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A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O’er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain ; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; Behold surrounding kings their pow'rs combine, And one capitulate, and one resign; (vain; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in “ Think nothing gain'd,” he cries, “till naught reOn Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, (main; And all be mine beneath the polar sky." The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delayHide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day : The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend ? Did not subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral or adorn a tale.

All times their scenes of pompous woes afford, From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. In gay hostility and barb'rous pride, With half mankind embattled at his side, Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, And starves exhausted regions in his way; Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er, Till counted myriads sooth his pride no more ; Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his mind, The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind,

New pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are still be

stow'd, Till rude resistance lops the spreading god; The daring Greeks deride the martial show, And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; · Th'insulted sea with humbler thought he gains, A single skiff to speed his flight remains; Th' encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast Through purple billows and a floating host.

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean pow'r; With unexpected legions bursts away, And sees defenceless realms receive his sway: Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful

charms, The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms; , From hill to hill, the beacon's rousing blaze, Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise : The fierce Croatian and the wild Hussar, With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; The baffled prince, in honour's flatt’ring bloom Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom; His foes' derision and his subjects' blame, And steals to death from anguish and from shame..

“Enlarge my life with multitude of days !" In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays: Hides from himself its state, and shuns to know, That life protracted is protracted wo. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy: In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r; With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more; Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain, Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain ; No sounds, alas! would touch th' imperviouş ear, Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near;

Nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'rs attend,
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend;
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
The still returning tale and ling’ring jest,
Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest,
While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer,
And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear:
The watchful guests still hint the last offence;
The daughter's petulance, the son's expense,
Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill,
And mould his passions till they make his will.

Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade,
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade;
But unextinguish'd av’rice still remains,
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains ;
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands,
His bonds of debt and mortgages of lands;
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.

But grant, the virtues of a temp?rate prime
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating conscience cheers ;
The gen'ral fav’rite as the gen'ral friend :
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?

Yet ev'n on this her load Misfortune flings,
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings;
New sorrow rises as the day returns,
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.
Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear;
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from with’ring life away;
New forms arise, and diff'rent views engage,
Superfluous lags the vet’ran on the stage,
Till pitying Nature signs the last release,
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace

But few there are whom hours like these await, Who set unclouded in the gulfs of Fate. From Lydia's monarch should the search descend, By Solon caution'd to regard his end, In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driv'ler and a show.

The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ; Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring, And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king. Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise ; Whom joys with soft varieties invite, By day the frolic, and the dance by night; Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, And ask the latest fashion of the heart; What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall

save, Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? Against your fame with fondness hate combines, The rival batters, and the lover mines. With distant voice neglected Virtue calls, Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls ; Tired with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry reign, And Pride and Prudence take their seat in vain. In crowd at once, where none the pass defend, The harmless freedom and the private friend. The guardians yield, by force superior plied : To Int'rest, Prudence; and to Flatt'ry, Pride. Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd, And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.

Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find? Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

VOL. II.-E

Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain
Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice :
Safe in his pow'r, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious pray'r;
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resign'd;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sov’reign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat:
These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain,
These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain;
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.

John Scott. 1730–1783.

ODE ON HEARING THE DRUM.
I HATE that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round :
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace and glittering arms;

And when Ambition's voice commands,
To march, and fight, and fall in foreign lands.

I hate that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round :
To me it talks of ravaged plains,
And burning towns, and ruin'd swains,

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