And bring with him his due compeer,
Silence, sad, forlorn, and drear.

Haste thee, Silence, haste and go,
To search the gloomy world below.
My trembling steps, O Sybil, lead,
Through the dominions of the dead:
Where Care, enjoying soft repose,
Lays down the burden of his woes;
Where meritorious Want no more
Shiv'ring begs at Grandeur's door;
Unconscious Grandeur, seal'd his eyes,
On the mould'ring purple lies.
In the dim and dreary round,
Speech in eternal chains lies bound.
And see a tomb, its gates display'd,
Expands an everlasting shade.

ye inhabitants! that dwell Each forgotten in your cell,

O say! for whom of human race
Has fate decreed this hiding place?
And hark! methinks a spirit calls,
Low winds the whisper round the walls,
A voice, the sluggish air that breaks,
Solemn amid the silence speaks.
Mistaken man, thou seek'st to know,
What known will but afflict with woe;
There thy Monimia shall abide,
With the pale bridegroom rest a bride,
The wan assistants there shall lay,
In weeds of death, her beauteous clay.

O words of woe! what do I hear?
What sounds invade a lover's ear?
Must then thy charms, my anxious care,
The fate of vulgar beauty share?

Good heav'n retard (for thine the pow'r)
The wheels of time, that roll the hour.

Yet ah! why swells my breast with fears?
Why start the interdicted tears?
Love, dost thou tempt again? depart,
Thou devil, cast out from my heart.
Sad I forsook the feast, the ball,
The sunny bow'r, and lofty hall,
And sought the dungeon of despair;
Yet thou overtak'st me there.
How little dream'd I thee to find

In this lone state of human kind?
Nor melancholy can prevail,

The direful deed, nor dismal tale:
Hop'd I for these thou wouldst remove?
How near akin is grief to love?

Then no more I strive to shun

Love's chains: O heav'n! thy will be done.
The best physician here I find,
To cure a sore diseased mind,
For soon this venerable gloom
Will yield a weary sufferer room;
No more a slave to love decreed,
At ease and free among the dead.
Come then, ye tears, ne'er cease to flow,
In full satiety of woe:

Though now the maid my heart alarms,
Severe and mighty in her charms,

VOL. IV.

X

Doom'd to obey, in bondage prest,
The tyrant's love commands unblest;
Pass but some fleeting moments o'er,
This rebel heart shall beat no more;
Then from my dark and closing eye,
The form belov'd shall ever fly.
The tyranny of love shall cease,
Both laid down to sleep in peace;
To share alike our mortal lot,
Her beauties and my cares forgot.

GILBERT WEST.

BORN 1706.-DIED 1756.

THE translator of Pindar was the son of the Rev. Dr. West, who published an edition of the same classic at Oxford. His mother was sister to Sir Richard Temple, afterwards Lord Cobham. Though bred at Oxford with a view to the church, he embraced the military life for some time, but left it for the employment of Lord Townshend, then secretary of state, with whom he accompanied the King to Hanover. Through this interest he was appointed clerk extraordinary to the privy council, a situation which however was not immediately profitable. He married soon after, and retired to Wickham, in Kent, where his residence was often visited by Pitt and Lord Lyttleton. There he wrote his Observations on the Resurrection, for which the university of Oxford made him a doctor of laws. He succeeded at last to a lucrative clerkship of the privy council,

and Mr. Pitt made him treasurer of Chelsea hospital; but this accession to his fortune came but a short time previous to his death, which was occasioned by a stroke of the palsy.

ALLEGORICAL DESCRIPTION OF VERTU.

FROM THE ABUSE OF TRAVELLING,

So on he passed, till he comen hath
To a small river, that full slow did glide,
As it uneath mote find its watry path
For stones and rubbish, that did choak its tide,
So lay the mouldering piles on every side,
Seem'd there a goodly city once had been,
Albeit now fallen were her royal pride,
Yet mote her ancient greatness still be seen,
Still from her ruins prov'd the world's imperial queen.

For the rich spoil of all the continents,
The boast of art and nature there was brought,
Corinthian brass, Egyptian monuments,
With hieroglyphic sculptures all inwrought,
And Parian marbles, by Greek artists taught
To counterfeit the forms of heroes old,
And set before the eye of sober thought
Lycurgus, Homer, and Alcides bold.

All these and many more that may not here be told.

There in the middest of a ruin'd pile,

That seem'd a theatre of circuit vast,

Where thousands might be seated, he erewhile Discover'd hath an uncouth trophy plac'd;

x 2

Seem'd a huge heap of stone together cast
In nice disorder and wild symmetry,

Urns, broken freezes, statues half defac'd,
And pedestals with antique imagery
Emboss'd, and pillars huge of costly porphyry.

Aloft on this strange basis was ypight
With girlonds gay adorn'd a golden chair,
In which aye smiling with self-bred delight,
In careless pride reclin'd a lady fair,
And to soft music lent her idle ear;

The which with pleasure so did her enthral,
That for aught else she had but little care,
For wealth, or fame, or honour feminal,
Or gentle love, sole king of pleasures natural.

Als by her side, in richest robes array'd,
An eunuch sate, of visage pale and dead,
Unseemly paramour for royal maid!
Yet him she courted oft and honoured,
And oft would by her place in princely sted,
Though from the dregs of earth he springen were,
And oft with regal crowns she deck'd his head,
And oft, to sooth her vain and foolish ear,
She bade him the great names of mighty Kesars bear.

Thereto herself a pompous title bore,
For she was vain of her great ancestry,
But vainer still of that prodigious store
Of arts and learning, which she vaunts to lie
In the rich archives of her treasury.

These she to strangers oftentimes would show,
With grave demean and solemn vanity,