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Hence, all ye impious slaves, that bow To idol lusts, or aitars raise, And to false heroes give fantastic praise! And hence, ye gods, who to a crime your spurious beinks owe' But hear, O Heaven, and Earth, and Seas profound ! Hear, ye fathom'd Deeps below, And let your echoing vaults repeat the sound; Let Nature, trembling all around, Attend her Master's awful name, From whom Heaven, Earth, and Seas, and all the wide Creation came.

He spoke the great command; and Light, Heaven's eldest-born and fairest child, Flash'd in the lowering face of ancient Night, And, pleas'd with its own birth, serenely simil’d. The sons of Morming, on the wing, Hovering in choirs, his praises sung, When, from the unbounded vacuous space, A beauteous rising World they saw, When Nature show'd her yet unfinish'd face, And Motion took th” establish’d law To roll the various globes on high; When Time was taught his infant wings to try, And from the barrier sprung to his appointed race.

Supreme, Almighty, still the same ! 'Tis he, the great inspiring Mind, That animates and moves this universal frame, Present at once in all, and by no place confin'd. Not Heaven itself can bound his sway; Beyond th' untravell'd limits of the sky, Invisible to mortal eye, He dwells in uncreated day. Without beginning, without end; 'tis he That fills th’ unmeasur'd growing orb of vast immensity.

what power but his can rule the changeful Main, And wake the skeping Storin, or its loud rage restrain : When Winds their gather'd forces try, And the chaf’d Ocean proudly swells in vain, His voice reclaims th’ impetuous roar; In murmuring tides th’ abated billows fly, And the spent tempest dies upon the shore. The meteor world is his, Heaven's wintry stere, The moulded hail, the feather'd snow; The summer breeze, the soft refreshing shower, The loose divided cloud, and many-colour'd bow; The crooked lightning darts around, His sovereign orders to fulfil; The shooting flame obeys th' Eternal will, Launch'd from his hand, instructed where to kill, Or rive the mountain oak, or blast th' unshelter'd

ground.

Yet, pleas'd to bless, indulgent to supply, He, with a father's tender care, Supports the numerous family That peoples earth, and sea, and air. From Nature's giant race, th’ enormous elephant, Ikown to the insect worm and creeping ant; From th' eagle, sovereign of the sky, . To each inferior feather'd brood ; From crowns and purple majesty, To humble shepherds on the plain, He hand unseen, divides to all their food, Aid the whole world of life sustains. ,

At one wide view his eye surveys His works, in every distant cline; He shifts the seasons, months, and days, The short-liv'd offspring of revolving Time; By turns they die, by turns are born. Now cheerful Spring the circle leads, And strows with flowers the smiling meads; Gay Summer next, whom russet robes adorn, And waving fields of yellow corn; Then Autumn, who with lavish stores the lap of Nature spreads; Decrepit Winter, laggard in the dance, (Like feeble Age oppress'd with pain) A heavy season does maintain, With driving snows, and winds, and rain; Till Spring, recruited to advance, The various year rolls round again.

But who, thou great Ador'd! who can withstand The terrours of thy lifted hand, When, long provok'd, thy wrath awakes, And conscious Nature to her centre shakes? Rais'd by thy voice, the thunder flies, Hurling pale Fear and wild Confusion round, How dreadful is th' inimitable sound, The shock of Earth and Seas, and labour of the Skies! Then where's Ambition's haughty crest? Where the gay head of wanton Pride? See tyrants fall, and wish the opening ground. Would take them quick to shades of rest, And in their common parent's breast, From thee, their bury'd forms for ever hide? In vain—for all the elements conspire, The shatter'd Earth, the rushing Sea, Tempestuous Air, and raging Fire, To punish vile mankind, and fight for thee; Nor Death itself can intercept the blow, Eternal is the guilt, and without end the woe,

O Cyrus' Alexander! Julius' all
Ye mighty Lords, that ever rul'd this ball !
Once gods of Earth, the living destinies.
That made a hundred natious bow !
Where's your extent of empire now!
Say, where preserv'd your phantom Glory lies?
Can brass the fleeting thing secure?
Enshrin'd in temples does it stay 2
Or in huge amphitheatres endure
The rage of rolling Time, and scorm decay
Ah, no! the mouldering monuments of Fame
Your vain deluded hopes betray,
Nor show th’ ambitious founder's name,
Mix'd with yourselves in the same mass of clay,

Proceed, my Muse! Time's wasting thread pursue,
And see, at last, th’ unravell'd clue,
When cities sink, and kingdoms are no more,
And weary Nature shall her work give o'er.
Behold th' Almighty Judge on high .
See in his hand the book of Fate!
Myriads of spirits fill the sky
To attend, with dread solemnity,
The World's last scene, and Time's concluding
date.
The feeble race of short-liv'd Vanity,
And sickly Pomp, at once shall die!
Foul Guilt to midnight caves will shrink away,
Look back, and tremble in her flight,
And curse at Heaven's pursuing light,
Surrounded with the vengeance of that day,

How will youthen, ye impious, 'scape your doom,
Self-judg’d, abandon'd, overcome *
Your clouds of painted bliss shall melt before your
sight.
Yet shall you not the giddy chase refrain,
Nor hope more solid bliss to obtain,
Nor once repeat the joys you knew before;
But sigh, a long eternity of pain,
Tost in an ocean of desire, yet never find a shore.

But see where the mild Sovereign sits prepar'd
His better subjects to reward!
Where am I now! what power divine
Transports me! what immortal splendours shine'
Torrents of glory that oppress the sight!
What joys, celestial King! thy throne surround !
The Sun, who, with thy borrow'd beams so bright,
Sees not his peer in all the starry round,
Would here, diminish'd, fade away,
Like his pale sister of the night,
When she resigns her delegated light,
Lost in the blaze of day.
Here wonder only can take place;—
Then, Muse, th' adventurous slight forbear!
These mystic scenes thou canst no farther trace;
Hope may some boundless future bliss embrace,
But what, or when, or how, or where,
Are mazes all, which Fancy runs in vain;
Nor can the narrow cells of human brain
The vast immeasurable thought contain.

TO MR. ADDISON, on his traCedy of CAT0.

Though Cato shines in Virgil's epic song,
Prescribing laws among th' Elysian throng;
Though Lucan's verse, exalted by his maine,
O'er gods themselves has rais'd the hero's fame;
The Roman stage did ne'er his image see,
Drawn at full length; a task reserv'd for thee.
by thee we view the finish'd figure rise,
And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;
We hear his voice, asserting Virtue's cause;
Iłis fate, renew’d, our deep attention draws,
Excites, by turns, out various hopes and fears,
And all the patriot in thy scene appears.

On Tyber's bank thy thought was first inspir’d;
*Twas there, to some indulgent grove retir’d,
Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,
Thy happy Muse this manly work design'd :
Or, in a dream, thou saw'st Rome's genius stand,
And, leading Cato in his sacred hand,
Toint out th' immortal subject of thy lays,
And ask this labour to record his praise.

'Tis done—the hero lives and charms our 'age!
While nobler morals grace the British stage.
Great Shakespeare's ghost, the solemn strain to

hear,

(Methinks I see the laurel'd shade appear!)
Will hover o'er the scene, and, wondering, view
His favourite Brutus rival'd thus by you.
Such Roman greatmess in each action shines,
Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines,
That sure the Sibyls books this year foretold,
And in some mystic leaf was found enroll’d,
“Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore,
Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb coplore!

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In her that animates these lines, we view
The wonder greater, the description true;
Each living virtue, every grace combin'd,
And Marcia's worth with Lucia's sweetness join'd.

Had she been born ally'd to Cato's name,
Numidia's prince had felt a real flame;
And pouring his resistless troops from far,
With bolder deeds had turn'd the doubtful war;
Caesar had fled before his conquering arms,
And Roman Muscs sung her boauty's charins.

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SERENATA FOR TWO VOICES,
- ox. The MARRIAGE OF THE
RIGHT HON. THE LORD COBHAM TO MRS.
ANNE HALSEY.
DueToto.

Wake th' harmonious voice and string,
Love and Hymen's triumph sing.
Sounds with secret charms combining,
In melodious union joining,
Rest the wondrous joys can tell,
That in hearts united dwell.
Recitative.
First voice.
To young Victoria's happy fame,
Well may the Arts a trophy raise,
Music grows sweeter in her praise,
And own’d by her, with rapture speaks her name.
To touch the brave Cleander's heart,
The Graces all in her conspire;
love arms her with his surest dart,
Apollo with his lyre.
AIR.
The listening Muses, all around her,
Think 'tis Phoebus' strains they hear:
And Cupid, drawing near to wound her,
Drops his bow, and stands to hear.
recitative.
spcoxid voice.
While crowds of rivals, with despair,
*lent admire, or vainly court the fair;
Behold the happy conquest of her eyes,
A hero is the glorious prize
In courts, in camps, through distant realms re-
Cleander comes—Victoria, see, [nown'd,
He coines, with British honour crown'd;
Love leads his eager steps to thee,
AIR.
intender sighs he silence breaks,
The fair his flame approves.
Consenting blushes warm her cheeks,
She smiles, she yields,-she loves.
Recitative.
First voice.

Now Hymen at the altar stands,
And while he joins their faithful hands,
Bohold' by ardent vows drawn down,
Immortal Concord, heavenly bright,
Array'd in robes of purest light,
Descends, th’ auspicious rites to crown.
Her golden harp the goddess brings; -
Its magic sound
Commands a sudden silence all around,
And strains prophetic thus attune the strings.
Durtro.
1 voice. The swain his nymph possessing,
: voice. The nymph her swain caressing,
1 and 2 #: still inprove the blessing.
7 For ever kind and true.
While rolling years are flying,
Love, Hymen's lamp supplying,
With fuel never dying,
Shall still the flaue renew.

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IIORATIUS.
1N libro PRiMo prisTo LARU M.

Dividium facti, qui coepit, habet. Sapere aude:
Incipe. Vivendirect qui prorogat horam,
Rusticus expectat dum defluat annis: at ille
Labitur & labetur in omne volubilis aevum.

Translaten,

To-Morrow cheats us all. Why dost thou stay
And leave undone what should be done to-day?
Begin—the present minute's in thy power;
But still to adjourn, and wait a fitter hour,
Is like the clown, who at some river's side
Expecting stands, in hopes the running tide

| Will all ere long be past—Fool not to know

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Then look, Eliza, happy saint, look down! Pause from immortal joys awhile To hear, and gracious, with a smile, The dedicated numbers own; say, how in thy life's scanty space, So short a space, so wondrous bright, Bright as a summer's day, short as a summer's night, Čould'st thou find room for every crowded grace? As if thy thrifty soul foreknew, Like a wise envoy, Heaven's intent, Soon to recall whom it had sent, And all its task resolv’d at once to do. Or wert thou but a traveller below, That hither didst awhile repair, Curious our customs and our laws to know 7 And, sickening in our grosser air, And tird of vain repeated sights, Our foolish cares, our false delights, Back to thy native seats would'st go Oh! since to us thou wilt no more return, Permit thy friends, the faithful few, who best thy numerous virtues knew, Themselves, not thce, to Inouril.

Now, pensive Muse, enlarge thy flight! (By turns the pensive Muses love The hilly heights and shady grove) Behold where, swelling to the sight, Balls, a fair structure, graceful stands! And from yon verdant rising brow Sees Hertford's ancient town, and lands, Where Nature's hand, in slow meanders, leads The Lee's clear stream its course to flow Through flowery vales, and moistem'd meads, And far around in beauteous prospects spreads Her map of plenty all below. 'Twas hero—and sacred be the spot of earth! Eliza's soul, born first above, Descended to an humbler birth, - And with a mortal's frailties strove. So, on some towering peak that meets the sky, When missive Seraphs downward fly, They stop, and for awhile alight, Put of their rays celestial-bright, Then take sounc milder form familiar to our “Y”

swiftly her infant virtues grew : water'd by Heaven's peculiar care, Her morning bloon was doubly fair, Like Summer's day-break, when we see The fresh-dropp'd stores of rosy dow * * (Transparent beauties of the dawn) $pread v'cr the grass their cobweb-lawp,

Or hang moist pearls on every tree. Pleas'd with the lovely sight, awhile Her friends behold, and joyful smile, Northink the Sun's exhaling ray Will change the scene ere noon of day, Dry up the glistering drops, and draw those dews away.

Yet first, to fill her orb of life, Behold, in each relation dear, The pious saint, the duteous child appear, The tender sister, and the faithful wife. Alas! but must one circlet of the year Unite in bliss, in grief divide The destin'd bridegroom and the bride? Stop, generous youth, the gathering tear, That, as you read these lines or hear, Perhaps may start, and seem to say, “That short-liv'd year was but a day!” Forbear—nor fruitless sorrowings now cmploy, Think she was lent awhile, not given, (Such was th’ appointed will of Heaven) Then, grateful, call that year an age of virtuous Joy.

AN ALLUSION TO HOR.1CE.

Book I. ode xxii.

raiNTED At the BREAKING OUT OF THE REB Ellion 1N The Year 1715.

The man that loves his king and nation,
And shuns each vile association,
That trusts his honest deeds i' th' light,
Nor meets in dark cabals, by night,
With fools, who, after much debate,
Get themselves hang'd, and save the state,
Needs not his hall with weapons store;
Nor dreads each rapping at his door;
Nor sculks, in fear of being known,
or hides his guilt in parson's gown;
Nor wants, to guard his geuerous heart,
The poniard or the poison'd dart;
Aud, but for ornament and pride,
A sword of lath might cross his side.
If o'er St. James's park he stray,
He stops not, pausing in his way;
Nor yulls his hat down o'er his face,
Nor starts, looks back, and mends his pace:
Or if he ramble to the Tower,
He knows no crime, and dreads no power,
But thence returning, free as wind,
Suniles at the bars he left behind.
Thus, as I loiter'd to other day,
Humming-O every month was May—
And, thoughtless how my time 1 squandcr'd,
From Whitehall, through the Cockpit wander'd,
A inessenger with surly eye
View'd me quite round, and yet pass'd by.
No sharper look or rougher mien
In Scottish highlands e'er was seen;
Nor ale and brandy ever bred
More pimpled cheeks, or nose more red;
And yet, with both hands in my breast,
Careless I walk'd, nor shunn'd the beast.
Place me among a hundred spies,
Let all the room be ears and eyes;
Or search my pocket-books and papers,
No word or line shall give me vapours.

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