:
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; The bee in yonder flow'ry nook ;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock, The chidings of the headlong brook;
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. The green leaf quiv'ring in the gale;

The warbling hill, the lowing vale;

The distant woodman's echoing stroke; § 114. A Fragment. Mallet.

The thunder of the falling oak.
FIR morn, afcends : fresh zephyr's breath From thought to thought in vision led,

Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath, He holds high converse with the Dead;
Where, sown profusely, herb and flow'r Sages or Poets. Sce, they rise!
Of balmy smell, of healing pow'r,

And Shadowy skim before his eyes.
Their souls in fragrant dews exhale,

Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again, And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale.

That soften a lavages to men: Here spreads a green expanse of plains,

Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven, Where, fwcctly-penfive, Silence reins;

To whom its moral will was given.



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