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Thy coward heart belies thy daring tongue!"
He spoke, and drove his weighty spear along;
The failing mischief on the buckler fung.
• Not fo Polyphon fent his faithful dart,

• The speedy vengeance reach'd the hero's heart;
• Down fell the knight, his clanging arms rebound,
And his proud foul came rufhing thro' the wound.
Lycander faw, but turn'd his eyes away,

• Where in the duft the mighty foldier lay;

• Then, like a whirlwind, rush'd the youth along. And fought his brother in the hostile throng: Polyphon's: fpear his frantick hand arrefts,

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And hurl'd the weapon at it's owner's breast;
The miffive Death deceiv'd his bloody hand;
It's thirsty point lay shiver'd in the fand;
• Sufpenfe and horror held the martial crew,
And the fick moon receiv'd a paler hue;

• The stars retir'd from the hated fight,

• And wrapp'd their glories in the clouds of night,
• Polyphon cried, "O ftay thy hostile arm!
"The name of brother wears a potent charm:
"Our mother did in youth's fair bloom expire,
"And left us infants to our tender fire;
"And till Sophinia blew this deadly flame,
"Our fears were equal, and our hopes the fame;
"The fame our pleasures, and the like our woes ;
We flept together, and as fondly rofe."

"Then let, O let not murd'rous rage divide
"Our hearts, but lay those threat'ning arms afide!
* Let ranc'rous hate possess our fouls no more!
"Thou to her friends the beauteous maid restore!
"Then let her voice our rival caufe decide,
"And him fhe favours wed the smiling bride!"
⚫ He faid; but rage had stopp'd Lycander's cars:
"Bafe flave!" he cry'd, "thou child of
puny

}

fears,

"Not

"Not Laon's fon, thy foul disclaims her race;
"My mother ne'er produc'd a thing fo base!
"Some fairy elf, or treach'rous nurfe, beguil'd
"My fleeping parents of their lawful child;
"Then in his place her dunghill offspring laid,
"And my young brother to her hut convey'd:
"This was thy mother coarser than her fate,
"And thou the fon of her plebeian mate."
Here ceas'd the youth-for action spoke the reff,
And hurl'd a jav'lin at Polyphon's breaft;
His fhield receiv'd it with a smart rebound,
The miffive weapon trembled on the ground;
• Now hand to hand the rival youths engage;
⚫ Lycander burn'd with more than mortal rage:
• Black fury roll'd in each relentless eye;
• Both fought to conquer, or refolv'd to die.

• But now Lycander, tho' with hate inspir'd,

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4

By fits was fainting, and by fits respir'd.

• Polyphon's fword a fatal paffage found

• Beneath his arm, a deep and ghaftly wound;

Stagg'ring, he dropp'd, and grafp'd the bloody ground.

• Yet, as he liv'd, without a groan he fell;

Nor drew a figh, but only cried, ""Tis well!
"'Tis well! my fury with my life shall end:
"Farewel, my brother! and, at last, my friend!
"By our dear parent fee me quickly laid;

"Be thine the conqueft, thine the beauteous maid!"
• He paus'd; and then, with feebler accent, cries,
"My friends, farewel!" and clos'd his swimming eyes.
• The mourning victor, bending o'er the flain,

Effay'd to raise him, but effay'd in vain ;
His failing arms refign'd their feeble hold,
And drops of horror from his temples roll'd:
• From each cold cheek the blushing beauty flies,
And the ground danc'd before his dazzled eyes.

}

* The

The weeping youths, with friendly force, divide
The gentle mourner from his brother's fide;
Then friends and foes, united, gather round,
And lift the bleeding body from the ground.
Some rais'd the drooping head, and others prefs'd
Their careful arms around his manly breast:
Tho' with black duft and hoftile crimson ftain'd,
It's native fierceness ftill the face retain❜d;
Back on his fhoulders fell his graceful hair,
And the bold features wore a fcornful air.
Now all too late the rash adventure blame;

• Pale Conqueft figh'd, and loath'd her hated name :
< From the black towers their folemn fteps return,
And both the victors and the vanquish'd mourn.”

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A

BY THE REV. MR. MAVOR.

MID the variegated scene

Of bloffoms, flowers, and herbage green;

Where twining fhrubs enamour'd grow,

And oaks adorn the mountain's brow;
Enraptur'd let me tune the lay,

And fing of Nature, ever gay.

Celestial goddess! firft of things,
When Time outspread his ardent wings!
Who erft poffefs'd the fpacious ball,
Rever'd, ador'd, and lov'd by all;
Ere Art, proud Art, with mimick grace,
Obfcur'd thy plan, or marr'd thy face;
Or dar'd deform thy holy reign,

And mix it's monfters with thy train!
3 H

Wile

Wilt thou vouchfafe to aid the lay,
That strives thy beauties to difplay;
And o'er the warblings of the Mufe,
The fpirit of thy charms diffufe?
Whether the craggy cliff, or dale,
The purling ftream, or flow'ry vale,
The moffy bank, or fhelly fhore,

Or Whichwood's glooms, delight thee more;
O hear a fond enthufiaft's figh,
And fee his tear-in: pearled eye,
Becaufe rude Art ufurps thy throne,

And wears thofe honours once thine own!
Come, lead me thro' thy blefs'd abodes,
The feats of innocence and gods;

Where green-rob'd Dryads gambol round;
Where dove-ey'd Peace and Health are found;
Where neat Simplicity retires,

And Friendship lights her pureft fires;

Where hoary Faith, and mutual Love,
In unifon delight to move:"

For all that's noble, facred, fair,

Muft fhine in brighteft luftre there!
When Phoebus firft, with golden beam,
Teaches the foreft's top to gleam;
Or when, amid his fervid course,
On panting herds he pours his force;
Or when, at dew-befprinkled eve,
He courts the finooth Atlantick wave;
With thee, O Nature! let me rove,
And find thy form in ev'ry grove;
Still on thy lovely features gaze,
And eye thy walks and devious ways!
Smiles aught below devoid of thee?
Ah! no; thy charms are all to me.
If rapt by Fancy's magick power,
Where forms engage each joylefs hour,

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Το

To marble domes, and fplendid courts,
Where Art, deep mask'd, performs her sports;
How would I mourn thy rites prophan'd!
Thy name abus'd, thy visage ftain'd!
And Art exerting each grimace,

To mime the beauties of thy face;
Affecting graces thine alone:

For grace and beauty are thy own!

Unhappy great! to Nature foes;
How sweet the pleafures that you lofe!
Can tinfel pomp, and equipage,
Your giddy minds fo ftrong engage?
Can gilded mifery, ftate, and noise,
Be deem'd the fummit of your joys?
Ill-fated race! borne down the stream,
By polish'd Manners' fpecious name,
You facrifice the tranquil hour
Το pageantry and empty power;
Forfeit the dulcet fmiles of bliss,
Formad Ambition's harlot kifs;
And banish Nature's fimple charms,
To fold Art's fopperies in your arms.

Can fplendid domes, and gay alcoves,
Compare with verdant waving groves
Can Perfian carpets richest dye
With Nature's velvet vefture vie?
Mantles fo bright the vinous bowl,
Round which disease and furies howl;
As chryftal fprings, and limpid rills,
Purling adown the laughing hills?
Or breathes fo fweet the lulling lute,
And foft meanders of the flute;
As love-fick Philomela's lay,

Join'd with the concert of each spray,

When young-ey'd Spring awakes the year,
And chorifters the woodland cheår?

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