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Th’ applause of lift'ning fenates to command,
'The threats of pain and ruiu to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbade to wade through flaughter to a throne,
And Mut the gates of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide;
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame;
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride,
With incense kindled at the muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble frife,
Their rober wishes never learn'd to ftray ;
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. -
Yet even these bones, from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still epected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and shapeless Iculpture deck's,
Implores the passing tribute of a figh.
Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd muse;
The place of fame and elegy supply ;
And many a holy text around the firews,
That teach the rustic moralift to die. -
For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, -
This pleasing anxious being e'er relign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,..
No cast one longing ling'ring look behind ?:
On some fond breast the parting foul relies,
Seme pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries, ,
Ev'n 'in our afhes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead,,
Doft in these lines their artless tale relate,
If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit fhall inquire thy fate,
Haply, some hoary-headed fwain may saym.
Oft have, we seen him, at the peep of dawn,
Brushing, with hafty steps, the dews away, • To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots to high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And.pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, • Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; . 6-Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, “Or craz'd with care, or crois'd in hopless love. "One morn I 'miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill, • Along the heath, and near his fav’rite tree; • Another came, nor yet beside the rill, Nor vp the lawn, nor at the wood was he: "The next, with dirges due, in fad array, "Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne
Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay, .
Gravid on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'
HERE’refts his head upon the lap of Earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,,
And Melancholy mark”d him for her own. .
Large was his bounty, and his foul sincere : :
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send,
gave to mis’ry all he hadmod tear; He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wilh'd)-a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclote, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they, alike, in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and-h s God.
XI. Scipio restoring the Captive Lady to her Lover. WHEN, to his glorious first essay in war,
New Carthage fell; 'there, all the flower of Spain Were kept in hoftage; a full field presenting For Scipio's generosity to shine. --A noble virgin, Conspicuous far o'er all the captive dames,
Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blushd;
Young, fresh, and blooming like the morn. An eye,
As when the blue sky trembles through a cloud
Of pureit white. A secret charm combin'd
Her features, and infus'd inchantment through them.
Her hape was harmony.-But eloquence
Beneath her beauty fails; which seem'd on purpose
By nature lavith'd on her, that mankind
Might see the virtue of a hero tried
Almost beyond the stretch of human force.
Soft as the pass’d along, with downcast eyes,
Where gentle sorrow Twell’d, and, now and then;.
Dropp'd o'er her modeft cheeks a trickling tear,
The Roman legions languillid, and hard war
Felt more than pity : even their chief himself,
As on his high tribunal rais'd he sat,
Tarn'd from the dangerous fight; and, chiding, ask'd-
His officers, if by this gift they meant
To cloud his glory in its very dawn.
She, queftion'd of her birth, in trembling accents,
With tears and blushes, broken, told her tale.
But, when he found her royally descended
Of her old captive parents the sole joy ;
And that a hapless Celtiberian prince,
Her lover and belov’d, forgot his chains,
His loft dominions, and for her alone
Wept out his tender soul; fudder the heart
Of this young, conquering, loving, godlike Roman,
Felt all the
divinity of virtue.
His wishing youth stood check’d, his tempting power,
Restrain’d by kind humanity.--At once
He for her parents and her lover call'd.
The various scene imagine. How his troops
Look'd dubious on, and wonder'd what he meant; :
While, ftretch'd below, the trembling suppliants lay,
Rack'd by a thousand mingling pafsions-fear, ,
Hope, jealousy, disdain; fubmifsion, grief,
Anxiety, and love in every shape.
To these as different sentiments succeeded,,
As mix'd emotions, when the man divine
Thus the dread silence to the lover broke, :
We both are young; both charm'd. The right of war?
213 Has put thy beauteous mistress in my power ; With whom I could, in the mott sacred ties, Live out a happy life. But, know, that Romans, Their hearts, as well as enemies can conquer. Then, take her to thy soul : and, with her, take Thy liberty and kingdom, In return, I alk but this when you behold these eyes, These charms with transport, be a friend to Rome,". Ecttatic wonder held the lovers mute ; While the loud camp, and all the clust'ring crowd That hung around, rang with repeated houts. Fame took the alarm, and through resounding Spain Blew fast the fair report; which, more than arms, Admiring wations to the Romans gain'd. Xil. Pope's humorous Complaint to Dr Arbuthnot of the
Impertinence of Scribblers. SHUT, shut the door, good john Sfatigu'd, I said: Tie
up the knocker ; lay, l'ın fick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages ! nay, 'tis pait a doubt,
All bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, ali madden round the land.
Wha: walls can guard me, or whar fhades can hide ?
They pierce iny thickets ; through my grot they glide :
By land, by water, they renew the charge ;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is sacred; not the chis ch is free ;
Even Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me :
Then, from the mint walks forth the man of rhyme
" Happy to catch me--jult at dinner-time."
Friend to my life! (which did not you prolung,
The world had wanted many an idle fong)
What drop or noftrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire cileanna Seither way I'm fped:
If foes, they write ; if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd and tied down to judge, bow wretched 1!
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.
To lauglı were want of goodness and of grace ;
And to be grave exceeds all pow's of face..
I fit with fad civility ;. I read
With serious anguish and an aching head :
Then drop at last, but in unwilling ears,
This saving counsel" Keep your piece nine years."
• Nine years !" (cries he, who, high in Drury-Lane,
Lulld by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before ierm ends,
Oblig'd by hunger and request of friends);
· The piece, you think, is incorrect. Why, take it :
I'm all fubmission ; what you'd have it, make it.”
Three things another's modest wishes bound
My friendship, and a prologne, and'ren pound.
Pitholeon sends to me." You know his Grace :
I want a patron—ask him for a place.”
“ Pitholeon libelld me"." But here's a letter
Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better."
Bless me! a packer !" "Tis a stranger fues ;
A virgin-tragedy, an orphan musę.''
W I didike it. Furies, death, and rage !"
}f I approve-" Commend it to the stage."
whole.com mission ends : The play’rs and I are, luckily, no friends. Fir'd that the house reject him-“ 'Sdeath! I'll print it, And fhame tbe fools--Your int'rest, Sir, with Linuot. " Lintot (dull rogue!) will think your price too much." “ Not if you, Str, revise it and retouch.' All my
demurs but double his attacks :
At last he whispersm" Do, and we go fnacks."
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door-
me see you and your works no more."
There are wlio to my person pay their couit:
I cough like Horace ; and, though lean, am fhort :
son one shoulder had too high ;
Such Ovid's nose ; and" Sir, you have an eye."
Go on, obliging creatures; make me fee
All that disgrac'd my betters met in me.
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Just fo immortal Maro held bis head;
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer died-three thousand years ago.