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The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the sage,
And boasting youth, and narrative old age.

First at the thrine the learned world appear,
And, to the goddess, thus prefer their pray'r:

Long have we fought t instruct and please mankind, “ With faudies pale, with midnight vigils blind : " But, thank'd by few, rewarded yet by none, “ We here appeal to thy superiour throne ; « On wit and learning the juft prize bestow, “ For fame is all we must expect below.”. The goddess heard, and bade the muses raise The golden trumpet of eternal praise. From pole to pole the winds diffuse the sound, And fill the circuit of the world around : Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud ; The notes, at first, were rather sweet than loud : By just degrees, they every moment rise ;Spread round the earth, and gain upon the Asies.

Next these, the good and just, an awful train, Thus, on their knees, address the sacred fane : " Since living virtue is with envy curs’d, “ And the best men are treated like the worst, Do thou, jyst goddess ! call our merits forth, “ And give each deed th' exact intrinsic worth." “ Not with bare justice shall your acts be crown'd,

(Said Fame) but high above desert renown'd: « Let fuller notes th' applauding world amaze, " And the loud clarion labour in your praise.”

A troop came next, who crowns and armour wore ; And proud defiance in their looks they bore. For thee (they cried) amidst alarms and strife, “ We fail'd-in tempests down the stream of life ; « For thee whole nations fill’d with fire and blood, “ And swam to empire through the purple flood, “ Those ills we dar'd, thy inspiration, own ; " What virtue feem'd, was done for thee alone,” “ Ambitious fools! (the queen reply'd, and frown'd) “ Be all your deeds in 'dark oblivion drown's : « There sleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone ; « Your statues moulder'd, and your nanies un

known."

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A sudden cloud straight fnarch'd them from my fight,
And each majestic phantom funk in night,

Then came the fmallest tribe I yet had seen : Plain was their dress, and modeit was their mien« Great idol of mankind ! we neither claim “ The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame; " But, safe in deserts from th' applause of hen, " Would die unheard-of, as we liv'd unseen. 66. 'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight « Those aets of goodness which themselves requite.. “O ! let us, still, the secret joy partake, 66-To follow virtue, ev'n for virtue's fake." " And live there men who flight immortal fame? « Who, then, with incense shall adore our name? " But, mortals, know, 'tis still our greatest pride 66. To blaze those virtues which the good would hides, « Rise, musess rise ! add all your tuneful breath: « These must not sleep in darkness, and in death." She said. In air the trembling music floats, And on the winds triumphant Iwell the notes ;So soft, though high ; fo loud, and yet so clear ; Ev'n list’ning angels lean from heav'n to bear: To farthest shores th' ambrosial spirit fries, Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.

XI. The Country Clergymian. . NEAR yonder copse, where, once the garden fmild,,

And, ftill, where many a garden flow'r grows wild ;;
There, where a few torn flirubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modeft manfion rose.

A man he was, to all the country dear,
And passing rich-with forty pounds a year.
Remote from towns, he ran his godly race ;
Nor e'er had ehrang'd, nor with'd to change his place : :
Unpractis'd he, to fawn or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour :
Fär other aims his heart had learn’d to prize,
More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rife.

His house was known to all the vagrant train ;
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain.
The long remember'd beggar was his gueft,
Whose beard descending Iwept his aged breast

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The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd:
The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and fhow'd how fields were won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn’d to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ;
Careless th merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave, ere charity began.

Thus, to relieve the wretched was his pride ;
And ev'n his failings lean’d to virtue's side :
But, in his duty prompt at ev'ry call,
He watch'd, and wept, he pray'd and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
He try'à each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed, where parting life was laid,
And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling foul :
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise ;
And his laft falt'ring accents whisper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevaild with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honeft ruftic ran ; Even children follow'd, with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile : His ready smile a parent's warmth express’d; Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distressid: To them, his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n; But all his serious thoughts had rest in heav'n:As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and mid-way leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

XII. A Panegyric on Great Britain. HEAVENs! what a goodly prospect spreads around,

Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and

fpires,
And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all
The ftretching landfcape into Smoke decays !
Happy Britannia! where the Queen of Arts,
Inspiring vigour, Liberty abroad
Walks, unconfin’d, even to thy farthelt cots,
And scatters plenty with unfparing hand.
Rich is thy foil, and merciful thy clime ;
Thy streams unfailing in the summer's drought ;-
Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks; thy valleys float
With golden waves: and on thy mountains fucks
Bleat numberless; while, roving round their fides,
Bellow the blackening herds in lufty droves.
Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquellid
Against the mower's fcythe. On every hand
Thy villas thine. Thy country tecms with wealth ;
And property afsures it to the swain,
Pleas’d, and unwearied, in his guarded toil.

Full are thy cities with the sons of Art;
And trade and joy, in every busy street,
Mingling are heard : even Drudgery himself,
As at the car he sweats, or dufty hews
The palace-stone, looks gay. Thy crowded portsg
Where rising maits an endless profpect yield,
With labour burn, and echo to the thouts -
Of hurry'd failor, as he hearty waves
His last adieu, and loosening every fheet,
Resigns the spreading veffel to the wind.
Bold, firm, and graceful, are thy generous youth,
By hardfhip finew'd, and by danger fir'd,
Scattering the nations where they go.; and first
Or on the listed plain, or stormy seas.
Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans
Of thriving peace thy thoughtful fires preside;
In genius, and substantial learning, high ;
For every virtue, every worth renown'd;
Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind ;
Yet, like the mustering thunder, when provok'd,

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The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource
Of those that under grim oppression groan.

Thy Sons of Glory many! Alfred thine,
In whom the fplendour of heroic war,
And more heroic peace, when govern'd well,
Combine! whose hallow'd name the Virtues saint, ,
And his own Muses love; the best of kings !
With him thy Edwards and thy Henrys shine,
Names dear to fame; the first who deep impress’d
On haughty Gaul the terrour

of thy arins,
That awes her genius still. In Statesmen thou,
And Patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More,
Wło, with a generous, thongh mistaken zeal,
Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage ;
Like Cato firm, like Aristides just,
Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor,
A dauntlefs soul erect, who smil'd on death.
A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land !
Wife, ftrenuous, firm, of unsubmitting foul ;
Who femm'd the torrent of a downward age
To slavery proire, and bade thee rise again,
In all thy native pomp of freedom bold.
Thine is a Bacon; hapless in his choice ;
Unfit to stand the civil ftorm of state,
And through the smooth barbarity of courts,
With firm but pliant virtue, forward still
Το
urge

his courle : hiin for the studious shade
Kind Nature form’d, deep, comprehensive, clear,
Exact, and elegant; in one rich foul,
Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd.
Let Newton, pure Intelligence, whom God
To mortals lent to trace his boundless works
From laws sublimely finple, speak thy fame
In all philosophy. For lofty sense,
Creative fancy, and inspection keen
Through the deep windings o: the human heart,
Is not wild Shakespeare thine and Nature's boast !
Is not each great, each airiable Mule
Of claffic

ages in thy Milton met?
A genius universal as his theme;
Astonishing as Chaos, as the bloom
Of blowing Eden fair, as Heaven fublime.

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