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There let 'Time's creeping Winter shed

But wisely fix'd, nor to extremes inclin'd,
His hoary snow around my head;

Maintains the steady purpose of his mind.
And "hile I feel, by fast degrees,
My si: gard blood wax chill, and freeze,

So Atlas, pois'd on his broad base, defies
Let thought unveil to my fixt eye

The shock of gathering storms and wintry skics; The scenes of decp eternity,

Above the clouds, serene, he lifts his brow, Till, life dissolving at the view,

And sees, unmov'd, the thunder break below.
I wake, and find those visions true!

But where's the patriot, by these virtucs known,
Unsway'd by others' passions, or his own?
Just to his prince, and to the public truc,

That shuns, in all events, cach partial view ?

That ne'er forgets the whole of things to weigh,

And scorns the short-liv'd wisdom of a day? ( Yes!-Hear, all ye beaux and wits, Musicians, poets, 'squires, and cits,

If there be one-hold, Muse, nor more revealAll, who in town or country dwell!

(Yet, oh that numbers could his name conceal!) Say, can you talc or tidings tell

Thrice happy Britain, of such wealth possest! of Tortorella's basty flight?

On thy firm throne, grcat George, unshaken rest, Why in new groves she takes delight,

Safe in his judgment, on his faith rely, And if in concert, or alone,

And prize the worth which kingdoms cannot buy!" The cooing murmurer makes her moan?

Rich in itself, the genuine diamond shines, Now learn the marks, by which you may

And owes its value to its native mines; Trace out and stop the lovely stray!

Yet, set in Britain's crown, drinks anipler rays

Of the Sun's light, and casts a wider blazc. Some wit, more folly, and no care,

With pleasure we the well-plac'd gem bebold, Thoughtless her conduct, free her air;

That adds a lustre to the royal gold.
Gay, scornful, sober, indiscreet,
In whom all contradictions meet;

January 25, 1717-18.
Civil, affronting, peevish, easy,
Form'd both to charm you and displease you;
Much want of judgment, none of pride,
Modish her dress, her hoop full wide;

Brown skin, her eyes of sable hue,
Angel, when pleas'd, when vex'd, a shrew.

Genteel her motion, when she walks,
Sweetly she sings, and loudly talks;
Knows all the world, and its affairs,
Who goes to court, to plays, to prayers,
Who keeps, who marries, fails, or thrives,

Leads honest or dishonest lives;
What money match'd each youth or maid, Orestes had killed his mother Clytemnestra, in
And who was at each masquerade;

revenge of his father's death, who was murdered Of all fine things in this fine town,

by her. This part of the story is the subject of She's only to herself unknown.

the Electra of Sophocles, where, in the con

clusion of the play, Clytemnestra is heard beBy this description, if you meet her,

hind the scene crying out in vain for mercy, With lowly bows and homage greet her;

while her son is executing his revenge. PerAnd if you bring the vagrant beauty

haps this play was written first; and Euripides Back to her mother and her duty,

took up the story where the other left off. The Ask, for reward, a lover's bliss,

retlection on his guilt in putting his mother to And (if she'll let you) take a kiss ;

death, though a criminal, with his own hands, Or more, if more you wish and may,

filled Orestes's mind with so much horrour as Try if at church the words she'll say,

afterwards caused his distraction. In this conThen make her, if you can—"obey.

dition lie is represented in the following scene, lying on a couch, and his sister Electra, with a

chorus of Grecian wonen, waiting near him.

I shall detain the reader no longer than to observe, THE PATRIOT.

that the tenderness of Electra, and the alternate starts and returns of madness and reason

in Orestes, are touched with the most exquisite WILLIAM LORD COWPER,

strokes of nature and passion.








low godlike is the man, how truly great,
Who, miilst contending factions of the state,
In council cool, in resolution bold,
Nor brib’d by hopes, nor by mcan fears controld,
And proof alike against both fors and friends,
Ne'er from the golden mean of' virtue bends!

Draw near, Electra, to thy brother's couch;
See if he breathes; this long-protracted rest
May end in death, and fatally deceive thee.




ORESTES. O sweet refreshing Sleep! thou balmy cure

Say'st thou l-better far Of sickness and of pain!

He came alone and he alone surviving ; How has thy gentle power at length reliev'd me!

But if with Helen--then he brings a curse, O soft oblivion of surrounding ills,

A heavy curse How grateful to th' afflicted are thy charms !

ELECTRA Where am I?-speak—inform me, tell we where.

The race of Tyndarus How came I hither? for I know not how!

Have through all Greece spread infamy and shame. Alas! I've lately been bereft of reason!

OR ESTES, And now no track of foriner thought remains.

Beware then-shun the deeds of impious women. ELECTRA.

Wear no false face-be good, as well as seem so O my much-lov'd Orestes ! O my brother!

Beware I say With joy I've watch'd o'er thy late healing slumbers.

ELECTRA. Come-shall I help to raise thee from thy couch! Alas! what means my brother? you are chang'd. OR ESTES.

Your colour shifts-your eyes look fiercely wildSoft, I pray the first wipe away these drops, Your tit returns~ Heavens! he's lost again. That sit all dewy o'er my face.

Mother, forbear! What! no forgiveness--never? Ye gols !

0! take away those Furies—how they shake How pleasant is this task to a sister's love! Their snaky locks, and grin around me ! ORESTES.

ELECTRA. Come, let me lean upon thee;-how canst thou Alas! poor wretch; 'tis thy own fear alarms thee. bear me?

Compose thyself: why dost thou leave thy couch? Pat forth thy hand; remove the clotted locks Here are no tiends; thou talk'st to shapeless air. That shade my sight; I scarcely yet can see


Help, help me, Phæbus—See those dogs of Hell O my poor brother ! how has sickness chang'd With famish'd jaws gape horrid to devour me! thee !

Th’infernal priestesses look fiercely on me;
Thy face, thy beard, so long unwash'd, deform thee, They thirst for blood, and I'm the destin'd victim!
And spread an unknown horrour o'er thy mien.

Nay, strive not-for I will not let thee go,
I'm weary ;-lead me to my couch again. While these weak arins can fold thee
When my fit leaves me I am weak and faint,
And a cold trembling runs through all my limbs.

What art thou ?

One of my curst tormentors? - Hence - I know How friendly is the sick man's bed; though pain thee; Dwell there, yet there he best inay bear it. Thou grasp'st me thus to plunge me down to Hell.







0! help once more; and gently bend me forward. Oh! whence can wretched mortals hope for CHORUS.

succour, The siek are ever restless;

When Heaven is deaf, and all the gods our foes ! Uneasiness and pain make them impatient.


Reach me the weapons of the shooting god, Wilt thou get up and try again to walk?

Apollo's gift, the shafts, and horny bow;
Change will perhaps relieve thee.

With these he bad me drive the fiends away,

When cruel, they attack me
I fain would walk-and, seeming well awhile,

Delude my anxions thoughts.

Can they feel?
Can deathless beings feel a mortal wound?
Now hear me brother;

Hear me, while yet the cruel Furies leave thee They shall-or leave my tortur'd sight-behold!
This pause from grief, this interval of reason. Dost thou not see their feather'd shafts fly round

me? Speak quick thy news-if it be good, 'tis welcome; Begone, ye ministers of wrath-Away! away! If ill-I've load enough ; nor add thou more.

The guilt's not mine--llence, through the yielding


Fly swift to Heaven--and charge Apollo there, Then know thy uncle Menelaus comes;

Whose oracle betray'd me!-Ah I faint ;
His ship is in the port-

My spirits sink-- Where am I now? Alas!

How have I left my bed?--how stray'd I hither?
What dost thon say?-

0-1 perceive-once more the raging waves He comes, like dawning light, to cheer our griefs,

Have spent their force--and all is calm ayainAnd chase away the blackness of despair ;

My sister?-weeping too? Why dost thou turn My father's brother, and his best-lov'd friend!

Thy face away, thus muffled in thy garment? ELECTRA,

I grieve to think what I have made thee suffer; He's now arriv'd—and brings from conquer'd Troy I know niy sickvess bears too hard upon thee; His beauttous Helen

Yet weep not for my crimes, unhappy maid !




The deed was mine-Thou only didst consent :
'Twas I that slew my mother-Phæbus himself

Advis'd that impious act--the guilt be his,
Whose words spoke comfort, but who now forsakes

But oh !: Electra, had our father's shade [me. Ye heavenly Graces, who reside
Been present then-had I, before the god,
Ask'd his consent, to strike the murderess dead,

O'er Minyæa's happy soil, that breeds,

Swift for the race, the fairest steeds;
The pitying manes sure had stopp'd my hand,

And rule the land, where with a gentle tide
Nor would have wish'd for his own life again,
Redeem'd by guilt, so horrid in a son.

Your lov'd Cephisian waters glide !
Now wipe away thy tears, lamenting maid;

To you Orchomenus's towers belong, Though we're both wretched, tears are shed in vain;

Then hear, ye goddesses, and aid the song. And when thou seest again my faltering reason,

Whatever honours shine below, Be ready thou to rulemy broken sense,

Whatever gifts can move delight, And comfort my affliction-And when thou Or sooth the ravish'd soul, or charm the sight, Shalt sink beneath thy pressing woes, I'll strive To you their power of pleasing ove. By soothing words to mitigate thy sorrows.

Fame, beauty, wisdom, you bestow; Such offices become our fond aficction.

Nor will the gods the sacred banquet own,
But now, retiring to thy own apartment, Nor on the Chorus look propitious down,
Let gentle slumber close thy wakeful eyes I

If you your presence have deny'd,
Then rise refresh'd ; anoint thy wearied limbs, To rule the banquet, and the Chorus guides
And with due nourishment recruit thy spirits.
Such ceaseless watchings will exhaust thy strength,

In Heaven itself all own your happy care ;
And make thy languid life a burthen to thee.

Bless'd by your influence divine, Thou seest all other friends are ficd; thou art

There all is good, and all is fair : My only solace in this dire affliction.

On thrones sublime you there illustrious shine ; Should'st thou forsake me too, I'm lost indeede

Plac'd near Apollo with the golden lyre,

You all his harmony inspire,

And warbled hymns to Jove perpetual sing, no! thy sister never will forsake thee;

To Jove, of Heaven the father and the king, Nor only will I live, but die, with thee;

Now hear, Aglaia, venerable maid! What joy could life afford a wretched woman,

Hear thou that tuneful verse dost love, Bereft of father, brother, every friend!

Euphrosyne! join your colestial aid,

Ye daughters of immortal Jove ! But if you so command, I will retire;

Thalia too be present with my lays; In the meanwhile compose thyself to rest,

Asopicus has rais'd his city's name, Reclin'd upon thy couch ; nor let vain terrours

And, victor in th’ Olympic strife, may claim Rouse thee again—Thy own upbraiding conscience

From you his just reward of virtuous praise. Ls the revengeful fiend that haunts thy breast !

And thou, O Fame! this happy triumph spread;

Fly to the regions of the dead,
Through Proserpine's dark empire bear the sound,

There seek Cleodamus below,

And let the pleas'd patemal spirit know,

How on the plains of Pisa far renown'd,

His son, his youthful son, of matchless speed,

Bore off from all the victor's meed,

And with an olive wreath his envy'd temples crown'da As father Thames pours out his plenteous urn

O’er common tracts, with speed his waters flow;
But where some beauteous palace does adorn
His banks, the river seems to move more slow;

As if he stopp'd awhile, with conscious pride,

WRITTEN AT WALLINGTON-HOUSE, IN SURRY, Nor to the ocean would pursue his race, Till he reflects its glories in his tide,

THE SEAT OF MR. BRIDGES. And call the Water-nymphs around to gaze.

All things were hush'd, as Noise itself were dead; So in Time's common food the huddled throng No midnight mice stirr'd round my silent bed;

Of Months and Hours unheeded pass away, Not e'en a gnat disturb'd the peace profound, Unless some general good our joy prolong.

Dumb o'er my pillow hung my watch unwound; And mark the moments of soine festal day. No ticking death-worm told a fancy'd doom,

Nor hidden cricket chirrup'd in the room; Not fair Jnly, though Plenty clothe his fields, Though golden suns make all his morning smile, Nor drops of rain fell soft from off the eaves ;

No breeze the casement shook, or fann'd the leaves, Can boast of aught that such a triumph yields,

Nor noisy splinter made the candle weep, As that he gave a Parker to our isle.

But the dim watchlight seem'd itself asleep, Hail happy month! secure of lasting fame! When, tird, I clos'd my eyes how long I lay

Doubly distinguish'd through the circling year: In slumber wrapp'd, I list not now to say: In Rome a hero gave thee first thy name;

When hark! a sudden noise--See! open flies A patriot's birth makes thee to Britain dear, The yielding door, starting, rubb'd my eyes,



Fast clos'd awhile; and, as their lids I rear'd, So when that genial father of the Spring
Full at my feet a tall thin form appear'd,

Smiles on the meads, and wakes the birds to sing
While through my parted curtains rushing broke And from the heavenly Bull his influence sheds
A light like day, ere yet the figure spoke.

On the parterres and fruitful garden beds, Cold sweat bedew'd my limbs—nor did I dream; A thousand beauteous births shoot up to sight, Hear, mortals, hear! for real truth's my theme. A thousand buds, unfolding, meet the light; And now, more bold, I rais'd my trembling bones Each useful plant does the rich earth adorn, To look-when, lo! 'twas honest master Jones'; And all the flowery universe is born. Who wav'd his hand, to banish fear and sorrow,

O! could my verse describe this sacred queen, Well charg'd with toast and sack, and cry'd —

This first of virtues, awful, yet serene,
“ Good morrow!"

Plain in her native charms, nor too severe,
Free from false zeal, and superstitious fear;
Such and so bright, as by th’ effects we find,

She dwells in this selected, happy mind, WRITTEN IN A WINDOW AT WALLINGTON-HOUSE, The source of every good should stand confest,

And all, who see, applaud the heaven-born guest!

Proceed, my Muse: next in the picture place
Diffusive Charity to human race.

Justice thou need'st not in thy draught express, Envy, if thy searching eye

Since every greater still includes the less.

What were the praise, if Virtue idly stood,
Through this window chance to pry,

Content alike to do nor harın nor good?
To thy sorrow thou shalt find,
All that's generous, friendly, kind,

Though shunning ill, unactive, and supine,
Goodness, Virtue, every Grace,

Like painted suns, that warm not while they shine?

The nobler soul such narrow life disdains, Duelling in this happy place:

Flows out, and meets another's joys and pains, Then, if thou woulil'st shun this sight,

Tasteless of blessings, if possest alone,
Hence for ever take thy fight.

And in imparted pleasures seeks its own.
Hence grows the sense of Friendship's generous fires,
Hence Liberality the heart inspires,

Hence streams of good in constant actions flow,

And man to inan becomes a god below!

A soul thus form'd, and such a soul is here, MRS. ELIZABETH BRIDGES ?. Needs not the dangerous test of riches fear,

But, unsubdued to wealth, may safely stand, IMPERFECT.

And coumt o'er heaps with an unsully'd hand. Paister, give o'er; here ends thy feeble art; Heaven, that knew this, and where t'intrust its store, For how wilt thon describe th’immortal part?' And, blessing one, oft' blesses many more, Tho' Kneller's or tho' Raphael's skill were thine, First gave a will to give, then fitly join'd Or Titian's colours on the cloth did shine,

A liberal fortune to a liberal mind. The labour'd piece must yet half-finish'd stand, With such a graceful ease her bounty flows; And mock the weakness of the master's hand. She gives, and scarce that she's the giver knows,

But seems receiving most, when she the most beColours are but the phantoms of the day, Rich in hersolt, well may she value more (stows With that they're born, with that they fade away : Her wealth within, the mind's immortal store; Like Beauty's charms, they but amuse the sight, Passions subdued, and knowledge free from pride, Dark in themselves, till, by reflection bright,

Good humour, ever to good sense ally'd, With the Sun's aid, to rival him they boast, Well-season'd mirth, and wisdom unsevere, But, light withdrawn, in their own shades are lost.

An equal temper, and a heart sincere; Then what are these t'express the living fire,

Gifts that alone from Nature's bounty flow, The lamp within, that never can expire ?

Which Fortune may display, but not bestow; That work can only by the Muse be wrought;

For wealth but sets the picture more in sight,
Souls must paint Souls, and Thought delineate

And brings the beauties or the faults to light.

How true th' esteem that's founded in desert2
Then, Painter-Muse, begin, and, unconfin'd, How pleasing is the tribute of the heart!
Draw boldly first a large extent of mind :

Here willing duty ne'er was paid in vain,
Yet not a barren waste, an empty space,

And ev'n dependence cannot feel its chain; For crowds of virtu s fill up all the place,

Yet whom she thus sets free she closer binds, See! o'er the rest fair Piety presides,

(Affection is the chain of grateful minds) As the bright Sun th’inferior planets guides;

And, doubly blessing her adopted care, To the soul's powers it vital heat supplies,

Makes them her virtues with her fortune share, And hence a thousand worthy habits rise.

Leads by example, and by kindness guards,

And raises first the merit she rewards. 1 The butler.

Oft too abroad she casts a friendly eye, * She died Dec. 1, 1745, aged 88. See some As she would help to every need supply. verses to her memory in Mrs. Tollet's poems, p. The poor near her almost their cares forget, 139.

Their want but serves as hunger to their meat;


For, since her soul's ally'd to human kind,

improvement, the latter part, which attempts a Not to her house alone her store's confin'd;

short view of the Heavens according to the moBut, passing on, its own full banks o'erflows, dern philosophy, is entirely original, and not Enlarg'd, and deals forth plenty as it goes.

founded on any thing in the Latin author.
Through some fair garden thus a river leads
Its watery wealth, and first th' enclosure feeds,
Visits each plant, and every flower supplies;
Or, taught in sportive fountains to arise,

I leave Mortality's low sphere.
Casts sprinkled showers o'er every figurd green;

Ye Winds and Clouds, come, lift me high, Or in canals walks round the beauteous scene,

And on your airy pinions bear Yet stops not there, but its free course maintains,

Swift through the regions of the sky. And spreads gay verdure thro' the adjacent plains ;

What lofty mountains downward fly! The labouring hinds with pleasure see it flow,

And, lo! how wide a space of air And bless those streams by which their pastures

Extends new prospects to my eye!

The gilded fanes, reflecting light, grow.

And royal palaces, as bright, O generous use of power! O virtuous pride!

(The rich abodes Ne'er may the means be to such souls deny'd,

Of heavenly and of earthly gods) Executors of Heaven's all-bounteous will,

Retire apace; whole cities too Who well the great First-giver's ends fulfil,

Decrease beneath my rising view. Who from superior heights still looking down

And now, far off, the rolling globe appears ; On glittering heaps, which scarce they think their Its scatter'd nations I survey, Despise the enipty show of useless state, [own, And all the mass of earth and sea; And only would, by doing good, be great!

Oh, object well deserving tears ! Now pause awhile, my Muse, and then renew

Capricious state of things below, The pleasing task, and take a second view!

That, changeful from their birth, no fix'd duration

know !

Here new-built towns, aspiring high, A train of virtues yet undrawn appear;

Ascend, with lofty turrets crown'd; Here just Economy, strict Prudence there;

There others fall, and mouldering lie, Near Liberality they ever stand;

Obscure, or only by their ruins found. This guides her judgment, that directs her hand. Palmyra's far-extended waste I spy, By these see wild Profusion chas'd away,

(Once Tadmor, ancient in renown) And wanton Luxury, like birds of prey.

Her marble heaps, by the wild Arab shown, Whilst meek Humility, with charms serene,

Still load with useless pomp the ground. Forbids vain Pomp t'approach the hallow'd scene; But where is lordly Babylon? where now Yet through her veil the more attracts the sight, Lifts she to Heaven her giant brow? And on her sister virtues casts a light.

Where does the wealth of Nineveh abound? But wherefore starts the Painter-Muse, and why,

Or where's the pride of Afric's shore?

Is Rome's great rival then no more? The piece unfinish'd, throws the pencil by ?

In Rome herself behold th' extremes of fate, “ Methinks," she says, “ Humility I hear, With gentle voice, reproving, cry— Forbear!

Her ancient greatness sunk, her modern boasted

See her luxurious palaces arise, Forbear, rash Muse! nor longer now commend,


With broken arches mixt between!
Lest whom thou would'st praise, thou should'st
And in her breast a painful glowing raise, [offend,

And here what splendid domes possess the skies! Who, conscious of the merit, shuns the praise."

And there old temples, open to the day,

Their walls, o'ergrown with moss, display;

And columns, awful in decay,
Rear up their roofless heads to form the various




Me tcrd priinum dulces ante omnia Musæ;
Accipiant, cælique vias & sidera monstrent.


It may be proper to acquaint the reader, that the

following poem was begun on the model of a
Latin ode of Casimire, intitled E Rebus Humanis
Excessus, from which it is plain that Cowley
likewise took the first hint of his ode called
The Ecstasy. The former part, therefore, is
chietly an imitation of that ode, though with
considerable variations, and the addition of the
whole second stanza, except the first the lines :
but the plan itself seeming capable of a farther

Around the space of Earth I turn my eye;

But where's the region free from woe? Where shall the Muse one little spot descry

The seat of Happiness below?

Here Peace would all its joys dispense,
The vines and olives unmolested grow,

But, lo! a purple pestilence
Unpeoples cities, sweeps the plains,
Whilst vainly through deserted fields

Her unreap'd harvests Ceres yields,
And at the noon of day a midnight silence reigns,
There milder heat the healthful climate warms,

But, slaves to arbitrary power,
And pleas'd each other to devour,
The mad possessors rush to arms.
I see, I see them from afar,
I view distinct the mingled war!
I see the charging squadrons prest

Hand to hand, iuud breast to breast

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