صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني

Beyond yon starry roof; by seraphs trod,

• Where Light's unclouded fountains blaze ;

· Where choirs immortal hymn their God, · Intranc'd in extafy of ceaselefs praise.

Angels, heal his anguish!
• Your harps and voices join !

His grief to bliss shall languish,
• When sooth'd by founds divine.'

rise ;

• Behold, with dawning joy each feature glows !

• See, the blissful tear o'erflows ! The fiend is filed !--Let Mufick's

rapture Now, Harmony, thy ev'ry nerve employ ;

• Shake the dome, and pierce the skies ;
· Wake him, wake him into joy!'


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power can ev'ry Paffion's throne controul ?

power can boast the charm divine,
To ftill the tempest of the soul?
Celestial Harmony, that mighty charm is thine !
She, heavenly-born, came down to visit earth,

When from God's eternal throne
The beam of all-creative Wisdom shone,

And spake fair Order into birth.
At Wisdom's call the robe'd yon glitt'ring kies,
Attun'd the spheres, and taught consenting orbs to rise.

Angels wrapt in wonder stood,
And saw that all was fair, and all was good.

'Twas then, ye fons of God, in bright array,
Ye shouted o'er creation's day :
Then kindling into joy,
The morning stars together fung;
And thro' the vast ethereal ky
Seraphick hymns and loud hofannahs rung.







E fylvan Muses ! loftier strains recite;

Not all in shades and humble cotes delight.
Hark! the bells ring ; along the distant grounds
The driving gales convey the swelling sounds;
Th' attentiye fwain, forgetful of his work,
With gaping wonder leans upon his fork,
What sudden news alarms the waking morn?
To the glad Squire a hopeful heir is born.
Mourn, mourn, ye stags ! and all ye beasts of chase!.
This hour destruction brings on all

your race.
See the pleas'd tenants duteous off'rings bear,
Turkeys and geese, and grocer's sweetest ware ;
With the new health the pond'rous tankard flaws,
And old October reddens ev'ry nose.
Beagles and fpaniels round his cradle stand,
Kiss his moist lip, and gently lick his hand;
He joys to hear the shrill horn's echoing sounds,
And learns to lisp the names of all the hounds,
With frothy ale to make his cup o'erflow,
Barley shall in paternal acres grow;
The bee fall fip the fragrant dew from flow'rs,
To give metheglin for his morning hours ;
For him the clust’ring hop hall climb the poles,
And his own orchard sparkle in his bowls.

His fire's exploits he now with wonder hears ;
The monstrous tales indulge his greedy ears :
How, when youth ftrung his nerves and warm'd his veins,
He rode the mighty Nimrod of the plains.

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He leads the staring infant thro' the hall ;
Points out the horny spoils that grace the wall ;
Tells how this stag thro' three whole counties filed,
What rivers swam, where bay'd, and where he bled.
Now he the wonders of the fox

Describes the defp'rate chase, and all his cheats ;
How, in one day, beneath his furious fpeed,
He tir'd seven coursers of the fleetest breed;
How high the pale he leap'd, how wide the ditch,
When the hound' tore the haunches of the witch
These stories, which descend from fun to son,
The forward boy shall one day make his own.

Ah! too fond mother! think the time draws nigh
That calls the darling from thy tender eye ;
How shall his fpirit brook the rigid rules,
And the long tyranny of grammar schools ??
Let younger brothers o’er dull authors plod,
Lash'd into Latin by the tingling rod :
No, let him never feel that smart disgrace ;
Why should he wiser prove than all his

When rip'ning youth with down o'ershades his chin,
And ev'ry female eye incites to fin,
The milk-maid (thoughtless of her future fhame)
With smacking lip thall raise his guilty flame :
The dairy, barn, the hay-loft, and the grove,
Shall oft be conscious of their stolen love,
But think, Priscilla, on that dreadful time,
When pangs and wat’ry qualms fall own thy crime;
How wilt thou tremble, when thy nipple's press'd,
To see the white drops bathe thy swelling breaft!
Nine moons shall publicly divulge thy shame,
And the young Squire forestal a father's name.

When twice twelve times the reaper's sweeping hand
With leveli'd harvests has bestrown the land,


* The most common accident to sportsmen, to hunt a witch in the shape of a harc.



On fam'd St. Hubert's feaft, his winding horn
Shall chear the joyful hound and wake the morn;
This memorable day his eager speed
Shall urge with bloody heel the rising steed.
O check the foamy bit! nor tempt thy fate
Think on the murders of a five-bar gate!
Yet, prodigal of life, the leap he tries;
Low in the duft his grov'ling honour lies:
Headlong he falls, and on the rugged stone
Distorts his neck, and cracks the collar-bone.
o, vent'rous youth! thy thirst of game allay ;
May'st thou survive the perils of this day!
He shall survive ; and in late years be sent
To snore debates in Parliament.

The time shall come when his more folid sense,
With nod important, all the laws dispense ;
A Justice with grave justices shall fit;
He praise their wisdom, they admire his wit.
No greyhound shall attend the tenant's pace,
No rusty gun the farmer's chimney grace ;
Salmons shall leave their coverts void of fear,
Nor dread the thievish net or triple spear ;
Poachers shall tremble at his awful name,
Whom vengeance now o'ertakes for murder'd

Aslift me, Bacchus ! and ye drunken pow'rs!
To fing his friendships and his midnight hours.

Why dost thou glory in thy strength of beer,
Firm-cork'd, and mellow'd till the twentieth year,
Brew'd or when Phoebus warms the fleecy fign,
Or when his languid rays in Scorpio shine ?
Think on the mischiefs which from hence have sprung!
It arms with curses dire the wrathful tongue;
Foul scandal to the lying lip affords,
And prompts the mem'ry with injurious words.
O, where is wisdom, when by this o'erpower'd ?
The state is censur’d, and the maid deflower'd!

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And wilt thou still, o Squire ! brew ale so strong?
Hear then the dictates of prophetick song,

Methinks I see him in his hall appear,
Where the long table floats in clammy beer ;
'Midst mugs and glasses shatter'd o'er the floor,
Dead drunk, his servile crew supinely snore;
Triumphant, o'er the proftrate brutes he ftands,
The mighty bumper trembles in his hands;
Boldly he drinks ; and, like his glorious fires,
In copious gulps of potent ale expires !

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EHOLD, Alexis !' see this gloomy shade,

Which seems alone for Sorrow's shelter made,
Wherc no glad beams of light can ever play,
But night, succeeding night, excludes the day;
Where never birds with harmony repair,
And lightsome notes, to chear the dusky air,
To welcome day, or bid the sun farewel,
By morning lark or evening Philomel.

No violet here, nor daisy, e'er was seen,
No sweetly-budding flower, nor springing green;
For fragrant myrtle and the blushing rose,
Here balcful yew with deadly cypress grows.

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