And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell,
And with your presence grace our humble cell,
Whate'er the gods have giv'n with bounteous hand,
Our harvests, fields and flocks, our all command.
Meantime, Ambition on his rival's flight,

Sole lord of man attain'd his wish's height;
Of all dependance on his subjects eas'd,

He rag'd without a curb, and did whate'er he pleas'd;
As some wild flame driv'n on by furious winds
Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds;
So rush'd the fiend destructive o'er the plain,
Defac'd the labours of th' industrious swain n;
Polluted ev'ry stream with human gore,

And scatter'd plagues and death from shore to shore.
Great Jove beheld it from th' Olympian tow'rs,
Where sate assembled all the heav'nly pow'rs;
Then with a nod that shook th' empyrean throne,
Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun :

You see, immortal inmates of the skies,
How this vile wretch almighty pow'r defies;
His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt,
Demand a torment equal to his guilt:
Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy
Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly;

There let him chuse his sharpest, hottest dart,
And with his former rival wound his heart.
And thou, my son, (the god to Hermes said)
Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head;
Dart thro' the yielding air with all thy force,
And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course;
There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave,
Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave;
Command her to secure the sacred bound,
Where lives Content retir'd; and all around

Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night,
And screen the Virgin from the Tyrant's sight:
That the vain purpose of his life may try
Still to explore, what still eludes his eye.
He spoke; loud praises shake the bright abode,
And all applaud the justice of the God.

THE POET;

A RHAPSODY.

Of all the various lots around the ball,
Which Fate to man distributes, absolute;
Avert, ye Gods! that of the Muse's son,
Curs'd with dire poverty! poor hungry wretch!
What shall he do for life? he cannot work
With manual labour: Shall those sacred hands,
That brought the counsels of the Gods to light;
Shall that inspired tongue, which ev'ry Muse
Has touch'd divine, to charm the sons of men :
These hallow'd organs! these! be prostitute
To the vile service of some fool in pow'r,
All his behests submissive to perform,
Howe'er to him ingrateful? Oh! he scorns
Th' ignoble thought; with generous disdain,
More eligible deeming it to starve,
Like his fam'd ancestors renown'd in verse,
Than poorly bend to be another's slave,-
Than feed and fatten in obscurity.

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-These are his firm resolves, which fate nor time,

Nor poverty can shake.

Exalted high
In garret vile he lives; with remnants hung
Of tapestry: But oh! precarious state

Of this vain transient world! all pow'rful time!
What dost thou not subdue? See what a chasm
Gapes wide, tremendous! see where Saul enrag'd,
High on his throne, encompass'd by his guards,
With levell'd spear, and arm extended sits,
Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son,
Spoil'd of his nose--around in tott'ring ranks,
On shelves pulverulent, majestick stands
His library; in ragged plight, and old;
Replete with many a load of criticism,
Elab'rate products of the midnight toil

Of Belgian brains; snatch'd from the deadly hands
Of murd'rous grocer, or the careful wight,
Who vends the plant, that glads the happy shore
Of Indian Patomack; which citizens

In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot

Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose

Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate.
Elsewhere the dome is fill'd with various heaps
Of old domestic lumber; that huge chair
Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne:
Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread
With ink and pens, and scroll replete with rhyme :
Chests, stools, old rasors, fractur'd jars half full
Of muddy Zythum, sour and spiritless:
Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils
Of various fashion, and of various use,
With friendly influence hide the sable floor.
This is the Bard's Museum, this the fane
To Phoebus sacred, and th' Aonian maids :
But oh! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate

To him in such small measure should dispense
Her better gifts: to him! whose gen'rous soul
Could relish, with as fine an elegance,

The golden joys of grandeur, and of wealth;
He who could tyrannize o'er menial slaves,
Or swell beneath a coronet of state,
Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien,
Grand as the haughtiest Timon of them all.-
But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny,

Here he must rest and brook the best he can,
To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit;
Immur'd amongst th' ignoble, vulgar herd
Of lowest intellect; whose stupid souls -
But half inform their bodies; brains of lead
And tongues of thunder: whose insensate breasts
Ne'er felt the rapt'rous, soul-entrancing fire
Of the celestial Muse; whose savage ears
Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor ev'n the names,
Of the Venusian Bard, or critic sage

Full-fam'd of Stagyra: Whose clam'rous tongues
Stun the tormented ear with colloquy,
Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent;

Replete with boorish scandal: Yet, alas!
This, this! he must endure, or muse alone,
Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme,
Or line imperfect-No! the door is free,
And calls him to evade their deaf'ning clang,
By private ambulation ;-'tis resolv'd:
Off from his waist he throws the tatter'd gown,
Beheld with indignation; and unloads
His pericranium of the weighty cap,

With sweat and grease discolour'd: then explores
The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb
Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free

Of age's rev'rend russet, scant and bare;
Then down his meagre visage waving flows
The shadowy perruque; crown'd with gummy hat
Clean brush'd; a cane supports him. Thus equip'd
He sallies forth; swift traverses the streets,
And seeks the lonely walk; Hail sylvan scenes,
Ye groves, ye vallies, ye meand'ring brooks
Admit me to your joys, in rapt'rous phrase,
Loud he exclaims; while with th' inspiring Muse
His bosom labours; and all other thoughts,
Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself,
Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought,
Fancy presents before his ravish'd eyes
Distant posterity, upon his page

With transport dwelling; while bright learning's sons That ages hence must tread this earthly ball, Indignant seem to curse the thankless age,

That starv'd such merit. Meantime swallow'd up
In meditation deep, he wanders on,

Unweeting of his way.- -But ah! he starts!
With sudden fright his glaring eye-balls roll,

Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loosen'd joints,
His cogitations vanish into air,

Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream.
Behold the cause! see! thro' the opening glade,
With rosy visage, and abdomen grand,

A cit, a dun!

-As in Apulia's wilds,

Or where the Thracian Hebrus rolls his wave,
A heedless kid, disportive, roves around,
Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave

Of the dire wolf she treads; half dead she views
His bloodshot eye-balls, and his dreadful fangs,
And swift as Eurus from the monster flies.
So fares the trembling Bard; amaz'd he turns,