you these cherries I protect,
To you these plums belong:
Sweet is the fruit that you have peck'd,
But fweeter far your fong.
Let then this league betwixt us made
Our mutual interefts guard:
Mine be the gift of fruit and shade;
Your fongs be my reward.
SAY, will no white-rob'd fon of light,
Swift darting from. his heav'nly height,
Here deign to take his hallow'd ftand;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions cloth'd with downy gold
Here fmiling ftretch his tutelary wand;
And you, ye hofts of faints, for ye have known
Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze,
Though now ye circle yon eternal throne
With harpings high of inexpreffive praife,
Will not your train defcend in radiant ftate,"
To break with mercy's beam this gath'ring cloud of
fate?
'Tis filence all. No fon of light Darts fwiftly from his heav'nly height: No train of radiant faints defcend. "Mortals, in vain we hope to find, "If guilt, if fraud has ftain'd your mind, “ Ör faint to hear, or angel to defend.' So Truth proclaims. I hear the facred found Burft from the centre of her burning throne: Where aye the fits with ftar wreath'd luftre crown'd; A bright fun clafps her adamantine zone. So truth proclaims her awful voice I hear; With many a folemn pause it slowly meets my ear.
Attend, ye fons of men! attend, and fay, Does not enough of my refulgent ray Break through the veil of your mortality? Say, does not reafon in this form defcry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that furpass
The angel's floating pomp, the feraph's glowing grace?
Shall then your earth born daughters vie With me! fhall the, whofe brightest eye But emulates the diamond's blaze,
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom, Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume, Whofe melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays, Shall he be deem'd my rival? fhall a form Of elemental drofs, of mould'ring clay,
Vie with the charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her conteft vain. Life's little day Shall pafs, and he is gone; while I appears Flush'd with the bloom of youth through Heav'n's, eternal year.
Know, mortals! know, ere firft ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in ether hung,
I fhone amid the heavenly throng;
Thefe eyes behield 'creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,
And taught Archangels their triumphant fong.
Pleas'd I furvey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth,
And ocean heave on its extended bed;
Saw the tall pine afpiring pierce the sky;
The tawny lion stalk; the rapid eagle fly.
Laft, Man arofe, erect in youthful grace, Heav'n's hallow'd image stamp'd upon his face, And, as he rofe, the high beheft was giv'n, "That I alone, of all the host of Heav'n, "Should reign protectress of the godlike youth." 'Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, ́ and call'd me
FROM FOFE'S HOMER'S ILIAD.
HE faid, and paft, with fad prefaging heart,
To feek his fpoufe, his foul's far dearer part;
At home he fought her, but he fought in vain;
She, with one maid of all her menial train,
Had thence retir'd, and with her second joy,
The young Aftyanax, the hope of Troy,
Penfive the ftood on Ilion's tow'ry height,
Beheld the war, and ficken'd at the fight;
There her fad eyes in vain her lord explore,
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore.
But he who found not whom his foul defir'd,
Whofe virtue charm'd him as her beauty fir'd,
Stood in the gates, and afk'd what way the bent
Her parting step? If to the fane she went,
Where late the mourning matrons made refort ;
Or fought her fifters in the Trojan court?
Not to the court (reply'd th' attendant train)
Nor, mix'd with matrons, to Minerva's fane;
To Ilion's fteepy tow'r the bent her way,
To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day.
Troy fled, fhe heard, before the Grecian fword ;
She heard, and trembled for her abfent lord:
Distracted with furprife, fhe feem'd to fly,
Fear on her cheek, and forrow in her eye.
The nurfe attended with her infant boy,
The young Aftyanax, the hope of Troy.
Hector this heard, return'd without delay :
Swift through the town he trod his former way,
Through ftreets of palaces, and walks of ftate,
And met the mourner at the Scæan gate.
With hafte to meet him fprung the joyful fair,
His blameless wife, tion's wealthy heir,
(Cicilian Thebe great Ætion sway'd,
And Hippoplacus' wide extended shade):
The nurfe ftood near, in whose embraces preft
His only hope hung fmiling at her breast,
Whon each foft charm and early grace adorn,
Fair as the new-born ftar that gilds the morn.
To this lov'd infant Hector gave the naine
Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd ftream:
Aftyanax the Trojans call'd the boy,
From his great father, the defence of Troy.
Silent the warior fmil'd, and, pleas'd, refign'd
To tender paffions all his mighty mind.
His beauteous princefs caft a mournful look,
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;
Her bofom labour'd with a boding figh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.
Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and fon!
And think it thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, an helpless orphan he;`
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