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Men, who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare main
tain, Prevent the long-aim'd blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain :
These constitute a State,
Smit by her sacred frown
And e'en the all dazzling Crown
Such was this heaven-loved isle,
No more shall Freedom smile?
Since all must life resign,
, 'Tis folly to decline, And steal inglorious to the silent grave.
THE PALACE OF FORTUNE,
AN INDIAN TALE;
Mild was the vernal gale, and calm the day,
glow? "Why flow those tresses, if unpraised they flow? “Why dart those eyes their liquid ray serene, “ Unfelt their influence, and their sight unseen!
vi Ye heavens! was that love-breathing bosom
made “ To warm dull groves, and cheer the lonely
glade ? " Ah, no : those blushes, that enchanting face, “ Some tap'stried hall, or gilded bower, might
grace; “ Might deck the scenes, where love and pleasure
reign, " And fire with amorous flames the youthful train."
While thus she spoke, a sudden blaze of light : Shot through the clouds, and struck her dazzled
sight, She raised her head, astonished, to the skies,.. And veil'd with trembling hands her aching eyes; When through the yielding air she saw from far A Goddess gliding in her golden car, That soon descended on the flowery lawn, By two fair yokes of starry peacocks drawn; A thousand nymphs with many a sprightly glance Form'd round the radiant wheels an airy dance, Celestial shapes, in fluid light array'd; Like twinkling stars their beamy sandals play'd;
Their lucid mantles glitter'd in the sun, . "
The Queen herself, too fair for mortal sight,
maid, And by her side in silent slumber laid: Straight the gay birds display'd their spangled
train, a And few refulgent through the aerial plain; The fairy band their shining pinions spread, And, as they rose, fresh gales of sweetness shed; Fann'd with their flowing skirts, the sky was mild; And heaven's blue fields with brighter radiance
Our knowlege of the life of Boswell, grows out of that of
the life of Johnson: just as the misletoe branches from the oak.
Prologue at the opening of the Theatre Royal Edin
burgh; written by James Boswell; Esq. Spoken by Mr. Ross.
ScotųAND, for learning, and for arms renown'd,