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And lengthen simple justice into trade) How glorious were the day! that saw these broke,

And every man within the reach of right.

By wintry famine rous'd, from all the tract Of horrid mountains which the shining Alps, And wavy Apennine, and Pyrenees, Branch out stupendous into distant lands; Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave; Burning for blood; bony, and gaunt, and grim,|| Assembling wolves in raging troops descend; Aud, pouring o'er the country, bear along, Keen as the north wind sweeps the glossy

snow.

All is their prize. They fasten on the steed, Press him to earth, and pierce his mighty heart.

Nor can the bull his awful front defend.
Or shake the murdering savages away.
Rapacious, at the mother's throat they fly,
And tear the screaming infaut from her breast.
The god-like face of man avails him nought.
Even beauty, force divine! at whose bright
glance

The generous lion stands in soften'd gaze,
Here bleeds, a hapless undistinguish'd prey.
But if appris'd of the severe attack,

The country be shut up; lur'd by the scent,
On church yards drear (inhuman to relate)
The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig
The shrouded body from the grave; o'er which,
Mix'd with foul shades, and frighted ghosts,
they howl.

Among those hilly regions, where embrac'd
In peaceful vales the happy Grisons dwell;
Oft, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs,
Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll.
From steep to steep loud-thundering down they

come,

A wintry waste in dire commotion all; And herds, and flock, and travellers, and swains, [troops, And sometimes whole brigades of marching Or hamlets, sleeping in the dead of night, Are deep beneath the smothering ruin whelm'd.

Now, all amid the rigours of the year,
In the wild depth of Winter, while withont
The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat,
Between the groaning forest and the shore
Beat by the bouness multitudes of waves,
A rural, shelter'd, solitary scene;
Where ruddy fire, and beaming tapers join,
To cheer the gloom. There studious let me
sit,

And hold high converse with the mighty dead;
Sages of ancient time, as gods rever'd,
As gods beneficent, who blest mankind
With arts,with arms, and kumaniz'd the world.

Rous'd at th' inspiring thought, I throw aside The long liv'd volume; and, deep musing,

hail

The sacred shades, that slowly-rising pass
Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates,
Who, firmly good in a corrupted state,
Against the reign of tyrants firmly stood,
Invincible! calm reason's holy law,
That voice of God within th' attentive mind,
Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death;
Great moral teacher! wisest of mankind!
Solon the next, who built his commonweal
On equity's wide base; by tender laws
A lively people curbing, yet undamp’d
Preserving still that quick peculiar fire,
Whence in the laurel'd field of finer arts,
And of bold freedom, they unequall'd shone,
The pride of smiling Greece and human kind.
Lycurgus then, who bow'd beneath the force
Of strictest discipline, severely wise,
All buman passions. Following him, I see,
As at Thermopylae he glorious fell,
The firm devoted chief,* who prov'd by deeds
The hardest lesson which the other taught.
Then Aristides lifts his honest front;
Spotless of heart, to whom th`unflattering voice
Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just:
In pure majestic poverty rever'd;
Who, even his glory to his country's weal
Submitting, swell'd a haughty rival's † fame.
Rear'd by his care, of softer ray appears
Cimon sweet soul'd; whose genius rising

strong,

Shook off the load of young debauch; abroad The scourge of Persian pride, at home the

friend

Of every worth and every splendid art;
Modest, and simple, in the pomp of wealth.
Then the last worthies of declining Greece,
Late call'd to glory, in unequal times,
Pcusive, appear. The fair Corinthian boast,
Timoleon, happy temper! mild, and firm,
Who wept the brother while the tyrant bled.
Aud, equal to the best, the Theban pair, ‡
Whose virtues, in heroic concord join'd,
Their country rais`d to freedom, empire, fame.
He too with whom Athenian honour sunk,
And left a mass of sordid lees behind,
Phocion the good; in public life severe,
To virtue still inexorably firm;

But when, beneath his low illustrious roof,
Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his

brow,

Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind,
And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons,
The generous victim to that vaiu attempt,

* Leonidas. + Themistocles. Pelopidas and Epaminondas.

Winter.]

BEAUTIES OF THE BRITISH POETS.

To save a rotten state, Agis, who saw
Even Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk.
The two Achaian heroes close the train :
Aratus, who a while relum'd the soul
Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece;
And be her darling as her latest hope,
The gallant Philopomen; who to arms
Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure ;
Or toiling in his farm, a simple swaiu;
Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field.
Of rougher front, a mighty people come!
A race of heroes! in those virtuous times,
Which knew no stain, save that with partial
flame

[lose,

Their dearest country they too fondly lov'd:
Her better founder first, the light of Rome,
Numa, who softened her rapacious sons:
Servius the king, who laid the solid base
On which o'er earth the vast republic spread.
Then the great consuls venerable rise.
The public father *, who the private quell'd,
As on the dread tribunal sternly sad.
He, whom his thankless country could not
Camillus, only vengeful to her foes.
Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold;
And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough.
Thy willing victimf, Carthage, bursting loose
From all that pleading nature could oppose,
From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith
Imperious call'd, and honour's dire command.
Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave,
Who soon the race of spotless glory ran,
And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade
With friendship and philosophy retir'd.
Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while
Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome.
Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme.
And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart,
Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urg'd,
Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend,
Thousands besides the tribute of a verse

First of your kind! society diviue!
Still visit thus my nights, for you reserv'd,
And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like
yours.

Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine;
See on the hallowed hour that none intrude,
Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign
To bless my humble roof, with sense refin'd,
Learning digested well, exalted faith,
Unstudy'd wit, and humour ever gay.
Or from the Muses' hill will Pope descend,
To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile,
And with the social spirit warm the heart?
For though not sweeter his own Homer sings,
Yet is his life the more endearing song.
Where art thou Hammond? thou the darling
pride,

The friend and lover of the tuneful throng!
Ahwhy, dear youth, in all the blossoming prime
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay,
Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon?
What now avails that noble thirst of fame,
Which stung thy fervent breast? that treasur'd

store

Of knowledge, early gain'd? that eager zeal
To serve thy country, glowing in the band
Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name?
What now, alas! that life-diffusing charm
Of sprightly wit? that rapture for the muse,
That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy,
Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile?
Ah! only show'd, to check our fond pursuits,
And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain!

Thus in some deep retirement would I pass
The winter glooms, with friends of pliant soul,
Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspir'd:
With them would search, if nature's boundless

frame

Was call'd, late-rising from the void of night,
Or sprung eternal from th' eternal mind;

Demand; but who can count the stars of Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end.

heaven?

Who sing their influence on this lower world?
Behold, who yonder comes! in sober state,
Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun;
'Tis Phoebus' self, or else the Mantuan swain;
Great Homer too appears, of daring wing,
Parent of song; and equal by his side,

Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole
Would, gradual, open on our opening minds;
And each diffusive harmony unite

In full perfection, to th' astonish'd eye.
Then would we try to scan the moral world,
Which, though to us it seems embroil'd, moves

on

The British muse! join'd haud in hand they In higher order; fitted, and impelled,

walk,

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Darkling full up the middle steep to fame.
Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch
Pathetic drew th' impassion'd heart and charm'd
Transported Athens with the moral scene;
Nor those who, tuneful, wak'd th' enchanting
lyre.

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By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all
In general good. The sage historic muse
Should next conduct us through the deeps of

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In nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd,
Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale
That portion of divinity, that ray

Of purest heaven, which lights the public soul
Of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd,
In powerless humble fortune, to repress
These ardent risings of the kindling soul;
Then, even superior to ambition, we
Would learn the private virtues; how to glide
Thro' shades and plains, along the smoothest
stream

Of rural life; or snatch'd away by hope,
Through the dim spaces of futurity,
With earnest eye anticipate those scenes
Of happiness and wonder; where the mind,
In endless growth, and infinite ascent,
Rises from state to state, and world to world.
But when with these the serious thought is
'foild,

We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes
Of frolic fancy, and incessat form
Those rapid pictures, that assembled train
Of fleet ideas, never join`d before,
Whence lively wit excites to gay surprise;
Or fully painting Humour, grave himself,
Calis Laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve.
Meantime the village rouses up the fire
While well attested, and as well believ'd,
Heard solemn, goes the goblin-story round;
Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all.
Or frequent in the sounding hall, they wake
The rural gambol Rustic mirth goes round;
The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart,
Easily p eas'd; the long loud laugh sincere ;
The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the side-long
maid,

On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep;
The leap, the slap, the haul; and shook to notes
Of native music, the respondent dance.
Thus jocund fleets with them the winter-night. ||
The city swarms intense. The public haunt,
Full of each theme, and warm with mixt dis-
course,

Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow
Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy
To swift destruction. On the rankled soul
The gaming fury falls; and in one gulf
Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace,
Friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink
Up springs the dance along the lighted dome,
Mix'd, and evolv'd, a thousand sprightly ways.
The glittering court effuses every pomp ;
The circle deepens : beam'd from gaudy robes,
Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes,
A soft effulgence o'er the palace waves:
While, a gay insect in his summer-shine,
The fop, light-Huttering, spreads his mealy
wings.
[stalks ;
Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of Hamlet

Othello rages; poor Monimia mourns ;
And Belvidera pours her soul in love.
Terror alarms the breast; the comely tear
Steals o'er the cheek: or else the comic muse.
Holds to the world a picture of itself,
And raises sly the fair impartial laugh.
Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the

scenes

Of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind,
Or charm the heart, in generous Bevil* show'd.
O thou, whose wisdom, solid yet refin'd,
Whose patriot virtues, and consummate skill
To touch the finer springs that move the world.
Join'd to whate'er the graces can bestow,
And all Apollo's animating fire,
Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy,
Of polish'd life: permit the rural mouse,
O Chesterfield, to grace with thee her song!
Ere to the shades again she humbly flies,
Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train
(For every muse has in thy train a place),
To mark thy various full-accomplish`d mind:
To mark that spirit, which with British scorn,
Rejects the allurements of corrupted power;
That elegant politeness, which excels,
Even in the judgment of presumptuous France,
The boasted manners of her shining court;
That wit, the vivid energy of sense,

The truth of nature, which, with Attic point,
And kind, well-temper'd satire, smoothly keen,
Steals through the soul, and without pain cor-

rects.

Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame,
O let me hail thee on some glorious day,
When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd
Britannia's sous to hear her pleaded cause.
Then dress'd by thee, more amiably fair,
Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears :
Thou to assenting reason giv’st again
Her own enlightened thoughts; call'd from the
heart,

Th' obedient passions on thy voice attend ;
And eveu reluctant party feels a while
Thy gracious power: as through the varied
[strong,
Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now
Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood.

maze

To thy lov'd haunt return, my happy muse, For now, behold. the joyous winter-days, Frosty, succeed; and through the blue serene, For sight too fine, the ethereal nitre flies; Killing infectious damps, and the spent air Storing afresh with elemental life. Close crowds the shining atmosphere; and binds

* A character in the Conscious Lovers, written by Richard Steele.

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What art thou, frost? and whence are thy On sounding skates, a thousand different ways,

keen stores

Deriv'd, thou secret all-invading power, Whom even th'illusive fluid cannot fly? Is not thy potent energy, unseen, Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shap'd Like double wedges, and diffus'd immense Through water, earth, and ether? Hence at eve, Steam'd eager from the red horizon round, With the fierce rage of Winter deep suffus'd, An icy gale, oft shifting o'er the pool Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career Arrests the bickering stream. The loosened ice, Let down the flood, and half dissolv'd by day, Rustless no more; but to the sedgy bank Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, A crystal pavement, by the breath of heaven Cemented firm; till, seiz'd from shore to shore, The whole imprison'd river growls below. Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects A double noise; while, at his evening watch, The village dog deters the nightly thief; The heifer lows: the distant water fall Swells in the breeze; and with the hasty tread Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, Shines out intensely keen; and, all one cope Of starry glitter glows from pole to pole. From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, Through the still night, incessant, heavy,

strong,

And seizes nature fast. It freezes on;
Till morn, late rising o'er the drooping world,
Lifts her pale eye unjoyous. Then appears
The various labour of the silent night :
Prone from the dripping cave, and dumb cas-
cade,

Whose idle torrents only seem to roar,
The pendent icicle; the frost-work fair,
Where transient hues, and fancy'd figures rise;
Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook,

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But soon elaps'd. The horizontal sun,
Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon:
And, ineffectual, strikes the gelid cliff:

His azure gloss the mountain still maintains,
Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale
Relents a while to the reflected ray;
Or from the forest falls the cluster'd snow,
Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam
Gay twinkle as they scatter. Thick around
Thunders the sport of those, who with the gun,
And dog impatient, bounding at the shot,
Worse thau the season, desolate the fields;
And, adding to the ruins of the year,
Distress the footed or the feathered game.

But what is this? Our infant Winter sinks,
Divested of his grandeur, should our eye
Astonish'd shoot into the Frigid Zone ;
Where, for relentless months, continual night
Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign.
There, through the prison of unbounded wilds,
Barr'd by the hand of nature from escape,
Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around
Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow;
And heavy loaded groves; and solid floods,
That stretch, athwart the solitary vast,
Their icy horrors to the frozen main;

And cheerless towns far-distant, never bless'd, w'd
Save when its annual course the caravan

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Bends to the golden coast of rich Catbay *, With news of human kind. Yet there life glows;

Yet cherish'd there, beneath the shining waste,
The furry nations harbour: tipt with jet,
Fair ermines, spotless as the suows they press;
Sables, of glossy black; and dark embrown'd,
Or beauteous freak'd with many a mingled hue,
Thousand besides, the costly pride of courts.
There, warm together press'd, the trooping
deer
[head
Sleep on the new-fallen snows; and, scarce his
Rais'd o'er the heapy wreath, the branching elk
Lies lumbering sullen in the white abyss.
The ruthless huuter wants not dogs nor toils,
Nor with the dread of sounding bows he drives
The fearful flying race; with ponderous clubs,
As weak against the mountain heaps they push
Their beating breast in vain, and piteous bray,
He lays them quivering on th' ensanguin'd

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And with loud shouts rejoicing bears them There through the piny forest half absorpt, Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear,

With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn;
Slow-pac'd, and sourer as the storms increase,
He makes his bed beneath th' inclement drift,
And, with stern patience, scorning weak com-
plaint,

Hardens his heart against assailing want.
Wide o'er the spacious regions of the north,
That sees Bootes urge his tardy wain,
A boisterous race, by frosty Caurus† pierc'd,
Who little pleasure know, and fear no pain,
Prolific swarm. They once relum'd the flame
Of lost mankind in polish'd slavery sunk,
Drove martial horde on horde ‡, with dreadful

sweep

Resistless rushing o'er th' enfeebled south, And gave the vanquish'd world another form. Not such the sons of Lapland: wisely they Despise th' insensate barbarous trade of war; · They ask no more than simple nature gives, They love their mountains and enjoy their

storms.

No false desires, no pride-created wants,
Disturb the peaceful current of their time;
And through the restless ever-tortur'd maze
Of pleasure, or ambition, bid it rage.
Their rein-deer form their riches. These their
tents,
[wealth
Their robes, their beds, and all their homely
Supply, their wholesome fare, and cheerful

cups.

The old name for China, Drab'et The north-west wind.

The wandering Scythian clans.

Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe Yield to the sled their neck, and whirl them swift

O'er hill and dale, heap'd into one expanse
Of marbled snow, as far as eye can sweep
With a blue crust of ice unbounded glaz'd.
By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake
A waving blaze refracted o'er the heavens,
And vivid moons, and stars that keener play
With doubled lustre from the glossy waste,
Even in the depth of polar night, they find
A wondrous day: enough to light the chase,
Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs.
Wish'd Spring returns; and from the hazy
south,

While dim Aurora slowly moves before,
The welcome sun, just verging up at first,
By small degrees extends the swelling curve;
Till seen at last for gay rejoicing months,
Still round and round his spiral course he
winds;

And as he nearly dips his flaming orb,
Wheels up again, and re-ascends the sky.
In that glad season, from the lakes and floods,
Where pure Niemi's § fairy mountains rise,
And fring'd with roses Tenglio rolls his

stream,

They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve,
They cheerful loaded to their tents repair;
Where, all day long in useful cares employ'd,
Their kind unblemished wives the fire prepare.
Thrice happy race! by poverty secur'd
From regal plunder and rapacious power:
In whom fell int'rest never yet has sown
The seeds of vice: whose spotless swains ne'er
knew

Injurious deed, nor, blasted by the breath
Of faithless love,their blooming daughters woe.
Still pressing on beyond Tornea's lake,
And Hecla flaming through a waste of snow,
And farthest Greenland, to the pole itself,
Where, failing gradual, life at length goes out,

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§ M. de Maupertuis, in his book on the figure of the earth, after having described the beautiful lake and mountain of Niemi, in Lapland, says, From this height we had opportunity several times to see those vapours rise from the lake which the people of the country call Haltios, and which they deem to be the guardian spirits of the moun tains. We had been frighted with the stories of bears that haunted this place, but saw none. It seemed rather a place of resort for fairies and genii, than bears."

The same author observes: "I was sur prised to see upon the banks of this river (the Tenglio) roses of as lively a red as any that are in our gardens".

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