Sometimes she bids the deep-embattled host, The flood-compelling arch ; the long canal,*
Above the vulgar reach, resistless formd,

Through mountains piercing, and uniting seas; March to sure conquest-never gain'd before !* The dome resounding sweet with infant joy,t Nor on the treacherous seas of giddy state From famine sav'd, or cruel-handed shame, Unskilful she : when the triumphant tide

And that where valor counts his noble scars
Of high-swoln empire wears one boundless smile, The land where social pleasure loves to dwell,
And the gale tempts to new pursuits of fame, of the fierce demon, Gothic duel, freed;
Sometimes, with Scipio, she collects her sail, The robber from his farthest forest chas'd;
And seeks the blissful shore of rural ease,

The turbid city clear'd, and, by degrees,
Where, but th’ Aonian maids, no syrens sing ; Into sure peace the best police refin'd,
Or should the deep-brew'd tempest muttering rise, Magnificence, and grace, and deceni joy.
While rocks and shoals perfidious lurk around, Let Gallic bards record, how honor'd arts,
With Tully she her wide-reviving light

And science, by despotic bounty bless'd,
To senates holds, a Catiline confounds,

At distance flourish'd from my parent-eye, And saves awhile from Cæsar sinking Rome. Restoring ancient taste, how Boileau rose. Such the kind power, whose piercing eye dissolves How the big Roman soul shook, in Corneille, Each mental fetter, and sets reason free ;

The trembling stage. In elegant Racine, For me inspiring an enlighten'd zeal,

How the more powerful, though more humble voice
The more ienacious as the more convinc'd Of nature-painting Greece, resistless, breath'd
How happy freemen, and how wretched slaves. The whole awaken'd heart. How Moliere's scene
To Britons not unknown, to Britons full

Chastis'd and regular, with well-judg'd wit,
The goddess spreads her stores, the secret soul Not scatter'd wild, and native humor, grac'd,
That quickens trade, the breath unseen that wasts Was life itself. To public honors rais'd,
To them the treasures of a balanc'd world. How learning in warm seminaries spread it
But finer arts (save what the Muse has sung And, more for glory than the small reward,
In daring flight, above all modern wing)

How emulation strove. How their pure tongue Neglected droop the head; and public works, Almost obtain'd what was denied their arms. Broke by corruption into private gain,

From Rome, awhile, how Painting, courted long, Not ornament, disgrace; not serve, destroy. With Poussin came: ancient design, that lifts

“ Shall Britons, by their own joint wisdom ruld A fairer front, and looks another soul. Beneath one royal head, whose vital power How the kind art, that, of unvalued price, Connects, enlivens, and exerts the whole;

The fam'd and only picture, easy, gives, In finer arts, and public works, shall they

Refind her touch, and, through the shadow'd piece, To Gallia yield ? yield to a land that bends, All the live spirit of the painter pour'd. Deprest, and broke, beneath the will of one? Coyest of arts, how Sculpture northward deign'd Of one who, should th' unkingly thirst of gold, A look, and bade her Girardon arise. Of tyrant passions, or ambition, prompt,

How lavish grandeur blaz'd ; the barren waste, Calls locust armies o'er the blasted land :

Astonishid, saw the sudden palace swell, Drains from its thirsty bounds the springs of wealth, And fountains spout amid its arid shades. His own insatiate reservoir to fill :

For leagues, bright vistas opening to the view, To the lone desert patriot merit frowns,

How forests in majestic gardens smil'd.
Or into dungeons arts, when they, their chains, How menial arts, by their gay sisters taught,
Indignant, bursting, for their nobler works

Wove the deep flow'r, the blooming foliage train'd
All other license scorn but Truth's and mine. In joyous figures o'er the silky lawn,
Oh, shame to think! shall Britons, in the field The palace cheer'd, illum’d the storied wall,
Unconquer'd still, the better laurel lose ?

And with the pencil vied the glowing loom.||
Ev'n in that monarchist reign, who vainly dreamt, “ These laurels, Louis, by the droppings rais'd
By giddy power betray'd, and flatter'd príde, Of thy profusion, its dishonor'd shade,
To grasp unbounded sway; while, swarming round, And, green through future times, shall bind thy brow;
His armies dar'd all Europe to the field ;

While the vain honors of perfidious war
To hostile hands while treasure fow'd profuse, Wither abhorr'd, or in oblivion lost.
And, that great source of treasure, subjects' blood. With what prevailing vigor had they shot,
Inhuman squander'd, sicken'd every land;

And stole a deeper root, by the full tide
From Britain, chief, while my superior sons,

Of war-sunk millions fed ? Superior still, In vengeance rushing, dash'd his idle hopes, How had they branch'd luxuriant to the skies, And bade his agonizing heart be low :

In Britain planted, by the potent juice Ev'n then, as in the golden calm of peace! Of freedom swell'd ? Forc'd is the bloom of arts. What public works at home! what arts arose ! A false uncertain spring, when bounty gives, What various science shone! what genius glow'd! Weak without me, a transitory gleam. “ 'Tis not for me to paint, diffusive shot

Fair shine the slippery days, enticing skies O'er fair extents of land, the shining road; Of favor smile, and courtly breezes blow;

Till arts, betray'd, trust to the flattering air * Epaminondas, after having beat the Lacedæmonians Their tender blossom : then malignant rise and their allies, in the battle of Leuctra, made an incur. sion at the head of a powerful army into Laconia. It * The canal of Languedoc. was now six hundred years since the Dorians had pos- † The hospitals for foundlings and invalids. sessed this country, and in all that time the face of an 1 The academies of Science, of the Belles Lettres, and enemy had not been een within their territories.-Plu. Painting. tarch in Agesilaus.

§ Engraving. | Lewis XIV.

| The tapestry of the Gobelins.

The blights of envy, of those insect-clouds, Till moral, public, gracefui action crowns
That, blasting merit, often cover courts :

The whole. Behold! the fair contention glows,
Nay, should, perchance, some kind Mæcenas aid In all that mind or body can adorn,
The doubtful beamings of his prince's soul, And form to life. Instead of barren heads,
His wavering ardor fix, and unconfin'd

Barbarian pedants, wrangling sons of pride,
Diffuse his warm beneficence around;

And truth-perplexing metaphysie wits,
Yet death, at last, and wintry tyrants come, Men, patriots, chiefs, and citizens are form’d.
Each sprig of genius killing at the root.

“Lo! Justice, like the liberal light of Heaven, But when with me imperial bounty joins,

Unpurchas'd shines on all, and from her beam, Wide o'er the public blows eternal Spring: A ppalling guilt, retire the savage crew, While mingled Autumn every harvest pours That prowl amid the darkness they themselves Of every land : whate'er invention, art,

Have thrown around the laws. Oppression grieves Creating toil and Nature can produce.”

See! how her legal furies bite the lip, Here ceas'd the goddess; and her ardent wings, While Yorks and Talbots their deep snares detect, Dipt in the colors of the heavenly bow,

And seize swift justice through the clouds they raise. Stood waving radiance round, for sudden flight “Şee! social Labor lists his guarded head, Prepard, when thus, impatient, burst my prayer. And men not yield to government in vain. “Oh, forming light of life! O, better Sun!

From the sure land is rooted ruffian force, Sun of mankind! by whom the cloudy north, And, the lewd nurse of villains, idle waste ; [bowl, Sublim'd, not envies Languedocian skies,

Lo! raz'd their haunts, down dash'd their maddening That, unstain'd ether all, diffusive smile :

A nation's poison! beauteous order reigns !
When shall we call these ancient laurels ours? Manly submission, unimposing toil,
And when thy work complete ?" Straight with her Trade without guile, civility that marks
hand,

From the foul herd of brutal slaves thy sons,
Celestial red, she touch'd my darken’d eyes. And fearless peace. Or should affronting war
As at the touch of day the shades dissolve, To slow but dreadful vengeance rouse the just,
So quick, methought, the misty circle clear'd, Unfailing fields of freemen I behold!
That dims the dawn of being here below: That know, with their own proper arm, to guard
The future shone disclos'd, and, in long view, Their own blest isle against a leaguing world.
Bright rising eras instant rush'd to light.

Despairing Gaul her boiling youth restrains, “ They come! great goddess! I the times behold! Dissolv'd her dream of universal sway: The times our fathers, in the bloody field,

The winds and seas are Britain's wide domain; Have earn'd so dear, and, not with less renown, And not a sail, but by permission, spreads. In the warm struggles of the Senate fight.

"Lo! swarming southward on rejoicing sons, The times I see! whose glory to supply,

Gay colonies extend ; the calm retreat For toiling ages, commerce round the world

Of undeservd distress, the better home Has wing'd unnumber'd sails, and from each land of those whom bigots chase from foreign lands, Materials heap'd, that, well-employ'd, with Rome Not built on rapine, servitude, and woe, Might vie our grandeur, and with Greece our art. And in their turn some petty tyrant's prey ;

“Lo! princes I behold! contriving still, But, bound by social freedom, firm they rise ; And still conducting firm some brave design; Such as, of late, an Oglethorpe has formid, Kings! that the narrow joyless circle scorn, And, crowding round, the charm'd Savannah sees. Burst the blockade of false designing men,

“ Horrid with want and misery, no more Of treacherous smiles, of adulation fell,

Our streets the tender passenger amict. And of the blinding clouds around them thrown: Nor shivering age, nor sickness without friend, Their court rejoicing millions; worth alone, Or home, or bed to bear his burning load, And virtue dear to them; their best delight, Nor agonizing infant, that ne'er earn'd In just proportion to give general joy :

Its guiltless pangs, I see! The stores, profuse, Their jealous care thy kingdom to maintain ; Which British bounty has to these assign'd, The public glory theirs; unsparing love

No more the sacrilegious riot swell Their endless treasure; and their deeds their praise. Of cannibal devourers! Right applied, With thee they work. Nought can resist your force: No starving wretch the land of freedom stains. Life feels it quickening in her dark retreats ; If poor, employment finds; if old, demands; Strong spread the blooms of genius, science, art; If sick, if maim'd, his miserable due; His bashful bounds disclosing merit breaks ; And will, if young, repay the fondest care. And, big with fruits of glory, virtue blows Sweet sets the sun of stormy life, and sweet Expansive o'er the land. Another race

The morning shines, in mercy's dews array'd. Of generous youth, of patriot-sires, I see !

Lo! how they rise! these families of Heaven ! Not those rain insects Muttering in the blaze That!* chief, (but why—ye bigots !-why so lato ?; Of court, and ball, and play; those venal souls, Where blooms and warbles glad a rising age : Corruption's veteran unrelenting bands,

What smiles of praise! and while their song ascends, That, to their vices slaves, can ne'er be free. The listening seraph lays bis lute aside.

" I see the fountain 's purg'd ; whence life derives “ Hark! the gay Muses raise a nobler strain,
A clear or turbid Now; see the young mind With active nature, warm impassion'd truth,
Not fed impure by chance, by flattery foolid, Engaging fable, lucid order, notes
Or by scholastic jargon bloated proud,

Of various string, and heart-felt image fillid.
But fill'd and nourish'd by the light of truth. Behold! I see the dread delighiful school
Then, beam'd through fancy the refining ray, of temper'd passions, and of polish'd life,
And pouring on the heart, ihe passions feel
At once indorming light and moving flame;

* An hospital for foundlinga.

Restor'd: behold! the well-dissembled scene

Oh! if thou hover'st round my walk, Calls from embellish'd eyes the lovely tear,

While under every well-known tree, Or lights up mirth in modest cheeks again.

I to thy fancied shadow talk,
Lo! vanish'd monster-land. Lo! driven away

And every tear is full of thee;
Those that Apollo's sacred walls profane;
Their wild creation scatter'd, where a world

Should then the weary eye of grief,
Unknown to Nature, chaos more confus'd,

Beside some sympathetic stream, O'er the brute scene its ouran-outangs* pours;

In slumber find a short relief, Detested forms! that, on the mind imprest,

O visit thou my soothing dream! Corrupt, confound, and barbarize an age.

“ Behold! all thine again the sister-arts, Thy graces they, knit in harmonious dance. Nurs'd by the treasure from a nation drain'd

THE HAPPY MAN. Their works to purchase, they to nobler rouse

He's not the Happy Man, to whom is given Their untam'd genius, their unsetter'd thought;

A plenteous fortune by indulgent Heaven; Of pompous tyrants, and of dreaming monks,

Whose gilded roofs on shining columns rise, The gaudy tools, and prisoners, no more.

And painted walls enchant the gazer's eyes; “ Lo! numerous domes a Burlington confess :

Whose table flows with hospitable cheer,
For kings and senates fit, the palace see!

And all the various bounty of the year;
The temple breathing a religious awe;
Ev'n fram'd with elegance the plain retreat,

Whose valleys smile, whose gardens breathe th

Spring, The private dwelling. Certain in his aim,

Whose carved mountains bleat, and forests sing ; Taste, never idly working, saves expense. “See! Sylvan scenes, where, Art, alone, pretends while his full cellars give their generous wines ;

For whom the cooling shade in Summer twines, To dress her mistress, and disclose her charms:

From whose wide fields unbounded Autumn pours Such as a Pope in miniature has shown;

A golden tide into his swelling stores : A Bathurst o'er the widening forestt spreads;

Whose Winter laughs ; for whom the liberal gales And such as form a Richmond, Chiswick, Stowe.

Stretch the big sheet, and toiling commerce sails ; “ August, around, what public works I see! Lo! stately streets, lo! squares that court the breeze, while youth, and health, and vigor string his nerves

When yielding crowds attend, and pleasure serves In spite of those to whom pertains the care,

Ev'n not at all these, in one rich lot combin'd, Ingulfing more than founded Roman ways.

Can make the Happy Man, without the mind; Lo! ray'd from cities o'er the brighten'd land,

Where Judgment sits clear-sighted, and surveys Connecting sea to sea, the solid road.

The chain of Reason with unerring gaze; Lo! the proud arch (no vile exactor's stand)

Where Fancy lives, and to the brightening eyes With easy sweep bestrides the chafing flood.

His fairer scenes, and bolder figures rise ;
See! long canals, and deepen'd rivers, join

Where social Love exerts her soft command,
Each part with each, and with the circling main
The whole enliven'd isle. Lo! ports expand,

And plays the passions with a tender hand,
Free as the winds and waves, their sheltering arms. And all the moral harmony of life.

Whence every virtue flows, in rival strife,
Lo! streaming comfort o'er the troubled deep,
On every pointed coast the light-house towers ;
And, by the broad imperious mole repellid,
Hark! how the baffled storm indignant roars."
As thick to view these varied wonders rose,

SONG.
Shook all my soul with transport, unassurd,

Hard is the fate of him who loves, The vision broke ; and, on my waking eye,

Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, Rush'd the still ruins of dejected Rome.

But to the sympathetic groves,

But to the lonely listening plain.
Oh! when she blesses next your shade,

Oh! when her footsteps next are seen
ODE.

In flowery tracts along the mead,

In fresher mazes o'er the green,
TELL me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled ;

Ye gentle spirits of the vale,
To what delightful world above,

To whom the tears of love are dear,
Appointed for the happy dead ?

From dying lilies waft a gale,

And sigh my sorrows in her ear. Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam,

0, tell her what she cannot blame, And sometimes share thy lover's woe ;

Though fear my tongue must ever bind Where, void of thee, his cheerless home

O, tell her that my virtuous flame
Can now, alas! no comfort know?

Is as her spotless soul refin'd.

Not her own guardian angel eyes • A creature which, of all brutes, most resembles man. With chaster tenderness his care, -See Dr. Tyson's treatise on this animal.

Not purer her own wishes rise, Okely woods, near Cirencester.

Not holier her own sighs in prayer.

But if, at first, her virgin fear

Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friendship soothe her ear

True love and friendship are the same.

SONG.

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love,
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?

Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish, and wish the soul away;
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the life of life is gone?

But busy, busy, still art thou,
To bind the loveless joyless yow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
To join the gentle to the rude.

Oh! how I love with thee to walk,
And listen to thy whisper'd talk,
Which innocence and truth imparts,
And melts the most obdurate hearts.

A thousand shapes you wear with ease.
And still in every shape you please.
Now wrapt in some mysterious dream,
A lone philosopher you seem;
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you sweep the vaulted sky;
A shepherd next, you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain.
A lover now, with all the grace
Of that sweet passion in your face ;
Then, calm'd to friendship, you assume
The gentle-looking Hartford's bloom,
As, with her Musidora, she
(Her Musidora fond of thee)
Amid the long withdrawing vale,
Awakes the rival'd nightingale.

Thine is the balmy breath of morn,
Just as the dew-bent rose is born ;
And while meridian fervors beat,
Thine is the woodland dumb retreat;
But chief, when evening scenes decay,
And the faint landscape swims away,
Thine is the doubtful soft decline,
And that best hour of musing thine.

Descending angels bless thy train,
The virtues of the sage, and swain;
Plain Innocence, in white array'd,
Before thee lists her fearless head :
Religion's beams around thee shine,
And cheer thy glooms with light divine:
About thee sports sweet Liberty ;
And rapt Urania sings lo thee.

Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell!
And in thy deep recesses dwell ;
Perhaps from Norwood's oak-clad hill,
When Meditation has her fill,
I just may cast my careless eyes
Where London's spiry turrets rise,
Think of its crimes, its cares, its pain,
Then shield me in the woods again.

For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer,
And I absolve thy future care ;
All other blessings I resign,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.

ODE.

O NIGHTINGALE, best poet of the grove,

That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee Blest in the full possession of thy love:

O lend that strain, sweet nightingale, to me!

'Tis mine, alas ! to mourn my wretched fate :

I love a maid, who all my bosom charms, Yet lose my days without this lovely mate;

Inhuman Fortune keeps her from my arms. You, happy birds! by Nature's simple laws

Lead your soft lives, sustain'd by Nature's fare; You dwell wherever roving fancy draws,

And love and song is all your pleasing care :

TO THE

But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride,
Dare not be blest lest envious tongues should

REV. MR. MURDOCH,
blame:
And hence, in vain I languish for my bride;

RECTOR OF STRADDISHALL, IN SUFFOLK, 1738. O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame. Thus safely low, my friend, thou canst not fall :

Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;
No noise, no care, no vanity, no strife ;

Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled liso
HYMN ON SOLITUDE.

Then keep each passion down, however dear;

Trust me the tender are the most severe. Hall, mildly-pleasing Solitude,

Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philosophic ease, Companion of the wise and good,

And ask no joy but that of virtuous peace; But, from whose holy, piercing eye,

That bids defiance to the storms of Fate, The herd of fools and villains fly.

High bliss is only for a higher state.

AMBROSEPHILIPS.

AMBROSE Philips, a poet and miscellaneous who found his own juvenile pastorals undervalued, writer, was born in 1671, claiming his descent from sent to the same paper a comparison between his an ancient Leicestershire family. He received his and those of Philips, in which he ironically gave education at St. John's College, Cambridge; and, the preference to the latter. The irony was not attaching himself to the Whig party, he published, detected till it encountered the critical eye of Adin 1700, an epitome of Hacket's life of Archbishop dison; and the consequence was, that it ruined the Williams, by which he obtained an introduction to reputation of Philips as a composer of pastoral. Addison and Steele. Soon aster, he made an at- When the accession of George I. brought the tempt in pastoral poetry, which, for a time, brought Whigs again into power, Philips was made a Westhim into celebrity. In 1709, being then at Copen. minster justice, and, soon after, a commissioner for hagen, he addressed to the earl of Dorset some the lottery. In 1718, he was the editor of a periverses, descriptive of that capital, which are re-odical paper, called " The Freethinker." In 1724, garded as his best performance; and these, together he accompanied to Ireland his friend Dr. Boulter, with two translations from Sappho's writings, created archbishop of Armagh, to whom he acted stand pre-eminent in his works of this class. In as secretary. He afterwards represented the county 1712 he made his appearance as a dramatic writer, of Armagh in parliament; and the places of secre. in the tragedy of “The Distrest Mother," acted at tary to the Lord Chancellor, and Judge of the PreDrury-lane with great applause, and still considered rogative Court, were also conferred upon him. He as a stock play. It cannot, indeed, claim the merit returned to England in 1748, and died in the folof originality, being closely copied from Racine's lowing year, at the age of seventy-eight. “Andromacque;" but it is well written, and skil. The verses which he composed, not only to fully adapted to the English stage.

young ladies in the nursery, but to Walpole when A storm now fell upon him relatively to his pas- Minister of State, and which became known by the torals, owing to an exaggerated compliment from ludicrous appellation of namby-pamby, are easy and Tickell, who, in a paper of the Guardian, had made sprightly, but with a kind of infantile air, which the true pastoral pipe descend in succession from fixed upon them the above name. Theocritus to Virgil, Spenser, and Philips. Pope,

The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
TO THE EARL OF DORSET.

And to the Moon in icy valleys howl.

O'er many a shining league the level main
Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.

Here spreads itself into a glassy plain :
From frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, There solid billows of enormous size,
From streams which northern winds forbid to flow, Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.
What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, And yet but lately have I seen, ev'n here,
Or how, so near the Pole, attempt to sing ? The winter in a lovely dress appear.
The hoary winter here conceals from sight Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow,
All pleasing objects which to verse invite. Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow,
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, At evening a keen eastern breeze arose,
The flowery plains, and silver-streaming floods, And the descending rain unsullied froze.
By snow disguis'd, in bright confusion lie, Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew.
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye. The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view

No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
No birds within the desert region sing.

And brighten'd every object to my eyes : The ships, unmov'd, the boisterous winds defy, For every shrub, and every blade of grass, While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.

And every pointed thorn, seem'd wrought in glass The vast Leviathan wants room to play,

In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, And spout his waters in the face of day.

While through the ice the crimson berries glow.