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Tho' strange befeems, that arts should spread
Where frowns black Slavery's baleful shade;
And stranger far, that arts decay

Where Freedom deals her warmest ray.
This, then, deny'd, I'll fwift retreat,
Where Camus wirds with murmur fweet:
There teach me, piercing Locke, t'explore
The bufy mind's ideal ftore;

There, heaven-rapt Newton, guide my way
'Mid rolling worlds, thro' floods of day,
To mark the vagrant comet's road,
And thro' his wonders trace the God.
Then, to unbend my mind, I'll roam
Amidst the cloifters filent gloom;

Or, where rank'd oaks their shades diffuse,
Hold dalliance with my darling mufe,
Recalling oft fome heav'n-born strain,
That warbled in Auguftan reign;
Or turn well pleas'd the Grecian page,
If fweet Theocritus engage,
Or blythe Anacreon, mirthful wight,
Carol his eafy love-lay light.
Yet let not all my pleasure lie
Confin'd to one Phoebeian joy;
But ever give my fingers wings,
Lightly to skim the trembling ftrings,
And from fome bower to tune the lay;
While lift'ning birds croud every spray,
Or hovering filent o'er my head,
Their quivering wings exulting spread;
Save but the turtles, they alone
With tender, plaintive, faithful moan,
Shall tell to all the fecret grove,

Their foft thick-warbled tale of love:

Sweet birds! your mingling blifs pursuing,
Ever billing, ever cooing;

Ye,

Ye, constant pair! I love to note

Your hoarse strain, gurgling in your throat;
And ye, unheard from fide-long hills,
The liquid lapse of whisp'ring rills,
I hift to hear: fuch sounds diffuse
Sweet tranfports to the thoughtful Mufe.
Thus Summer fees me brisk and light,
Till Winter spreads her 'kerchief white;
Then to the city's focial walls,

Where tolling clock to business calls.
There the weaver's shuttle speeds
Nimbly thro' the fine-fpun threads;
There the vocal anvil rings,

While the smith his hammer fwings;
And every man, and every boy,
Brifkly join in warm employ.

Thro' fuch throng'd fcenes full oft I'll range,
Oft croud into the rich Exchange;

Or to yon wharf, afide the moat,
Where the anchor'd fhips do float,
And others, haftening into bay,
Swell their fails in fair array;
Wafting to Albion's fons the ftore
That each Peruvian mine can pour;
Wafting to Albion's fmiling dames
The ruby's glow, the diamond's flames,
Till all the Indies rufh into the Thames.
Joys vaft as these my fancy claims;
And joys like these if Peace inspire,
Peace, with thee I ftring the lyre.

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AN ELEGY.

WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF AN ABBEY.

BY MR. JERNINGHAM.

WHERE fighs the zephyr to yon lonely tree,

WHI

A folemn grove it's leafy mantle spread: Where bend yon moulderin g turrets o'er the fea, A venerable dome once rear'd it's head.

The folemn grove, the venerable dome,
Were erft frequented by a numerous train,
E'en chafte as they who Dian's mountain roam,
But not fubjected to her gentle reign.

Far other goddess did this train obey,
Far other temples, other altars rais'd;
Far other meaning breath'd their choral lay,
Far other incenfe on their altars blaz'd.

Veil'd Superftition wak'd her magick found,
Bade Albion's fons forfake the fplendid court,
Forfake Amufement's variegated round,

And to her fable standard here refort.

Alas! obfequious to her ftern command,

A fullen-penfive brotherhood they came; Refus'd to trace the paths by Nature plann'd,

And raz'd from glory's page their ancient name.

Nor thefe alone were found incloifter'd here,

Here also dwelt the fimple-minded fwain,

Who, wrapp'd in floth, dream'd out the lazy year,
While Industry fat weeping on the plain!

The

The many temples rifing fair to view,

Which towering Superftition call'd her own,
With hand unerring radiant Truth o'erthrew,
And fnatch'd th' impoftor from her tinfell'd throne.

On yon duft-levell'd fpire the crafty majd,
With indignation brooding in her breast,
Sits gloomily; her votaries all are fled,

Her lamps extinguish'd, and her rites fupprefs'd:

Within her hand a vacant string she holds,
That once connected many a hallow'd bead;
The blotted fcroll the other hand unfolds,
Contain'd the maxims of her flighted creed.

Couch'd at her feet, behold a mouldering fhrine,
(Of various relicks once the dread abode)
Where runs the spider o'er his treacherous line,
Where lurks the beetle, and the loathfome toad.

On darkness' wing now fails the midnight hour;
When, for the grateful found of choral prayer,
The fhrieking owl, from yon difparted tower,

With notes of horror wakes her trembling ear.

Of human grandeur mark the fleeting day,

1

How frail each purpose, and each with how vain! The ftrong-built domes, the cloifter'd fanes decay, And ruin hovers round the defart scene.

The path that leads to yonder shatter'd pile
Is now perplex'd with many a fordid brier:
No crowd is feen within the facred aifle,

The fabbath mourns it's long-deferted choir.

The

The golden crozier blended with the duft

In horrid folds the ferpent clafps around:
The powerful image, and the fainted buft,
Defam'd, unhallow'd, prefs the weedy ground,

Not diftant far, her gold encircled tower
Th' inviolable dame majestick rear'd,

On whofe dread altar breath'd fome hidden power,.
By terror guarded, and by kings rever'd:

To which afylum ev'n th' affaffin came,
(His hand audacious ftill embru'd with gore)
The boon of full impunity to claim,

While feeble Juftice wept her baffled lore.

So Truth at once diffolv'd the mental chain,
And banish'd Error from th' enlighten'd shore;
So clos'd at length the bufy-acted scene,

The curtain dropp'd, and Folly's mask was o'er.

The gladfome Ceres rais'd her drooping head,
(While yellow harvests gilt the smiling plain)
Beheld a youthful band around her spread,

With fickles arm'd to reap the bearded grain.

The warrior, then, beneath the trailing vest,
The peaceful caffock, or the drowsy cowl,
No longer quench'd the flame within his breaft,
Or lull'd the purpose of his daring foul:

But rufh'd undaunted to the doubtful war,
Purfu'd where Glory led the radiant way;

Till Neptune, rifing on his coral car,
Refign'd his wat'ry world to Britain's fway.

The

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