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And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.
Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew,
Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do ;
Surprise, in secret chains, his words suspends,
And in a calm, his settling temper ends,
But silence here the beauteous angel broke
(The voice of Music ravish'd as he spoke) -

" Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown,
In sweet memorial rise before the throne :
These charms success in our bright region find,
And force an angel down to calm thy mind;
For this commission'd, I forsook the sky:
Nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow-servant I.
Then know the truth of government divine,
And let these scruples be no longer thine.
The Maker justly claims that world He made ;
In this the right of Providence is laid ;
Its sacred majesty through all depends
On using second means to work His ends :
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
The Power exerts His attributes on high ;
Your action uses, nor controls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.
What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes!
Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just,

And, where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.
The great vain man, who fared on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good ;
Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine,
And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine ;
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor ;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And, loose from dross, the silver runs below.
Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God;
Child of his age, for him he lived in pain,
And measured back his steps to earth again.
To what excesses had his dotage run!
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.
But how had all his fortunes felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back?

This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail !
Thus Heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew :
Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky;
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending Hermit here a prayer begun, “Lord, as in heaven, on earth Thy will be done." Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

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THE THIEF AND THE CORDELIER.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR.

[MATTHEW Prior was born in 1664, according to some, in London, and to others at Wimbourne, in Dorsetshire. Having lost his father when very young, he was brought up by an uncle, a tavern-keeper at Charing Cross, who, after sending him for some time to Westminster School, took him to assist at his business. His classical knowledge, however, attracted the attention of the Earl of Dorset, who sent him to the University of Cambridge, where he obtained a fellowship, which he retained until his death. In conjunction with Montague, he wrote “The Country Mouse and City Mouse,” in ridicule of Dryden's “ Hind and Panther," and in 1691, through the interest of his patron, the Earl of Dorset, was appointed secretary to the English Embassy at the Hague ; then Gentleman of the Bedchamber to King William.

He was afterwards made Secretary of State, but he gave up the appointment for a Commissionership of Trade. After the accession of Queen Anne, he negotiated the Treaty of Utrecht, and was then sent ambassador to France : but, when George I. came to the throne, he was recalled and committed to prison, where he remained for two years ; and he was even threatened with impeachment, for having held private conferences with the French plenipotentiaries, which, as he showed, was usual in such cases. He died in 1721.

Prior's tales are licentious; but his poems are pleasing, and full of good humour. Like Swift, he loved to versify the ordinary occurrences of life. He realized 4,000l. by one edition of his works, and an equal sum was presented to him by the Earl of Oxford, which left his old age independent.)

Who has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the Grève,
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave;
Where honour and justice most oddly contribute
To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet.

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

There death breaks the shackles which force had put on,
And the hangman completes what the judge but begun ;
There the 'squire of the pad, and the knight of the post,
Find their pains no more baulk’d, and their hopes no more cross’d.

Derry down, &c.

Great claims are there made, and great secrets are known;
And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his own ;
But my hearers cry out, What a deuce dost thou ail ?
Cut off thy reflections, and give us thy tale.

Derry down, &c.

'Twas there, then, in civil respect to harsh laws,
And for want of false witness to back a bad cause,
A Norman, though late, was obliged to appear;
And who to assist, but a grave Cordelier ?

Derry down, &c.

The 'squire, whose good grace was to open the scene,
Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin ;
Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart ;
And often took leave, but was loath to depart.

Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good son? says the priest,
You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confess d.
O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon ;
For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.

Derry down, &c.

Pough, prithee ne'er trouble thy head with such fancies ;
Rely on the aid you shall have from St. Francis ;
If the money you promised be brought to the chest,
You have only to die ; let the Church do the rest.

Derry down, &c.

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