C. At least this night with me, dear Basil, 'bide, For see the Sun has left the mountain's side, Its shadows lengthen, and yon hoary fane, Which lately held Religion's cloister'd train, Receives the labour'd oxen from the fields, And them anon their treasur'd fodder yields.

B. Where once the fainting pilgrim found repose And life grew pure from penitential woes;

Where sacred studies chose their calm retreat,

And spreading science might have found her seat,
There rustic hinds usurp the hallow'd dome,
And barb'rous License calls the cattle home.
Hence, Liberty, to Britain's realm I go,

Where thou wert train'd by Wisdom sure and slow,
Where Justice still thy sacred precincts guards,
And pure Religion deals her best rewards.
Where if, 'mid many faithful, still are found
The faithless few, thy vitals fierce to wound,
Still British sense and dignity defy

The yelling harpies of Impiety,

Sedition's raven roar, and Rapine's corm'rant cry.

AN

EPISTLE

ΤΟ

MARCELLUS.

MARCELLUS, misconceive not that the mind,
Which once partook thy blameless converse kind,
Thy genuine friendship, when the youthful heart
Wont all its dear simplicities impart ;

Ah! think not one who may with pride like me
Boast of good days, so sweetly pass'd with thee,
Can e'er, tho' years of absence intervene,
Shut from Remembrance her selectest scene.
Yes, from the day the kind too early tear
Stream'd from thy soul to grace a brother's bier,
Some sympathetic force pronounc'd me thine,
And sweetly made thy splendid interests mine.
Tho' sordid spirits, aw'd by noble birth,
Possess no means to scan superior worth,
And, when the burnish'd frame misleads their eyes,
Can scarce a Guido's pictur'd angel prize-
Deem not so lightly of thyself and me
That I was destin'd thus to turn from thee.
Tho' Heav'n bestow'd thee in thy natal hour

Of fairest faculties a darling's dower,

And these bright-opening to the raptur'd view
Fir'd Hope the growing radiance to pursue --
The more thy condescending goodness charm'd
My grateful soul, my terrors were alarm'd.
A friend, a father asks a length of years
To lull to rest Affection's ready fears,
And there her readiest fears must Virtue place,
Where Youth, appointed to the noblest race,
Starts, in a nation's view, for honour or disgrace.
My phantom fears, before thy Youth's pure light,
And Manhood's prime, with patriot splendors, bright,
Are fled the beams of worth that won my love,
Far seen, propitious to thy glory prove ;
Clear is thy course, nor needs one blushing pain
The long-lost road of Honour to regain.
Nobly disdainful of the trifler's sphere,
Thy spirit enters on the fair career,

In which thy fathers won the wreath of Fame,
A laurell'd series rise, and point thy godlike aim.
Her high-born champion, set on Virtue's course,
Melts he with Lux'ry's sensual song his force?

The manlier melody of Mentor's praise

He springs to hear, escap'd Calypso's lays.
Let souls plebeian from their wealth derive
Their bliss, 'tis thine by nobler laws to live,
Thy birth a beacon whence the glowing eye
Marks the broad lights that flame from Glory's sky.
The love of glory seems by Heav'n design'd

The master movement of the nobler mind.

*

The general part of the epistle, beginning with this line, was publicly

'Tis Virtue's cordial, not her vital food,
Ordain'd to quicken, not create her blood,
Ill-spared, permitted, Heav'n-approved, and they
Who scorn it, droop on Life's long-wearying way;
It winds up man's superior faculties,

To mark their efforts sharpens judgment's eyes,
Gives zeal to strengthen strength, and grace refine,
To round with Truth Imagination's line,
Drop passion's tint with spirit and with art,
The warmth of Nature's golden glow impart,
Make the fair whole repose upon the eye,
And paint the piece for all eternity.
This healthful energy, this love of praise
Bounds the strong mind along laborious days,
But as the wheel, should Folly whirl it, fires,
Thus fame ill urg'd in infamy expires.
Still man, attun'd to man by Love's sweet law,
Tests from a brother of his worth would draw,
Yet, wise his judges to select with care,

Grasps but the wreath the worthiest bid him wear:
They give, esteeming, they the friend befriend,
Indiff'rent, selfish good his ruling end,

If prince or us'rer play the sordid game,
The craft is fraudulent, nor merits fame.
Then firm to Virtue, with an open brow,
The manly, social love of Fame avow.
Banner'd by Fame in beautiful array,
The mighty dead fair Virtue's force display :
Illustrious band, and thence we joy to find
The glory rescued of our noble kind,
Sav'd from the spleen that labours to debase,
By self-betraying drafts, the genʼral race.

How vast their toils, whom genuine Glory draws
To follow faithful her heroic laws!
But are these toils afflictions? meaner joys
Can urge to labour-shall not glory's prize?
Our country's good? the good of all mankind?
The holiest motives that can rouse the mind?
A lion shakes the dew-drop from his mane,
Men for high action, heav'n-endow'd, disdain
The least dim spot upon the purer soul,
And press all honour to their goodly goal,
Regardless, though athwart their midmost way
Stand Death; his menace fearless they survey,
Found on their station, nor a terror raise
The foreseen evils of their closing days:

They know the splendors of their noon must tend
To streak with ling'ring rays Life's gloomier end,
And beautify the tomb where sleeps the public friend.

We must have action-in th' immortal soul. There is a restless somewhat to control With never-dying force our feeling frame, Spur us to labour, and prescribe some aim. Unknown the little-the great vulgar die, Known to their cost by blaz'ning Infamy. Yes, I must tell you, my distinguish'd friend, You scarce can think to what your life may tend, What on your growing stock of strength may rise Of fair, and fruitful to the stateliest size.

The pow'rs of man surpass the stretch of thought, To view from countless causes seldom brought; Or ruling prudence is not there to place The goodly train with most effect and grace;