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Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines,
BOADICEA:

(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines.)

The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assurd,
AN ODE.

In peace upon her sloping sides matur'd.
When the British warrior-queen,

When on a day, like that of the last doom,

A conflagration lab'ring in her womb,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,

She teem'd and heav'd with an infernal birth, Sought, with an indignant mien,

That shook the circling seas and solid earth.
Counsel of her country's gods,

Dark and voluminous the vapors rise,
Sage beneath the spreading oak

And hang their horrors in the neighb'ring skies, Sat the Druid, hoary chief;

While through the Stygian veil, that blots the day,

In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. Ev'ry burning word he spoke

But oh! what muse, and in what pow'rs of song, Full of rage, and full of grief.

Can trace the torrent as it burns along? “Princess! if our aged eyes

Havoc and devastation in the van,
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,

It marches o'er the prostrate works of man, "Tis because resentment ties

Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear,
All the terrors of our tongues.

And all the charms of a Sicilian year.

Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass, “Rome shall perish---write that word

See it an uninform'd and idle mass;
In the blood that she has spilt;

Without a soil t'invite the tiller's care,
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,

Or blade, that might redeem it from despair.
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Yet time at length (what will not time achieve !)

Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. “ Rome, for empire far renown'd,

Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, Tramples on a thousand states;

And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade.
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-

O bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats,
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates !

O charming Paradise of short-liv'd sweets!

The self-same gale, that wasts the fragrance round “Other Romans shall arise,

Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound:
Heedless of a soldier's name;

Again the mountain feels th' imprison'd foe,
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,

Again pours ruin on the vale below.

Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, Harmony the path to fame.

That only future ages can restore. " Then the progeny that springs

Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honor draws,

Who write in blood the merits of your cause, From the forests of our land, Armd with thunder, clad with wings,

Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence Shall a wider world command.

Glory your aim, but justice your pretence ;

Behold in Etna's emblematic fires "Regions Cæsar never knew

The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires! Thy posterity shall sway;

Fast by the stream, that bounds your just domain Where his eagles never flew,

And tells you where ye have a right to reign, None invincible as they."

A nation dwells, not envious of your throne,

Studious of peace, their neighbors', and their own Such the bard's prophetic words,

Ill-fated race! how deeply must they rue
Pregnant with celestial fire,

Their only crime, vicinity to you!
Bending as he swept the chords

The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, Of his sweet but awful lyre.

Through the ripe harvest lies their destin'd road;

At every step beneath their feet they tread
She, with all a monarch's pride,

The life of multitudes, a nation's bread!
Felt them in her bosom glow;

Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ;

Before them, and behind a wilderness.
Dying hurl'd them at the foe.

Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son,

Attend to finish what the sword begun; “Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn Heav'n awards the vengeance due; And Folly pays, resound at your return. Empire is on us bestow'd,

A calm succeeds—but Plenty, with her train
Shame and ruin wait for you."

Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again,
And years of pining indigence must show
What scourges are the gods that rule below.

Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees,

(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease.) HEROISM.

Plies all the sinews of industrious toil,

Gleans up the refuse of the gen'ral spoil, THERE was a time when Ætna's silent fire Rebuilds the tow'rs, that smok'd upon the plain, Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire ; And the Sun gilds the shining spires again. When, conscious of no danger from below,

Increasing commerce and reviving art She tower'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow. Renew the quarrel on the conqu’ror's part; No thunders shook with deep intestine sound And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, The blooming groves, that girdled her around. That wealth within is ruin at the door.

What are ye, monarchs, laureld heroes, say, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd
But Ætnas of the suff'ring world ye sway? In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap,
Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd robe, 'Tis now become a hist'ry little known,
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ; That once we call'd the past'ral house our own.
And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar, Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair,
To prove you there destroyers as ye are.

That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,
O place me in some Heav'n-protected isle, Suill outlives many a storm, that has effac'd
Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; A thousand other themes less deeply tracd.
Where no volcano pours his fiery flood,

Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, No crested warrior dips his plume in blood ; That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid ; Where Pow'r secures what Industry has won; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, Where to succeed is not to he undone;

The biscuit, or confectionary plum; A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain,

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign! By thy own hand, ull fresh they shone and glow'd!

All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,

Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks, ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

That humor interpos'd too often makes;
OUT OF NORFOLK,

All this still legible in mem'ry's page,

And still to be so to my latest age,
THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANN BODHAM.

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
O that those lips had language! Life has pass'd Such honors to thee as my numbers may ;
Witn me but roughly since I heard thee last.

Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Those lips are thine-ihy own sweet smile I see, Not scorn'd in Heav'n, though lille notic'd here.
The same, that oft in childhood solac'd me;

Could Time, his flight revers’d, restore the hours Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flow's, “Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!" The violet, the pink, and jessamine, The meek intelligence of those dear eyes

I prick'd them into paper with a pin, (Blest be the art that can immortalize,

(And thou wast happier than myself the while, The art that bases Time's tyrannic claim

Wouldst sofily speak, and stroke my head, and smile;) To quench it,) here shines on me still the same. Could those few pleasant days again appear, Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,

Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? O welcome guest, though unexpected here ! I would not trust my heart—the dear delight Who bidd'st mc honor with an artless song, Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.Affectionate, a mother lost so long.

But no—what here we call our life is such, I will obey, not willingly alone,

So little to be lov'd, and thou so much, But gladly, as the precept were her own: That I should ill requite thee to constrain And, while that face renews my filial grief, Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,

(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd) A momentary dream that thou art she.

Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ?

There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,

Her beauteous form reflected clear below, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? While airs impregnated with incense play Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss ; Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; Perhaps a lear, if souls can weep in bliss— So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore, Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes.

" Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,"* I heard the bell tolld on thy burial day,

And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide
I saw the hearse, that bore thee slow away, of life long since has anchor'd by thy side.
And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!

Always from port withheld, always distress':-
But was it such ?-It was.—Where thou art gone, Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd,
Adieus and farewells are a sounil unknown. Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, And day by day some current's thwarting force
The parting word shall pass my lips no more! Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course.
Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern, Yet ( the thought, that thou art safe, and he !
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.

That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,

My boast is not, that I deduce my birth And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd.

From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the Earth; By expectation ev'ry day beguild,

But higher far my proud pretensions riseDupe of tomorrow even from a child.

The son of parents pass'd into the skies. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went And now, farewell-Time unrevok'd has run Till, all my stock of infant-sorrow spent,

His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. I learn'd at last submission to my lot,

By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot. I seem t'have liv'd my childhood o'er again ;

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor; Without the sin of violating thine ; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way,

Garth.

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As envy pines at good possess'd,
So jealousy looks forth distress'd

On good, that seems approaching; And, if success his steps attend, Discerns a rival in a friend,

And hates him for encroaching.

Hence authors of illustrious name, Unless belied by common fame,

Are sadly prone to quarrel, To deem the wit a friend displays A tax upon their own just praise,

And pluck each other's laurel.

A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free

With friendship's finest feeling ; Will thrust a dagger at your breast, And say he wounded you in jest,

By way of balm for healing.

Candid, and generous, and just,
Boys care but little whom they trust,

An error soon corrected
For who but learns in riper years,
That man, when smoothest he appears,

Is most to be suspected ?
But here again a danger lies,
Lest, having misapplied our eyes,

And taken trash for treasure,
We should unwarily conclude
Friendship a false ideal good,

A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition rather rare
Is yet no subject of despair;

Nor is it wise complaining,
If either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,

We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
That stands on sordid interest,

Or mean self-love erected; Nor such as may awhile subsist, Between the soi and sensualist,

For vicious ends connected. Who seek a friend should come dispos'd, T' exhibit in full bloom disclos'd

The graces and the beauties,
That form the character he seeks,
For 'tis a union that bespeaks

Reciprocated duties.
Mutual attention is implied,
And equal truth on either side,

And constantly supported :
"Tis senseless arrogance t'accuse
Another of sinister views,

Our own as much distorted.

Whoever keeps an open ear
For tattlers, will be sure to hear

The trumpet of contention ; Aspersion is the babbler's trade, To listen is to lend him aid,

And rush into dissension.

A friendship, that in frequent fits
Of controversial rage emits

The sparks of disputation,
Like Hand-in-Hand insurance plates,
Most unavoidably creates

The thought of conflagration.

Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as a needle to the Pole,

Their humor yet so various-
They manifest their whole life through
The needle's deviation too,

Their love is so precarious.

The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete ;

Plebeians must surrender,
And yield so much to noble folk,
It is combining fire with smoke,

Obscurity with splendor.

As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defin'd,

First fixes our attention ;
So manners decent and polite,
The same we practis'd at first sight,

Must save it from declension.

Some are so placid and serene,
(As Irish bogs are always green,)

They sleep secure from waking; And are indeed a bog, that bears Your unparticipated cares,

Unmov'd and without quaking.

Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their het'rogeneous politics

Without an effervescence,
Like that of salts with lemon-juice,
Which does not yet like that produce

A friendly coalescence.

Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of human life;

But friends that chance to differ
On points which God has left at large,
How freely will they meet and charge!

No combatants are stiffer.

Some act upon this prudent plan,
• Say litle, and hear all you can :"

Safe policy, but hateful-
So barren sands imbibe the show'r,
But render neither fruit nor flow'r,

Unpleasant and ungrateful.
The man I trust, if shy to me,
Shall find me as reserv'd as he ;

No subterfuge or pleading
Shall win my confidence again,
I will by no means entertain

A spy on my proceeding.
These samples—for alas! at last
These are but samples, and a taste

Of evils yet unmention'd-
May prove the task a task indeed,
In which 'tis much if we succeed,

However well-intention'd.
Pursue the search, and you will find
Good sense and knowledge of mankind

To be at least expedient,
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast,

A principal ingredient.
The noblest friendship ever shown
The Savior's history makes known,

Though some have turn'd and turn'd it
And, whether being craz'd or blind,
Or seeking with a biass'd mind,

Have not, it seems, disceru'd it.
O Friendship! if my soul forego
Thy dear delights while here below;

To mortify and grieve me,
May I myself at last appear
Unworthy, base, and insincere,

Or may my friend deceive me.

To prove at last my main intent
Needs no expense of argument,

No cutting and contriving-
Seeking a real friend, we seem
T' adopt the chymists' golden dream,

With still less hope of thriving.

Sometimes the fault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made known,

By trespass or omission ; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect long hid from sight,

And even from suspicion.

Then judge yourself and prove your man As circumspectly as you can,

And, having made election, Beware no negligence of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures,

Enfeeble his affection.

RETIREMENT.

Chat secrets are a sacred trust,
That friends should be sincere and just,

That constancy befits them,
Are observations on the case,
That savor much of commonplace,

And all the world admits them.

studiis florens ignobilis oti.

Virg. Georg p. iv.

But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone,

To finish a fine buildingThe palace were but half complete, If he could possibly forget

The carving and the gilding.

HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar

Which thousands, once fast chain’d to, quit no more
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego);
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er,

And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having liv'd a triller, die a man.

The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back

How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,

To pardon or to bear it.

Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, At such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd, And with a rapture like his own exclaim,
And calls a creature form'd for God alone,

“ These are thy glorious works, thou source of good
For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own, How dimly seen, how faintly understood !
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care,
From what debilitates, and what inflames,

This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; From cities humming with a restless crowd, Thy pow'r divine, and bounty beyond thought, Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,

Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrought.
Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, Absorb'd in that immensity I see,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, I shrink abas'd, and yet aspire to thee ;
Where works of man are cluster'd close around, Instruct me, guide me to that heav'nly day,
And works of God are hardly to be found, Thy words, more clearly than thy works, display,
To regions where, in spite of sin and woe, That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine,
Traces of Eden are still seen below,

I may resemble thee, and call thee mine."
Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove, O blest proficiency! surpassing all,
Remind him of his Maker's pow'r and love. That men erroneously their glory call,
"Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day,

The recompense that arts or arms can yield,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,

The bar, the senate, or the tented field, True wisdom will attend his feeble call,

Compar'd with this sublimest life below, And grace his action ere the curtain fall.

Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show? Souls, that have long despis'd their heav'nly birth, Thus studied, us’d and consecrated thus, Their wishes all impregnated with Earth,

On Earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us. For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care Not as the plaything of a froward child, In catching smoke and feeding upon air,

Fretful unless diverted and beguild, Conversant only with the ways of man,

Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.

Of pride, ambition, or impure desires, Invet'rale habits choke th' unfruitful heart, But as a scale, by which the soul ascends Their fibres penetrate its tend'rest part,

From mighty means to more important ends, And, draining its nutritious pow’rs to feed

Securely, though by steps but rarely frod, Their noxious growih, starve ev'ry better seed. Mounts from inferior beings up to God, Happy, is full of days—but happier far,

And sees, by no sallacious light or dim, If, ere we yet discern life's ev’ning-star,

Earth made for man, and man himself for him. Sick of the service of a world, that feeds

Not that I mean t'approve, or would enforce Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, A superstitious and monastic course : We can escape from Custom's idiot sway,

Truth is not local, God alike pervades To serve the Sov'reign we were born t' obey. And fills the world of traffic and the shades, Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, (Infinite skills in all tha: he has made !

Or scorn'd where business never intervenes.
To trace in Nature's most minute design

But 'tis not easy, with a mind like ours,
The signature and stamp of power divine, Conscious of weakness in its noblest pow'rs,
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,

And in a world, where, other ills apart,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees,

The roving eye misleads the careless heart, The shapely limb and lubricated joint,

To limit thought, by nature prone to stray Within the small dimensions of a point,

Wherever freakish fancy points the way; Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,

To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still, His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, Resign our own, and seek our Maker's will ; Th' invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, To spread the page of Scripture, and compare To whom an atom is an ample field ;

Our conduct with the laws engraven there ; To wonder at a thousand insect forms,

To measure all that passes in the breast, These hatcb'd and those resuscitated worms, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test; New lise ordaind and brighter scenes to share, To dive into the secret deeps within, Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, To spare no passion and no fav’rite sin, Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size, And search the themes, important above all, More hideous foes than fancy can devise ; Ourselves, and our recov'ry from our fall. With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adorn'd, But leisure, silence, and a mind releas'd The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increasy Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, How to secure in some propitious hour, Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth : The point of int’rest, or the post of pow's, Then with a glance of fancy to survey,

A soul serene, and equally retir'd Far as the faculty can stretch away,

From objects too much dreaded or desir'd, Ten thousand rivers pour d at his command Safe from the clamors of perverse dispute, From urns, that never fail, through ev'ry land ; At least are friendly to the great pursuit. These like a deluge with impetuous force,

Op'ning the map of God's extensive plan, Those winding modestly a silent course;

We find a little isle this life of man; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails ; Circling around and limiting his years. The Sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The busy race examine and explore The crescent Moon, the diadem of night;

Each creek and cavern of the dang'rous shore, Stars countless, each in his appointed place, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space

Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shell

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