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The country, destined the auspicious seat 82
Of future kings, and favour of the god,
Whose oath is sure, and promise stands eternal.
Or Boedromian hear'st thou pleased, or Clarian,
Phoebus, great king? for different are thy names,
As thy kind hand has founded many cities,
Or dealt benign thy various gifts to man.
Carnean let me call thee! for my country
Calls thee Carnean! the fair colony 90
Thrice by thy gracious guidance was transported,
Ere settled in Cyrene; there we appointed
Thy annual feasts, kind god, and bless thy altars
Smoking with hecatombs of slaughtered bulls;
As Carnus, thy high-priest and favoured friend,
Had erst ordained; and with mysterious rites,
Our great forefathers taught their sons to worship.
Iö Carnean Phoebus! I& Pean!
The yellow crocus there, and fair narcissus
Reserve the honours of their winter-store, 100
To deck thy temple; till returning spring
Diffuses nature's various pride; and flowers
Innumerable, by the soft south-west
Opened, and gathered by religious hands,
Rebound their sweets from the odoriferous pavement.
Perpetual fires shine hallowed on thy altars,
When annual the Carnean feast is held.
The warlike Libyans, clad in armour, lead
The dance! with clanging swords and shields they beat
The dreadful measure: in the chorus join 110
Their women, brown but beautiful: such rites
To thee well pleasing. Nor had yet thy votaries,
From Greece transplanted, touched Cyrene's banks,
And lands determined for their last abodes;
But wandered through Azilis' horrid forest

Dispersed; when from Myrtusa's craggy brow, 116
Fond of the maid, auspicious to the city,
Which must hereafter bear her favoured name,
Thou gracious deignst to let the fair one view
Her typic people; thou with pleasure taughtsther
To draw the bow, to slay the shaggy lion, 120
And stop the spreading ruin of the plains.
Happy the nymph, who honoured by thy passion,
Was aided by thy power! the monstrous Python
Durst tempt thy wrath in vain: for dead he fell,
To thy great strength and golden arms unequal.
Iö! while thy unerring hand elanced
Another, and another dart; the people
Joyfully repeated Ið! Iö Pean!
Elance the dart, Apollo: for the safety
And health of man, gracious thy mother bore thee.
Envy, thy latest foe, suggested thus: 131
Like thee I am a power immortal; therefore
To thee dare speak. How canst thou favour partial
Those poets who write little? Wast and great
Is what I love: the far-extended ocean
To a small rivulet I prefer. Apollo
Spurned Envy with his foot; and thus the god:
Demon, the head-long current of Euphrates,
Assyrian river, copious runs, but muddy,
And carries forward with his stupid force 140
Polluting dirt; his torrent still augmenting,
His wave still more defiled; meanwhile the nymphs
Melissan, sacred and recluse to Ceres,
Studious to have their offerings well received,
And fit for heavenly use, from little urns
Pour streams select, and purity of waters.
Iö! Apollo, mighty king, let Envy
Ill-judging and verbose, from Lethe's lake

Draw tuns unmeasurable; while thy favour 149
Administers to my ambitious thirst
The wholesome draught from Aganippe's spring
Genuine; and with soft murmurs gently rilling
Adown the mountains where thy daughters haunt.

CHARITY.

A PARAPHRASE ON THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER OF THE FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.

DID sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounced, or angels sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw
When Moses gave them Miracles and Law: 10
Yet gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer;
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A timbrel's sound were better than my voice,
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins, and gentle hand to guide,
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride. 20
Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings, wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;

Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even, 25
And opens in each heart a little Heaven.
Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bound, and due restriction knows;
To one fixed purpose dedicates its power,
And, finishing its act, exists no more. 30
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass
Our eye observes the distant planets pass;
A little we discover; but allow,
That more remains unseen, than art can show: 40
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above)
High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirmed by Hope:
Yet are we able only to survey
Dawnings of beams, and promises of day.
Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispelled;
The sun shall soon be face to face beheld, 50
In all his robes with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.
Then constant faith, and holy hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in joy;
Whilst thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office, and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,

Shalt still survive———
Shalt stand before the host of Heaven confessed,
For ever blessing, and for ever blessed.

ENGRAVEN ON A COLUMN
IN THE CHURCH OF HALSTEAD IN ESSEX."

1 WIEw not this spire by measure given
To buildings raised by common hands:
That fabric rises high as Heaven,
Whose basis on devotion stands.

2. While yet we draw this vital breath,
We can our faith and hope declare;
But Charity beyond our death
Will ever in our works appear.

3 Best be he called among good men,
Who to his God this column raised:
Though lightning strike the dome again,
The man who built it shall be praised.

4 Yet spires and towers in dust shall lie, The efforts weak of human pains;

And faith and hope themselves shall die;
While deathless charity remains.

WRITTEN IN MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS,

GIVEN TO THE DUKE OF SHREWSBURY IN FRANCE, AFTER THE PEACE, MDCCXIII. 1 DICTATE, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen Of cities, and of courts, of books, and men; And deign to let thy servant hold the pen. * The spire of this church was burned down by lightning.

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