How, when fond thoughts the pleafing theme purfue,
Does anxious Doubt thus terminate the view* !

All powerful, juft, all merciful, and wise;
Whose piercing eye each fecret fraud detects;
Whose wisdom governs, and whose care directs;
That Time nor Fate hath in confufion hurl'd

The beauty, order, grandeur of the world.

Hence, where fome mountain, awful to the fight †,
Rears it's rude fummit to yon realms of light,
Let humble prayer, propitiating the sky,
The body proftrate, or uplift the eye;
There glad thanksgiving grateful altars raife!
There choral Pæans fwell the fong of praise!
Let no corruption near thy palace spread,
Nor dire Oppreffion rear her iron head.
There heaven-born virtues fhall attract the fight,
Peace, Love, and Charity, divinely bright;
There Bounty, guided by Discretion's hand ‡,
Shall deal her favours to a grateful land;

There Truth fhall fmile, in awful ftate enfhrin'd,
The fair resemblance of th' Eternal Mind;
There Mercy fhall vouchsafe her milder word,
There Juftice brandish her impartial sword;

*The notions of the wifet heathens concerning a future state were mixed with fuch doubts and uncertainties, that the strongest expreffions of their philofophers upon this fubject are little better than mere fcepticism, when compared to the difcoveries of the gofpel, which alone has brought life and immortality to their fulleft light.

The Perfians generally performed their religious exercises in the open air, on high places; thinking it derogatory from the majesty of the Deity, to fhut that God up within walls, who should have the earth for his altar, and the whole world for his temple.

It is a fine compliment that Pliny pays to the munificence of the Emperor Trajan: Augeo principis munus, quum oftendo liberalitati ejus inesse rationem.

Shall

Shall right the injur'd, and the weak defend,

Each orphan's guardian, and each widow's friend.

Pursue, great prince, pursue th' important plan;

Be fear'd as monarch, but be lov'd as man.

And when my foul, fair tenant, flies away
From this frail manfion mould'ring to decay,
No costly pile with funeral grandeur burn,
Nor cull my ashes for the pompous urn;
Far other honours let these relicks have;
The low-delv'd chamber of some filent grave:
Where, when our gloomy long abode we fix,
The human particles with earthly mix,
Whilft beyond Fate and Fortune's fartheft line,
For ever lives the particle divine.

Yet make my tomb to future ages known,
And with a modest verse inscribe the ftone *:
The verse shall preach fome moral truth to man-
That fortune's various, or that life's a span;
That vain the pomp and pageantry of state,
That weak the mighty, and that frail the great;
Grandeur a bubble! honours empty all!

That heroes perish, and that monarchs fall.

And now, my friends, receive the parting view!
Prefs my
chill'd hand, and bid the laft adieu!
Call my dear Perfians round the folemn bier,
And you, my fellow-foldiers t,

, you be there!

* Plutarch tells us, that Alexander, upon his first coming into Afa, found the fepulchre of Cyrus infcribed with an epitaph; and was exceedingly affected with so serious a leffon upon the inftability of all human affairs.

Cyrus's remarkable humanity, munificence, and affability, to his foldiery, are frequently mentioned by Xenophon; his harangues to them, before any military enterprize, are particularly fine; himself and his whole army went to prayers, fung an hymn, and performed other duties to Heaven, before and after battle, and always made the firft onfet in the name of ZeuS Swing naι Hysμoy; that is, his country god, the protector and leader.

With me who brav'd Arabia's pathless lands,
Bleak Scythia's coafts, and India's burning fands;
While ftrew'd on heaps around the foaming fteed,
Or groan'd th' Affyrian, or expir'd the Mede,
Brave troops! by whom, as Heaven protecting led,
Great Cræfus fell, and proud Belshazzar bled,
But now,
frail Health, how wan thy roses seem !
In flower currents flows the purple ftream:
No more this breast with martial rage shall glow,
Nor rush all vengeance on the adverse foe;
No more this arm the flaming faulchion wield,
Or gather laurels from the well-fought field!
No more for fee the dire disease prevail,
My nerves all tremble, all my spirits fail!
Ah! why thofe cries? fee lovely Reason near
To calm the foul, and wipe off every tear!
O! rather all your wonted joys renew!
If life I leave, I leave it's troubles too:
For, if my happy foul to God afcends,
Or in mere nothing if my being ends,
Death foon fhall waft me to fome unknown shore,
Where labours end, and forrows are no more:
Where patriot heroes in the peaceful shade,
No factions threaten, and no foes invade;
Where long oblivion, ending anxious ftrife,
Stills the wild hurry of a noify life;

Or where all joys with heart-felt ease abound,
Whilft youthful spring for ever blooms around.
Come then, dear pledges of connubial joy;
Come, give the fond embrace, and let me die:
Next, to your mother all this fcene impart *;

How will it wound, fad tale! her tender heart!

*Cyrus married the daughter of Cyaxares; who was a very beautiful young princefs, and had the kingdom of Medea for her portion.

Hey

Her heart by grief too delicately mov'd,
For ever loving, and for ever lov'd.

Ah! now what ease employs her softer hours,

Near murm'ring fountains, or in cooling bowers,
At Sufa's royal court? what princely care

Far from her dying lord detains my fair?

Where now that tongue, that never ceas'd to charm?
Where the soft smile that fickness could disarm ?
Or where the hands my weary eyes to close,
The laft kind office in my last repose?

How oft I nam'd her with my latest breath,'
How blefs'd her absent, in the midst of death,
Ye confcious skies, ye lights celeftial, tell!
Farewel, O lovelieft of thy fex, farewel!
Farewel, my chiefs, in my example fee

What monarch, general, patriot, friend, should be,

ROXANA TO US BECK.

FROM LES LETTRES PERSANNES.

BY LORD HERVEY.

Roxana, one of Ufbeck's wives, was found (whilft he was in Europe) in bed with her lover, whom she had privately let into the feraglio. The guardian eunuch who discovered them had the man murdered on the fpot, and her clofe guarded till he received inftructions from his mafter how to difpofe of her. During that interval she swallowed poison, and is supposed to write the following letter whilst she is dying.

HINK not I write my innocence to prove,

TH

To fue for pity, or awake thy love;

No mean defence expect, or abject prayers,

Thou know'ft no mercy, and I know no tears:

I laugh

I laugh at all thy vengeance has decreed,
Avow the fact, and glory in the deed.

Yes, tyrant! I deceiv'd thy spies and thee;
Pleas'd in oppreffion, and in bondage free;
The rigid agents of thy cruel laws
By gold I won to aid my jufter cause ;
With dext'rous skill eluded all thy care,
And acted more than jealousy could fear:
To wanton bow'rs this prison-house I turn'd,

And blefs'd that abfence which you thought I mourn'd.
But fhort those joys allow'd by niggard Fate,

Yet fo refin'd, fo exquifitely great,

That their excefs compenfated their date.

I die; already in each burning vein

I feel the pois'nous draught, and bless the pain:
For what is life unless it's joys we prove?
And where is joy, depriv'd of what we love?
Yet, ere I die, this juftice I have paid
To my dear murder'd lover's injur'd shade:
Thofe facrilegious inftruments of power,
Who wrought that ruin these fad eyes deplore,
Already with their blood their crimes atone,
And for his life have facrific'd their own.

Thee, tho' reftraint and absence may defend
From my revenge, my curfes ftill attend:
Defpair like mine, barbarian! be thy part;
Remorfe afflict, and forrow fting thy heart.

Nor think this hate commencing in my breast,
Tho' prudence long it's latent force suppress'd;
I knew those wrongs that I was forc'd to bear,
And curs'd those chains injuftice made me wear.

For couldst thou hope Roxana to deceive
With idle tales, which only fools believe?
Poor abject fouls, in fuperstition bred,
In ignorance train'd, by prejudice misled;

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