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DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r, Thon tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain; And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, design'd, To thee he gave the heavenly birth, And bade to form her infan mind. Stern rugged nurse; thy rigid lore With patience many a year s ie børe ; What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learnt to melt at others


Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless jog,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse; and with chem go
The summer-friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain prosperity receiv'd,

To her they vow their truth, and are again be


Wisdom in sable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,

And Melancholy, silent maid,
With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend,
When Charity, the general friend,
With Justice, to herself severe,

And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing


Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning baud!

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thund'ring voice, aud threat'ning


With screaming Horror's fun'ral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear,
Thy milder influence impart;
Thy philosophic train be there
To soften, not to wound, my heart.
The gen'rous spark extinct revive;
Teach me to love, and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to scan;

What others are, to feel; and known myself a



Now the storm begins to low'r (Haste, the loom of hell prepare); Iron sleet of arrowy show'r Hurtles in the darken'd air. Glitt'ring lances are the loom Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom, Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane, See the grisly texture glow! ("Tis of human entrails made) And the weights that play below, Each a gasping warrior's head. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoots the trembling cords along? Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong. Mista, black terrific maid, Sangrida, and Hilda, see! Join in the wayward work to aid: 'Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy sun be set, Pikes must shiver, jav'lins sing, Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. (Weave the crimson web of war.) Let us go, and let us fly, Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. As the paths of fate we tread, Wading thro' th' ensanguin'd field, Gondula, and Geira, spread O'er the youthful king your shield,

We the reins to slaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to spare: Spite of danger he shall live. (Weave the crimson web of war.) They, whom once the desert beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch O'er the plenty of the plain. Low the dauntless Earl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound Fate demands a nobler head; Soon a king shall bite the ground. Long his loss shall Erin weep, Ne'er again his likeness see; Loug her strains in sorrow steep, Strains of immortality! Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the sun. Sisters, weave the web of death. Sisters, cease! the work is done. Hail the task, and hail the hands! Songs of joy and triumph sing Joy to the victorious bands; Triumph to the younger king. Mortal thou that hear'st the tale, Learn the tenour of our song. Scotland, through each winding vale, Far and wide the notes prolong. Sisters, hence with spurs of speed! Each her thund'ring faulchion wield; Each bestride her sable steed. Hurry, hurry, to the field!


OWEN's praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flow'r of Roderic's stem
Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem,
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Erin hiding;
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Locklin ploughs the wat'ry way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war:
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.
No. XLIV. Vol. VI.

Dauntless on his native sands The dragon-son of Mona stands ; In glitt'ring arms and glory drest, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thund'ring strokes begin, There the press, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing to the battle's roar. Where his glowing eye-balls turn Thousand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty Rout is there; Marking with indignant eye Fear to stop and shame to fly : There Confusion, Terror's child; Conflict fierce, and ruin wild ; Agony, that pants for breath; Despair, and honourable Death.


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HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground)!
"Comus, and his midnight crew,
"And Ignorance with looks profound,
“And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue.
"Mad Sedition's cry profane,
"Servitude that hugs her chain;
"Nor in these consecrated bow'rs
"Let painted Flatt'ry bide her serpent-train
in flow'rs.

"Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,
"Dare the Muse's walk to stain,
"While bright-eyed Science watches round:
"Hence away, 'tis holy ground!"

From yonder realms of empyrean day
Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay:
There sit the sainted Sage, the Bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to shine
Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.
Rapt in celestial transport they;
Yet hither oft a glance from high
They send of tender sympathy,

To bless the place where on their op'ning soul
First the genuine ardour støle.
'Twas Milton struck the deep ton'd shell;
And, as the choral warblings round him swell,
Meek Newton's self bends from his state sub-
And nods his hoary head, and listens to the
"Ye brown o'er-arching groves,
"That contemplation loves,
"Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
"Oft at the blush of dawn

"I trod your level dawn,

"Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright "In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, "With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy."

That broke the bonds of Rome
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human passions now no more,
Save charity that glows beyond the tomb).
All that on Granta's fruitfal plain
Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise,
To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies:
"What is grandeur? what is pow'r?
"Heavier toil, superior pain.
"What the bright reward we gain?
"The grateful memory of the good.
"Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r,
"The bee's collected treasures sweet,
"Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet
"The small still voice of gratitude."
Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud,
The venerable Margaret see!
"Welcome my noble son (she cries aloud),
"To this thy kindred train, and me;
"Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace
"A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.
"Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye,
"The flow'r unbeeded shall descry.
"And bid it round heaven's altars shed
"The fragrance of its blushing head:
"Shall raise from earth the latent gem
"To glitter on the diadem.

"Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band:
"Not obvious, not obtrusive, she
"No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings;
"Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd
"Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:
"She reveres herself and thee.
"With modest pride to grace thy youthful

But, hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth,«The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, she With solemn, steps aud slow,

High potentates, and dames of royal birth,
And mitted fathers in long order go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn;

And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn


"And to thy just, thy gentle hand
"Submits the fasces of her sway,
"While spirits blest above, and men below,
"Join with glad voice the loud symphonious

That wept her bleeding love; and princely«Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,


And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rose,
The rival of her crown and of her woes ;
And either Henry there,

The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord

"With watchful eye and dauntless mien
"Thy steady course of honour keep,
"Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore.
"The star of Brunswick smiles serene,
"And gilds the horrors of the deep."

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"The Poet speaks."

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Has felt that folly, though he censures mine;
Pollutes the pleasures of a chaste embrace,
Acts what I write, and propagates in grace,
With riotous excess, a priestly race.
Suppose him free, and that I forge th' offence,
Heshew'd the way, perverting first my sense;
In malice witty, and with venom fraught,
He makes me speak the things I never thought,||
Compute the gains of his ungovern'd zeal ;
Ill suits his cloth the aise of railing well.
The world will think that what we loosely

Though now arrang'd, he read with some

Because he seems to chew the cud again,
When his broad comment makes the text too
plain :

And teaching more in one explaining page
Than all the double meanings of the stage.
What needs be paraphrase on what we mean?
We were at worst but wanton; he's obscene.
I not my fellows nor myself excuse;
Bat love's the subject of the comic muse;
Nor can we write without it, nor would you
A tale of only dry instruction view;
Nor love is always of a vicious kind,
But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind;
Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul,
And, brushing-o'er, adds motion to the pool.
Love, studious how to please, improves our

With polish'd manners, and adorns with arts.
Love first invented verse, and form'd the rhyme,
The motion measur'd, harmoniz'd the chime;
To lib'ral acts enlarg'd the narrow soul'd,
Soften'd the fierce, and made the coward bold;
The world, when waste, he peopled with in-


And warring nations reconcil'd in peace.
Ormond the first, and all the fair may find,
In this one legend, to their fame design'd,
When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts.
the mind.

In that sweet isle where Venus keeps her


And ev'ry grace, and all the loves resort;
Where either sex is form'd of softer earth,
And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth:
There liv'd'a Cyprian lord above the rest
Wise, wealthy, with a num'rous issue blest:
But, as uo gift of fortune is sincere,
Was only wanting in a worthy heir.
His eldest born, a goodly youth to view,
Excell'd the rest in shape and outward shew;
Fair, tall, liis limbs with due proportion joia'd,
But of a heavy, dull, degen’rate mind:
His soul belied the features of his face;
Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace:
A clownish mien, a voice with rustic sound,
And stupid eyes that ever lov'd the ground.
He look'd like nature's error; as the mind'
And body were not of a piece design'd,
But made for two, and by mistake in one
were join'd.

The ruling rod, the father's forming care,
Were exercis'd in vain on wit's despair;
The more inform'd, the less he understood;
And deeper sunk by flound'ring in the mud.
Now scorn'd of all, and grown the public shame,
The people from Galesus chang'd his name,
And Cymon call'd, which signifies a brute;
So well his name did with his nature suit.

His father, when he found his labour lost,
And care employ'd that answer'd not the cost,
Chose an ungrateful object to remove,
And loath'd to see what nature made him love.
So to his country farm the fool confin'd:
Rude work well suited with a rustic mind.
Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went,
A 'squire among the swains, and pleas'd with

His corn and cattle were his only care,
And his supreme delight a country fair.

It happen'd on a suminer's holiday,
That to the green-wood shade he took his
[much to pray.
For Cymon shunn'd the church, and us'd not
His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake,
Hung half before, and half behind his back.
He trudg'd along, unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went for want of thought

By chance conducted, or by thirst con-

The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd;
Where in a plain defended by the wood,
Crept thro' the matted grass a crystal flood,
By which an alabaster fountain stood:
And on the margin of the fount was laid
(Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid.
Like Dian and ber nymphs, when, tir'd with

To rest by cool Eurotas they resort:
The dame herself the goddess well express'd,
Not more distinguish'd by her purple vest,
Than by the charming features of her face,
And even in slumber a superior grace :
Her comely limbs compos'd with decent care,
Her body shaded with a slight cymarr;
Her bosom to the view was only bare:
Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied,||
For yet their places were but signified:
The fanning wind upon her bosom blows,
To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose:
The fanning wind, and purling streams, con-

tinue her repose.

The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes,
And gaping mouth that testified surprise,
Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight,
New as he was to love, and novice to delight :
Long mute he stood, and, leaning on his staff,
His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh;
Then would have spoke, but by his glimm'ring||


First found his want of words, and fear'd of-
Doubted for what he was he should be known,
By his clown accent, and his country tone.
Thro' the rude chaos thus the running light:
Shot the first ray that pierc'd the native light:
Then day and darkness in the mass were mix'd,
Till gather'd in a globe the beams were fix'd:
Last shone the sun, who, radiant in his sphere,
Illumin'd heaven and earth, and roll'd around

the year.

So reason in this brutal soul began,

Love made him first suspect he was a man ;
Love made him doubt his broad barbarian

By love his want of words and wit he found;
That sense of want prepar'd the future way
To knowledge, and disclos'd the promise of a

What not his father's care, nor tutor's art,
Could plant with pains in his unpolish'd heart,
The best instructor, love, at once inspir'd,
As barren grounds to fruitfulness are fir'd:
Love taught him shame; and shame, with love
at strife,

Soon taught the sweet civilities of life;
His gross material soul at once could find
Somewhat in her excelling all her kind:

Exciting a desire till then unknown;
Somewhat unfound, or found in her alone :
This made the first impression on his mind,
Above, but just above, the brutal kind.
For beasts can like, but not distinguish too,
Nor their own liking by reflection know ;
Nor why they like or this or t'other face,
Or judge of this or that peculiar grace;
But love in gross, and stupidly admire:
As flies allur'd by light approach the fire.
Thus our man-beast, advancing by degrees,
First likes the whole, then separates what he


On several parts a sev'ral praise bestows:
The ruby lips, the well-proportion'd nose,
The skin, and raven-glossy hair,

The dimpled cheek, and forehead rising fair,
And ev'n in sleep itself, a smiling air.
From thence his eyes descending view'd the
[ing breast.
Her plump round arms, white hands, and hear-
Long on the last he dwelt, though every part
A pointed arrow sped to pierce his heart.

Thus in a trice a judge of beauty grown
(A judge erected from a country clown)
He long'd to see her eyes, in slumber hid,
And wish'd his own could pierce within the lid:
He would have wak'd her, but restrain'd his


And love new-born the first good manners
And awful fear his ardent wish withstood,
Nor durst disturb the goddess of the wood.
For such she seem'd by her celestial face,
Excelling all the rest of human race.
And things divine by common sense he knew,
Must be devoutly seen at distant view :
So checking his desire, with trembling heart,
Gazing he stood, nor would nor could depart;
Fix'd as a pilgrim wilder'd in his way,
Who dares not stir by night, for fear to stray,
But stands with awful eyes to watch the
dawn of day.

At length awaking, Iphigene the fair
(So was the beauty call'd who caus'd his care)
|| Unclos'd her eyes, and double day reveal'd,
While those of all her slaves in sleep were

The slav'ring curden, propp'd upon his staff,
Stood ready gaping, with a grinning laugh,
To welcome her awake; nor durst begin
To speak, but wisely kept the fool within.
Then she: What makes you, Cymon, here

(For Cymon's name was round the country

Because descended of a noble race,
And for a soul ill sorted with his face).

But still the sot stood silent with surprise,
With fix'd regard on her new-open'd eyes,

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