The world attends thy absolute cominand,

Oh! not with half that dreadful rage
And Nature waits the wonders of thine hand.

The royal savage flirs,
That hand, extended o'er thc swelling sea, When, at the slightest touch, he springs,
The couscious billows reverence and obey.

And darts upon his prize.
O'er the devoted race the surges sweep,

How fair, how comely are our wou And whelm the guilty nation in the deep.

rounds, That hand redeern'd us from our servile toil,

In our dear country's cause !

What fame attends the glorious fate,
And each insulting tyrant of the Nile :
Our nation came beneath that mighty hand,

That props our dying laws!
From Ægypt's realms, to Canaan's sacred land. For Death's cold hand arrests the fears
Thou wert their Guide, their Saviour, and their God, That haunt the coward's mind;
To smooth the way, and clear the drcadful road. Swift she pursues the flying wretch,
The distant kingdoms shall thy wonders hear,

And sounds him from behind.
The fierce Pbilistines shall confess their fear;
Thy fame shall over Edom's princes spread,

Bravely regardless of disgrace,
And Moab's kings, the universal dread,

Bold Virtue stands alone, While the vast scenes of miracles inpart

With pure unsully'd glory shines,
A thrilling horrour to the bravest heart.

And honours still her own.
As through the world the gathering terrour runs, From the dark grave, and silent dust,
Cavaan shall shrink, and tremble for his sons.

She bids her sons arise,
Till thou hast Jacob from his bondage brought, And to the radiant train unfolds
At such a vast expense of wonders bought,

The portals of the skies.
To Capaan's promisd realms and blest abodes,
Led through the dark recesses of the doods. Now, with triumphant wings, she soars,
Crown'd with their tribes shall proud Moriah rise,

Above the realios of day,
And rear his summit nearer to the skies. (power, Spurns the dull carth, and groveling crowd,

Through ages, Lord, shall stretch thy boundless And towers th' ethereal way,
Thy throne shall stand when time shall be no more: with her has silence a reward,
For Pharaob's stceds, and cars, and warlike train,

Within the bless'd abodes, Leap'd in, and boldly rang'd the sandy plain.

That holy silence which conceals
While in the dreadful road, and desert way,

The secrets of the gods.
The shining crowds of gaspiog fishes lay :
Till, all around with liquid toils beset,

But with a wretch I would not live,
The Lord swept o'er their heads the watery net. By sacrilege prophan'd,
He freed the ocean from his secret chain,

Nor lodgc beneath one roof, nor lanch
And on each hand discharg'd the tbundering main. One vessel from the land :
The loosen'd billows burst from every side,

For, blended with the bad, the good and whelin the war and warriours in the tide ;

The common stroke have felt, But on each hand the solid billows stood,

And Heavon's dire vengeance struck alike
Like lofty mounds to check the raging food ;

At innocence and guilt.
Till the blest race to promis'd Canaan past
O'er the dry path, and trod the watery waste. The wrath divine pursues the wretch,

At present lame, and slow,

But yet, though tardy to advance, THE THIRD ODE OF THE SECOND BOOK She gives the surcr blon,

OF HORACE,

PARAPHRASED.
Let the brave youth be train'd, the stings THE THIRD ODE OF THE FOURTH BOOK
Of poverty to bear,

OF HORACE,
And in the school of want be taught
The exercise of war.

PARAPHRASED.
Let him be practis'd in his bloom,

W nom first, Melpomene, thy eye 'To listen to alarms,

With friendly aspect views, and learn proud Parthia to subdue

Shall from his cradle risc renown'd, With unresisted arms.

And sacred to the Muse. The hostile tyrant's beauteous bride,

Nor to the Isthmian games his fame Distracted with despair,

And deathless triumphs one; Beholds him pouring to the fight,

Nor shall he wear the verdant wreath, And thundering through the war.

That shades the champion's hrow. As from the battlements she views

Nor in the wide Elæan plains The slaughter of his sword,

Fatigue the courser's.speed; Thus shall the fair express her grief,

Nor through the glorious cloud of dust, And terrours for her Lord :

Provoke the bounding steed. “ Look down, ye gracions powers, from Heaven, Nor, as an haughty victor, mount Nor let my consort go,

The Capitolian heights, Rude in the arts of war, to fight

And proudly dedicate to Jove This formidable foe."

The trophies of his lights.

Because his thundering hand in war

Swift on their canvass wings his navies go, Has check'd the swelling tide

Where-ever tides can roll, or winds can blow ; Of the stern tyrant's power, and broke

Their sails within the arctic circle rise, The measures of his pride.

Led by the stars that gile thic northeru skies;

Tempt frozen seas, nor fear the driving blast, But by sweet Tybur's groves and streams

But swell exulting o'er the hoary waste ; His glorious theme pursues,

O'er the wide occan hold supreme command, And scurns the laurels of the war,

And active comunerce spread through every land; For those that crown the Muse.

Or with full pride to southern regions run, There in the most retir'd retreats,

To distant workels, on t'other side thc Sun; He sets his charming song,

And plow the tides, where odoriferous gales (sails. To the sweet harp which sappho touch'd,

Perfume the smiling waves, and stretch the bellying Or bold Alceus strung.

See! the proud merchant seck the precious shore.

And trace the winding veins of glittering ore; Rankd by thy sons, Imperial Rome,

Low in the earth his wondering eyes behold Among the poet's quire,

Th' imperfect metal ripening into gold. Above the reach of Envy's hand

The mountains tremble with alternate rays, I safely may aspire.

And cast at once a shadow and a blaze : 'Thou sacred Muse, whose artful hand

Streak'd o'er with gold, the pebbles faine around, Can teach the bard to sing;

Gleam o'er the soil, and gild the tiukling ground; Can animate the golden lyre,

Charg'd with the glorious prize, his vessels come, And wake the living string:

And in proud triumph bring an India home.

Fair Concord, hail; thy wings o'er Brunswick Thou, hy whose mighty power, may sing,

spread, In unaccustom'd strains,

Ard with thy olives crown his laurel'd head. The silent fishes in the floods,

Come; in thy most distinguish'd charms appear; As on their banks the swans:

Oh ! come, and bolt the iron-gates of war. To thee I owe my spreading fame,

The fight stands still when Brunswick bids it cease, That thousands, as they gaze,

The monarch speaks, and gives the world a peace; Make me their wonder's common theme,

Like awful justice, sits superior lord, And object of their praise.

To poise the balance, or to draw the sword;

In due suspense the jarring realms to keep, If first I struck the Lesbian lyre,

And hush the tumults of the world to sleep. No fame belongs to me;

Now with a brighter face, and nobler ray, I owe my honours, when I please,

Shine forth, thou source of light, and god of day; (If e'er I please) to thee.

Say, didst thou ever in thy bright career
Light up before a more distinguish'd year?
Through all thy journeys past thou canst not see

A perfect image of what this sball be:
ON THE APPROACHING CONGRESS OF

Scarce the Platonic year shall this renew,

Or keep the bright original in view.
CAMBRAY,

WRITTEN IN 1721,
Ye patriots of the world, whose cares combin'd
Consult the public welfare of mankind,
One moment let the crowding kingdoms wait,

YOUNG MAN AND HIS C.IT.
And Europe in suspense attend her fate,
Which turns on your great councils; nor refuse

A HAPLESS youth, whom fates averse had drove
To hear the strains of the prophetic Muse ; To a strange passion, and preposterons love,
Who sees those councils with a generous care Long'd to possess his puss's spotted charins,
Heal the wide wounds, and calm the rage of war ; And hug the tabby beauty in his arms.
She secs new verdure all the plain o'erspread,

To what odd whimsies love inveigles men ? Where the fight burn'd, and where the battle bled. Sure if the boy was ever blind, 'twas then. The fields of death a softer scene disclose,

Rack'd with his passion, and in deep despair, And Ceres smiles where iron harvests rose.

The youth to Venus thus addrest his prayer. The bleating fiocks along the bastion pass,

O queen of beauty, since thy Cupid's dart And from the awful ruins crop the grass.

Has fir'd my soul, and rankles in my heart; Freed from his fears, cach unmolested swain, Since doom'd to burn in this unhappy fame, In peaceful furrows cuts the fatal plain ;

From thee at least a remedy I claim; Turns the high bulwark and aspiring mound, If once, to bless Pigmalion's longing arms, And sees the camp with all the seasons crown'd. The marble soften'd into living charms; Beneath cach clod, bright burnish'd arms appear; and warm with life the purple current ran Each furrow glitters with the pride of war ; In circling streams through every flinty veiu ; The fields resound and tinkle as they break, If, with his own creating hands display'd, And the keen falchion rings against the rake; He hugg'd the statue, and embrac'd a maid ; At rest beneath the hanging ramparts laich And with the breathing image fir'd his heart, He sings securely in the dreadful shade.

The pride of Nature, and the boast of Art : Hark!'er the seas, the British lions roar Hear my request, and crown my wondrous fame, . Their monarch's fame to every distant shore : The same its nature, be thy gift the same;

THE FABLE OF THE

Give me the like unusual joys to prove,

Our blooming boys proud lion's fate bewail; And though irregular, indulge my love.

Our lisping babes repeat the dreadful tale, Delighted Venus heard the moving prayer,

Ev'n in their slumbers they pursue the tborne, And soon resolv'd to case the lover's care,

Start, and enjoy a sight in every dream. To set Miss Tabby off with every grace,

By turns the chief and bard their souls inflame, To dress, and fit her for the youth's embrace. And every little bosom beats for fame.

Now she by gradual change her form forsook, Thus shall they learn (as future times will see) First her round face an oval figure took ;

From him to conquer, or to write from thee. The roguish diinples next his heart beguile,

In every hand we see the glorious song, And each grave whisker soften'd to a smile; And Homer is the theme of every tongue. Unusual ogles wanton'd in her eye,

Parti-s in state poetic schemes employ, Her solemn purring dwindled to a sigh:

And Whig and Tory side with Greece and Troy ; Sudden, a huge hoop-petticoat display'd,

Neglect their feads; and seem more zealous grown A wide c'rcumference! intrench'd the maid, To push those countries' interests than their own. And for the tail in waving circles play'd.

Our busiest politicians have forgot (fought ; Her fur, as destin'd still her charms to deck, How Somers counsel'd, and how Marlborough Made for her hands a muff, a tippet for her neck. But o'er their settling coffee gravely tell, In the fine lady now her shape was lost,

What Nestor spoke, and how brave Hector fell. And by such strange degrees she grew a toast; Our softest beaux and cuxcombs you inspire, Was all for ombre now; and who but she, With Glaucus' courage, and Achilles' fire. To talk of modes and scandal o'er her tea; Now they resent affronts which once they bore, To settle cvery fashion of the sex,

And draw those swords that ne'er were drawn before: And run through all the female politics;

Nay, ev'n our belles, inform'd how Homer writ, To spend her time at toilet and basset,

Learn thence to criticise on modern wit. To play, to flaunt, to flutter, and coquet :

Let the mad critics to their side engage From a grave thinking mouser, she was grown The envy, pride, and dulness of the age : The gayest firt that coach'd it round the town. In vain they curse, in vain they pine and mourn, But see how often some intruding woe,

Back on themselves their arrows will retnrn; Nips all our blooming prospects at a blow! Whoe'er would thy establish'd fame deface, For as the youth his lovely consort led

Are but immortaliz'd to their disgrace. To the dear pleasures of the nuptial bed,

Live, and enjoy their spite, and share that fate, Just on that instant from an inner house,

Which would, if Homer liv'd, on Homer wait. Into the chamber popt a heedless mouse.

And lo! his second labour claims thy care, Miss Tabby saw, and brooking no delay,

Ulysses' toils succeed Achilles' war. Sprung from the sheets, and seiz'd the trembling Haste to the work; the ladies long to see Nor did the bride, in that ill fated hour, (prey, The pious frauds of chaste Penelope. Reflect that all her mousing-days were o'er. Helen they long have scen, whose guilty charms The youth, astonishid, felt a new despair, For ten whole years engag'd the world in arms. Ixion-like he grasp'd, and grasp'd but air ; Then, as thy fame shall see a length of days, He saw bis vows and prayers in vain bestow'd, Some future bard shall thus record thy praise : And lost the jilting goddess in a cloud.

“ In those blest times when smiling Heaven and
Had rais'd Britannia to her happiest state, [Fate
When wide around, she saw the world submit,

And own her sons supreme in arts and wit ;
TO MR. POPE,

Then Pope and Dryden brougbt in triumph bome

'The pride of Greece, and ornament of Rome ; ON #IS TRANSLATION OF HONER'S ILIAD.

To the great task each bold translator came, 'Tis true, what fam'd Pythagoras maintain'd, With Virgil's judgment, and with Homer's flame; That souls departed in pew bodies reign'd : Here the pleas'd Mantuan swan was taught to soar, We most approve the doctrine since we see Where scarce the Roman eagles tower'd before : The soul of god-like Homer breathe in thee, And Greece no more was Homer's native earth, Old Ennius first, then Virgil felt her fires ; Though her seven rival cities claim'd his birth; But now a British poet she inspires.

On her seven cities he look'd down with scorn, To you, O Pope, the lineal right extends, And own'd with pride he was in Britain born." To you th' hereditary Muse descends. At a vast distance we of Homer beard, Till you brought in, and naturaliz'd the bard ; Bade him our English rights and freedom claim,

SPECIMEN OF A TRANSLATION OF THE His voice, his habit, and his air the same.

ODYSSEY'. Now in the mighty stranger we rejoice, And Britain thanks thee with a public voice. Tue nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim; See! too the poet, a majestic shade,

Joy wing'd her feet, and lighten'd ev'ry limb; Lifts up in awful pomp his laurel'd head,

Then, to the room with speed impatient borne, To thank his successor, who sets him free

Flew with glad tidings of her lord's return
From the vile hands of Hobbes and Ogilby;
Who vext his venerable ashes more,

Dr. Ridley was one of Mr. Spence's executors. Than his ungrateful Greece, the living bard before.

Mr. Steevens assisted him in looking over the paWhile Homer's thoughts in thy bold lines are

pers of the deceased ; and transcribed this letter, shown, 'Thongh worlds contend, we claim him for our own ;

&c. from the original. N.

SERVANT

There bending o'er the sleeping queen, she cries, When Brunswick, pions, brave, and wise, “ Rise my Penelope, my daugliter, rise

Like him the favourite of the skies, To see Ulysses thy long absent spouse,

Play'd with the monster's dreadful teeth, Thy soul's desire and lord of all thy vows :

And sported with the fangs of Death.
Though late, he comes, and in his rage has slain, Genius of Britain, spare thy fears,
For all their wrongs, the haughty suitor train." For know, within, our sovereign wears
“Ah! Euryclea,” she replies,“

you rave; The-surest guard ; the best defence ;
The gods resume that reason which they gave; A firm untainted innocence.
For Heaven deep wisdom to the fool supplies, So sweet an innocence disarms
But oft infatuates and copfounds the wise.

The fiercest rage with powerful charms,
And wisdom once was thine! but now I find So far rebellion it beguiles,
The gods have ruin'd thy distemper'd mind. That Faction bends; that Envy smiles;
How could you hope your fiction to impose ? That furious savages submit,
Was it to fatter or deride my woes?

And pay due homage at his feet.
How could you break a sleep with talk so vain,

Britain ! by this example prove That held my sorrows in so soft a chain?

Thy duty, loyalty, and love. A sleep so sweet I never could enjoy,

See! the fierce brutes thy king caress, Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy :

And court him with a mute address;
Curst Troy-oh! why did I thy name disclose ? Well mayst thou own his gentle sway, .
Thy fatal name awakens all my woes :

If tigers bend, and savages obey.
But fiy-some other had provok'd my rage?,
And you but ove your pardon to your age.”

“ No artful tales, no studied lies, I frame, Ulysses lives" (rejoins the reverend dame)

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A POET AND “ In that dishonour'd stranger's close disguise,

HIS SERVANT. Long has he pass'd all unsuspecting eyes,

IN IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK II. SAT. VII. All but thy son's—and long has he supprest The well-concerted secret in his breast;

To enter into the beauties of this satire, it must Till his brave father should his foes defeat,

be remembered, that slaves, among the Romans, And the close scheme of his revenge compleat.” during the feasts of Saturn, wore their master's Swift as the word the queen transported sprung,

habits, and were allowed to say what they And round the dame in strict embraces hung ;

pleased. Then, as the big round tears began to roll, Spoke the quick doubts and hurry of her soul. Sir, I've long waited in my turn to have “ If my victorious hero safe arrives,

A word with you—but I'm your humble slave. If my dear lord, Ulysses, still survives,

P. What knave is that? my rascal ! Tell me, oh tell me, how he fought alone ?

S. Sir, 'tis 1, How were such multitudes destroy'd by one?” No knave nor rascal, but your trusty Guy. “ Nought I beheld, but heard their cries," she P. Well, as your wages still are due, I'll bear said,

Your rude impertinence this time of year. [ever, “ When Death flew raging, and the suitors bleu : S. Some folks are drunk one day, and some for Immur'd we listen’d, as we sat around,

And some, like Wharton, but twelve years together. To each deep groan and agonizing sound.

Old Evremond, renown'd for wit and dirt, Callid by thy son to view the scene I fled,

Would change his living oftener than his shirt; And saw Ulysses striding o'er the dead !

Roar with the rakes of state a month ; and come Amidst the rising heaps the hero stood

To starve another in his hole at home.
All grim, and terribly adorn’d with blood. So rov'd wild Buckingham the public jest,

“. This is enough in conscience for this time: Now some innholder's, now a monarch's guiest; besides, I am desired, by Mr. Pope or Mr. Lintot, His life and politics of every shape, I don't know which, to write to Mr. Pope on a This hour a Roman, and the next an ape. certain affair."

The gout in every limb from every vice,
Poor Clodio hir'd a boy to throw the dice.
Some wench for ever, and their sins on those,
By custom, sit as easy as their clothes.

Soine fly, like pendulums, from good to evil, HIS MAJESTY'S PLAYING WITH A TYGER

And in that point are madder than the Devil :

they IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.

P. To what will these wild maxims tend?

And where, sweet sir, will your reflections end ? Prima dicte mihi, summa dicende Camæna. Hor.

s. In you, Amidst the den, the lions' prey,

P. In me, you knare ? make out your charge, Seal'd up for death the prophet lay ;

S. You praise low living, but you live at large. But couch'd the hungry monsters sit,

Perhaps you scarce believe the rules you teach, And fawning lick his sacred feet;

Or find it hard to practice what you preach. Swift shot an angel from above,

Scarce have you paid one idle journey down, And chang'd their fury into love.

But, without business, you're again in town. As swift did Britain's genius fly,

If none invite you, sir, abroad to roam, And for her charge stand trembling by ;

Then-Lord, what pleasure 'tis to read at home:

And sip your two half-pints, with great delight, ? The words in Italic are copied by Mr. Pope. N. Of beer at noon, and muddled port at night.

ON

HILL THAT OVERLOOKS THE SEA.

From Encome', John comes thundering at the door, Besides, high living, sir, must wear you out
With “ Sir, my master begs you to come o'er, With surfeits, qualms, a fever, or the gout.
To pass these tedious hours, these winter nights, By some new pleasures are you still engrossid,
Nut that he dreails invasions, rogues, or sprites." And when you save an hour, you think it toste
Straight for your two best wigs aloud you call, To sports, plays, races, from your books you run,
Ubis still in buckle, that not curl'd at all,

And like all company, except your own.
“ And where, you rascal, are the spurs," you cry; You bunt, drink, sleep, or (idler still) you rhyme;
* And ()! what blockhead laid the buskins by?" Why?--but to banish thought, and murder time :
On your old batter'd mare you'll needs be gone, And yet that thought, which you discharge in
(No matter whether on four legs or none) (heath;

vain,
Splash, plunge, and stumble, as you scour the Like a foul-loaded piece, recoils again.
All swear at Morden 'tis on life or death ;

P. Tom, fetch a cane, a whip, a club, & stone
Wildly through Warebam streets you scamper on, S. For what?
Raise all the dogs and voters in the town;

P. A sword, a pistol, or a gun :
Then fiy for six long dirty miles as bad,

I'll shoot the dog.
That Corfe and Kingston gentry think you mad. S. Lord! who would be a wit?
And all this furious riding is to prove

He's in a mad, or in a rhyming fit.
Your high respect, it seems, and eager love : P. Fly, fly, you rascal, for your spade and fork;
And yet, that mighty honour to obtain,

For once I'll set your lazy bones to work:
Banks, Shaftesbury, Doddington, may send in vain. Fly, or I'll send you back, without a groat,
Before you go, we curse the noise you make, To the bleak mountains where you first were caught.
And bless the moment that you turn your back :
As for myself, I own it to your face,
I love good eating, and I take my glass ;
But sure 'tis strange, dear sir, that this should be
In you amusement, but a fault in me.

ODE TO JOHN PITT, ES2.
All this is bare refining on a name,

ADVISING HIM TO BUILD A BASQUETTING-HOUSE ON A
To make a difference where the fault's the same.

My father sold me to your service here,
For this fine livery, and four pounds a year. From this tall promontory's brow
A livery you should wear as well as I,

You look majestic down,
And this P'll prove--but lay your cudgel by: And see extended wide below
You serve your passions—Thus, without a jest,

'Th' horizon all your own. Both are but fellow-servants at the best. Yourself, good sir, are play'd by your desires,

With growing piles the vales are crown'd,
A mere tall puppet dancing on the wires.

Here hills peep over hills;
P. W'ho, at this rate of talking, can be free? There the vast sky and sea profound

S. The brave, wise, honest man, and only he: Th' increasing prospect fills ;
All else are slaves alike, the world around,

Obid, my friend, a structure rise, Kings on the throne, and beggars on the ground :

And this huge round command ; He, sir, is proof to grandeur, pride, or pelf,

Then shall this little point comprise
And (greater still) is master of himself :

The ocean and the land.
Not to-and-fro by fears and factions hurld,
But loose to all the interests of the world : Then you, like Æolus,on high,
And while that world turns round, entire and whole, From your aerial tower,
He keeps the sacred tenour of his soul ;

Shall see secure the billows fly,
In every turn of fortune still the same,

And hear the whirlwinds roar. As gold unchangd, or brighter from the flame:

You, with a smile, their rage despise, Collected in biinself, with godlike pride,

Till some sad wreck appears, He sees the darts of Envy glance aside;

And calls, from your relenting eyes,
And, fix'd like Atlas, while the tempest blow,

The sympathising tears.
Smiles at the idle storms that roar below.
One such you know, a layman, to your shame, Thus may you view, with proud delight,
And yet the honour of your blood and name, While winds the deep deform,
If you can such a character maintain,

(Till human woes your grief excite) You too are free, and I'm your slave again.

All nature in a storm. But when in Hemskirk's pictures you delight,

Majestic, awful scene! when, hurl'd More than yourself, to see two drunkards fight;

On sorges, surges rise, “ Fool, rogue, sot, blockhead," or such names are

And all the heaving watery world mine : Your's are, "a Connoiseur,” or “ Deep Divine.”

Tumultuous mounts the skies.
I'm chid for loving a luxurious bit,

The seas and thunder roar by tums,
The sacred prize of learning, worth, and wit : By turns the peals expire :
And yet some sell their lands these bits to buy; The billows flash, and ether bums
Then, pray, who suffers most from luxury? With inomentary Gre.
I'm chid, 'tis true ; but then I pawn no plate,

But lo! the furious tempests cease,
I seal no bonds, I mortgage no estate.

The mighty rage subsides;

Old Ocean husb'd, in solemn peace, ? The seat of John Pitt, esq. in Dorsetsbire. Has stilld the murmuring tides.