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Here gloomy Terror, with a fhadowy rope,
Seems, like a Turkish Mute, to ftrangle Hope;
There jealous Fury drowns in blood the fire
"That fparkled in the eye of young Defire;
And lifeless Love lets mercilefs Defpair
From his crush'd frame his bleeding pinions tear.
But pangs more cruel, more intensely keen,
Wound and diftract their fympathetic Queen:
With fruitless tears fhe o'er their mifery bends;
From her fweet brow the thorny rofe fhe rends,
And, bow'd by Grief's infufferable weight,
Frantic fhe curfes her immortal state:

The foft Serena, as this curfe fhe hears,
Feels her bright eye fuffus'd with kindred tears;
And her kind breaft, where quick compaffion fwell'd,
Shar'd in each bitter fuffering fhe beheld.

The guardian Power furvey'd her lovely grief,
And fpoke in gentle terms of mild relief:

For this foft tribe thy heaviest fear dismiss, "And know their pains are tranfient as their blifs : Rapture and Agony, in Nature's loom,

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"Have form'd the changing tissue of their doom; "Both interwoven with fo nice an art,

No power can tear the twisted threads apart:
"Yet happier thefe, to Nature's heart more dear,
"Than the dull offspring in the torpid fphere,
"Where her warm wifhes, and affections kind,
"Lofe their bright current in the stagnant mind.
"Here grief and joy fo fuddenly unite,
"That anguifh ferves to fublimate delight."

She fpoke; and, ere Serena could reply,
The vapour vanifh'd from the lucid fky;
The Nymphs revive, the fhadowy Fiends are fled,
The new-born flowers a richer fragrance fhed;
The gentle ruler of the changeful land,
Smiling, refum'd her fymbol of command;
Replac'd the rofes of her regal wreath,
Still trembling at the thorns that lurk beneath :
But, to her wounded fubjects quick to pay
The tender duties of imperial fway,

Their wants fhe fuccour'd, they her wifh obey'd,
And all recover'd by alternate aid ;'

While, on the lovely Queen's enchanting face,
Departed Sorrow's faint and fainter trace,

Gave to each touching charm a more attractive grace.
Now, laughing Sport, from the enlighten'd plain,
Clear'd with quick foot the vestiges of Pain;
The gay fcene grows more beautifully bright,
Than when it first allur'd Serena's fight.

Extract

Extracts from the LIBRARY, a Poem.

NEAR thefe, and where the setting fun displays
Through the dim window his departing rays,
And gilds yon columns, there on either fide
The huge abridgments of the law abide;
- Fruitful as vice the dread correctors ftand,
And fpread their guardian terrors round the land;
Yet, as the beft that human care can do,
Is mixt with error, oft with evil too;
Skill'd in deceit, and practis'd to evade,
Knaves ftand fecure, for whom thefe laws were made,
And Juftice vainly each expedient tries,
While Art eludes it, or while Power defies.
Ah! happy age, the youthful Poet cries,
Ere laws arofe, ere tyrants bade them rife;
When all were bleft to fhare a common ftore,
And none were proud of wealth, for none were poor
No wars, no tumults vext each still'domain,
No thirst of empire, no defire of gain;

No proud great man, nor one who would be great,
Drove modest Merit from its proper state;
Nor into diftant climes would Avarice roam,
To fetch delights for Luxury at home:
Bound by no tyes but thofe by nature made,
Virtue was law, and gifts prevented trade.

Miftaken youth! each nation first was rude,
Each man a chearlefs fon of folitude,
To whom no joys of 'focial life were known,
Nor felt a care that was not all his own ;.
Or in fome languid clime his abject foul
Bow'd to a little tyrant's ftern controul;

A flave, with flaves his monarch's throne he rais'd,
And in rude fong his ruder idol prais'd;
The meaner cares of life were all he knew,
Bounded his pleafures, and his wishes few :
But when by flow degrees the Arts arofe,

Taught by fome conquering friends, who came as foes;
When Commerce, rifing from the bed of ease,
Ran round the land and pointed to the feas;
When Emulation, born with jealous eye,
And Avarice, lent their fpurs to Industry;
Then one by one the numerous laws were made,
Thofe to controul, and these to fuccour trade;
To curb the infolence of rude command,
To fnatch the victim from the Ufurer's hand,

To

To awe the bold, to yield the wrong'd redrefs,
And feed the poor with Luxury's excefs.

Like fome vaft flood, unbounded, fierce, and ftrong,
His nature leads ungovern'd man along;
Like mighty bulwarks made to ftem that tide,
The laws are form'd, and plac'd on every fide;
Whene'er it breaks the bounds by thefe decreed,
New ftatutes rife, and ftronger laws fucceed;
More and more gentle grows the dying ftream,
More and more ftrong the rifing bulwarks feem;
Till, like a miner working fure and flow,
Luxury creeps on, and ruins all below;
The bafis finks, the ample piles decay,
The ftately fabric fhakes and falls away;
Primeval Want and Ignorance come on,
But Freedom, that exalts the favage ftate, is gone.

Lo! where of late the Book of Martyrs stood,
Old pious tracts, and Bibles bound in wood;
There, fuch the tafte of our degenerate age,
Stand the prophane delufions of the stage;
Yet Virtue owns the Tragic Mufe a friend,
Fable her means, morality her end;
For this the rules all paffions in their turns,
And now the bosom bleeds, and now it burns
Pity with weeping eye furveys her bowl,
Her anger fwells, her terror chills the foul;
She makes the vile to virtue yield applaufe,
And own her fceptre while they break her laws :
For vice in others is abhorr'd of all,
And villains glory in a villain's fall.

Not thus her fifter Comedy prevails,
Who fhoots at Folly, for her arrow fails;
Folly, by Dullness arm'd, receives no wound,
But harmless fees the feather'd fhafts rebound;
Unhurt fhe ftands, applauds the archer's skill,
Laughs at her malice, and is Folly ftill.
Yet well the paints, in her defcriptive fcenes,
What Pride will ftoop to, what Profeffion means;
How formal fools the farce of State applaud,
How Caution watches at the lips of Fraud;
The wordy variance of domeftic life,
The tyrant Hufband, the retorting Wife;
The fnares for Innocence, the lye of Trade,
And the fmooth tongue's habitual mafquerade.
With her the Virtues too obtain a place,
Each gentle paffion, each becoming grace;

The focial joy in life's fecurer road,

Its eafy pleafure, its fubftantial good;
The happy thought that confcious virtue gives,
And all that ought to live, and all that lives.
But who are these? Methinks a noble mien, -
And awful grandeur in their form are feen,
Now in difgrace: what tho' neglect has shed
Polluting duft on every reverend head;
What though beneath yon gilded tribe they lie
And dull obfervers pafs infulting by;
Forbid it fhame, forbid it decent awe,
What feems fo grave fhould no attention draw:
Come let us then with reverend step advance,
And greet-the ancient worthies of Romance.

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Hence, ye prophane! I feel a former dread,
A thoufand vifions float around my head;
Hark! hollow blafts through empty courts refound,,
And fhadowy forms with ftaring eyes ftalk round;
See! moats and bridges, walls and caftles rife,
Ghofts, fairies, dæmons, dance before our eyes;
Lo! magic verfe infcrib'd on golden gate,
And bloody hand that beckons on to fate:
"And who art thou, thou little page, unfold?
Say doth thy Lord my Claribel with-hold?
Go tell him ftrait, Sir Knight, thou must refign
Thy captive Qeeen-for Claribel is mine."
Away he flies; and now for bloody deeds,
Black fuits of armour, mafks, and foaming steeds;
The Giant falls-his recreant throat I feize,
And from his corflet take the maffy keys;
Dukes, Lords, and Knights in long proceffion move,
Releas'd from bondage with my virgin love ;-
She comes, fhe comes in all the charms of youth,
Unequall'd love and unfufpected truth!

Ah! happy he who thus in magic themes,
O'er worlds bewitch'd, in early rapture dreams,
Where wild Enchantment waves her potent wand,
And Fancy's beauties fill her fairy land;
Where doubtful objects ftrange defires excite,
And fear and ignorance afford delight.

But loft, for ever loft, to me these joys,

Which Reafon fcatters, and which Time deftroys;
Too dearly bought, maturer Judgment calls
My bufied mind from tales and madrigals;
My doughty Giants all are flain or fled,
And all my Knights, blue, green, and yellow, dead;
No more the midnight Fairy tribe I view
All in the merry moonfhine tipling dew;

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Ev'n the last lingering fiction of the brain,
The church-yard Ghoft, is now at reft again;
And all thefe wayward wanderings of my youth,
Fly Reafons's power, and fhun the light of Truth.
With Fiction then does real joy refide,
And is our Reason the delufive guide?
Is it then right to dream the Syrens fing?
Or mount enraptur'd on the Dragon's wing?
No, 'tis the infant mind, to care unknown,
'That makes th' imagin'd paradise its own;
Soon as reflections in the bosom rise,
Light flumbers vanish from the clouded eyes;
The tear and fmile, that once, together rofe,
Are then divorc'd; the head and heart are foes;
Enchantment bows to Wifdom's ferious plan,
And pain and prudence make and mar the man.

1

Extract from SYMPATHY, a Poem. By Mr. PRATT.

NCE, and not far from where thofe feats are feen,

ON

Juft where yon white huts peep the copfe between,

A damfel languish'd, all her kin were gone,
For God who lent, refum'd them one by one;
Difeafe and penury, in cruel ftrife,

Had ravish'd all the decent means of life,

E'en the mark'd crown, her lover's gift, she gave,
In filial duty for a father's grave,

That fo the honour'd clay which caus'd her birth
Might flumber peaceful in the facred earth,
Chim'd to its grafs-green home with pious peal,
While hallow'd dirges hymn the laft farewell;
At length thefe piercing woes her fenfe invade,
And lone and long the haplefs wanderer ftray'd,
O'er the bleak heath, around th' unmeafur'd wood,
Up the huge precipice, or near the flood;
She mounts the rock at midnight's aweful hour,
Enjoys the gloom, and idly mocks the shower;
Now fcorns her fate, then patient bends the knee,
And courts each pitying far to fet her free,
Then starting wilder, thinks thofe ftars her foes,
Smites her fad breaft, and laughs amidst her woes;
Oft would the chace the 'bee, or braid the grafs,
Or crop the hedge-flower, or diforder'd pafs;
Elfe, reflefs loiter in the pathlefs mead,
Sing to the birds at rooft, the lambs at feed;
Or if a neft the found the brakes among,
No hand of her's destroy'd the promis'd young;
VOL. XXIV.

N

And

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