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Drops lifeless down. O deemeft thou indeed
No kind endearment here by nature giv'n
To mutual terror and compassion's tears ?
No sweetly-melting foftness which attracts,
O'er all that edge of pain, the social pow'rs
To this their proper action and their end ?
Ak thy own heart ; when at the midnight hour,
Slow thro' that studious gloom thy pausing eye
Led by the glimm’ring taper moves around
The sacred volumes of the dead, the songs
Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame
For Grecan Heroes, where the present pow'r
Of heav'n and earth surveys th' immortal page,
E'en as a father blefling, while he reads
The praises of his son ; if then thy soul,
Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days,
Mix in their deeds and kindle with their flame;
Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view,
When rooted from the base, heroic states
Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown
Of curst ambition ;~-when the pious band
Of youths that fought for freedom and their fires
Lie fide by fide in gore ;--when ruffian-pride
Ulurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp
Of public pow'r, the majesty of rule,
The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,,

To Navish empty pageants, to adorn
A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes
Of such as bow the knee ;-when honour'd urns
Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust
And storied arch, to glut the coward rage
Of regal envy, strew the public way

With hallow'd ruins !-when the muse's haunt,
The marble porch where wisdom wont to talk
With Socrates or Tully, hears no more,
Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,
Of female fuperftition's midnight pray'r ;
When ruthless rapine from the hand of time
Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow
To sweep the works of glory from their bafe ;
Till desolation o’er the grass grown street
Expands his raven wings, and up the wall,
Where senates once the pride of monarchs doom’d,
Hisses the gliding snake thro’hoary weeds
That clasp the mould'ring column ;-thus defac'd,
Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills
Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear
Starts from thine eye, and thy; extended arm
In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of love
To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow,
Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ;-
Say, does thy secret foul repine to taste
The big distress ? Or woulåst thou then exchange
Those heart-ennobling sorrows, før the lot
Of him who fits amid the gaudy herd
Of mute barbarians bending to his nod,
And bears aloft his gold invested front,
And says within himself, “ I am a king,
66 And wherefore should the clam'rous voice of woe
66 Intrude upon

mine ear ?”—The baleful dregs
Of those late ages, this inglorious.draught
Of servitude and folly, have not yet,
Blest be th’ Eternal Ruler of the world!
Defil'd to such a depth of sordid shame

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AY, what is tafte, but the internal pow'rs

A&tive, and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulse ? a discerning sense
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
From things deform’d, or disarrang'd, or grofs
In species ? This nor gems, nor stores of gold,
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow

But God alone, when first his active hand
Imprints the sacred bias of the foul.
He, mighty Parent! wife and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of hear'n,
Reveals the charms of nature, Ask the swain
Who journies homeward from a summer-day's
Long labour, why forgetful of his toils
And due repofe, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming as thro' amber clouds,
O'er all the western sky? Full foon, I ween,
His rude expression and untutor'd airs,
Beyond the pow'r of language, will unfold
The form of beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely! how commanding ! But tho' Heav'n
In every breaft hath fown these early feeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enlivening suns, and genial show'rs.


And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming head,
Or yield the harvest promis’d in its spring.
Nor yet will every foil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labour ; or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel : diff'rent minds
Incline to diff'rent objects: one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ;
Another fighs for harmony, and grace,
And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning fires
The arch of heav'n, and thunders rock the ground;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakespear looks abroad
From fome high cliff, superior, and enjoys
The elemental war. But Waller longs,
All on the margin of some flow'ry stream,
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantane shades, and to the list’ning deer,
The tale of lighted vows and love's disdain
Resounds soft warbling all the live-long day :
Consenting Zephyr fighs; the weeping rill
Joins in his plaint, melodious ; mute the groves;
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
Such and so various are the tastes of men.


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O .

BLEST of Heav'n, whom not the languid songs

Of luxury, the Siren ! not the bribes
Of fordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant honour, can reduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store
Of nature, fair imagination culls
To charm th' enliven'd foul! What tho' not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envied life ; tho' only few possess.
Patrician treasures or imperial state ;
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, .
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
The princely dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud poffeffor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the spring.
Distils her dews, and from the filken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand.
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn,
Each pafling hour sheds tribute from her wings;
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes


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