victims of his pride and implacable refentment.

But if the lofs of the vanquished was great, the victors likewife had caufe to mourn.-Befides four thoufand of their beft troops flaughtered, they loft their general Mortogh, who was treacherously flain by one of the Danish princes, that lying wounded on the field of battle, intreated his affiftance, which when the generous warrior difmounted to grant him, the infidious Dane fuddenly ftabbed him to the heart. But what was ftill more affecting to the Irish, was the lofs of their monarch, who had fo often taught them how to conquer, and who 'now fell, not on the field of battle, where he had often met death in its moft terrible forms, but perifhed, because he was not able to prefide over the business of that dreadful day. The good old king having, as before-mentioned, retreated at the inftance of his fons to his tent, there waited with anxiety the fortune of the battle. When victory had declared itself against the Danes, and the perfidious monarch of Leinfier, -when every thing feemed to favour the caufe of liberty and juf tice, it was then that this great and heroic prince met his fate, and expired on the very eve of his triumph-for a party of the flying Danes, commanded by one Bruadar, paffing by the monarch's pavilion in their flight, when they understood to whom it belonged, entered it, and finding Brian unguarded, inftantly fell upon him and flew him; but, expeditious as they were in this their devilish revenge, they were not quick enough to fave themselves from the pnnish. ment which fuch a murder deferved; for the Irish guards, who were not far diftant from them when they entered, came up, and hnding their monarch killed, immediately cut the affaffins to pieces, crificing them to the manes of

their beloved king and general.Such was the end of this dreadful war, commenced by a weak prince merely to gratify his own implacable temper, at the expence of the lives of thousands, and the manifeft hazard of the freedom of his country, in which he defervedly fell himfelf, accompanied by the chief of these foreign and domeftick enemies to the peace of Ireland, who had the leading of these adverfe powers.-Happy had his own or theirs been the best blood fhed upon this occafion !-But here fell the hopes of a whole country, two of the braveft of princes, little deferving of the fate they fuffered, and whofe fall must be confidered as the worst of evils to their fuffering country. Nevertheless they fell covered with laurels, whilt the Danes and the troops of Leinster retired, covered with fhame and fruitless wounds, to deplore at once their crimes and their misfortunes, and without the least gleam either of hope or virtue to comfort them from a confcioufnefs that their cause was juft, or that they had fought to free their country from cruelty and oppreffion, or to anfwer any good or virtuous end whatsoever.

Brian Boiromhe, who was thus murdered by the Danes, was then in the eighty-eighth year of his age, being feventy-fix when he became monarch of Ireland; in war he was an acknowledged hero, and befides patronifed religion, learning, and the arts of peace. He encouraged the bishops and clergy, was eafy of access to all those who could propose any thing for the benefit of the community, and was as amiable in his private converfation, as he was vigorous in war. He had commanded in above twenty engagements with the Danes, in all which he was very fuccefsful, before this fatal battle of Clontarf, where his fons gained the victory, and where he lost his life.

POETRY.

The ELECTION. A FABLE.

To CANDIDATE S.
LECTIONS, as they ought to be,

And members by the wife were thought
To be as honeft as they cught.
At length, among the brutal tribe,
A Fox first introduc'd a bribe;
No vice is long without its brother,
One bribe foon introduc'd another:
These fet a hundred more a flying,
For bribes are fam'd for multiplying:
The poifon through the faireft ipread,
And liberty hung down her head:
The flory of its introduction,
I'll here unfold for your inftruction.
A monkey of a scheming head,
Was to the barber's calling bred:
Four trees of filbert nuts he claim'd,
And thence a Freeholder was nam'd;
Beneath the shelter of these trees,
He lather'd brutes, and liv'd at ease.
Beneath, one day, appear'd a goat,
To lose his beard, and gain a vote.
The monkey foon began to shave,
And talk politically grave.
The goat, a brute of much difcerning,
Applauds his wifdom and his learning;
And then infinuates the cafe,
I'm candidate for such a place;
Accept these dozen peaches pray;
(I'm hav'd extremely well to-day)
The other candidate you know
Is yours, and all the nation's foe:
I hope you'll fuch a rogue oppose,
I'll be your friend-if I am chose.

The monkey promis'd-bit a peach, And only with'd to lather each.

The other candidate-a Fox, Came with a train of dunghill cocks; The monkey fhav'd him neat and trim, And whisk'd the hair on ev'ry limb: The fox two dozen peaches gave, Then fwore the goat was but a knave; The goat, my wishes to defeat, (Cries he) reports, that fowis I eat; But let it, friend, be understood, That I abhor the fight of blood; If true, what fuch as him pretend, Think you they'd on my fteps attend?

Then fince you know your friends from

foes,

I beg that you'll the goat oppofe.
He promis'd as he did before,
But kept his word a little more,
For twelve is lefs than twenty-four.
He gave the artful fox his vote,
And thus was call'd to by the goat;
Stay, barber, you're mistaken, ftay;
You know you fhav'd my beard to-day.
Why what you fay, cries pug, is true,
But, faith, I hav'd the fox fince you.
The peaches, fir,-the peaches-oh !
I've eat them long enough ago;
Those twelve you gave me, fir, eat well,
Nor cou'd his twenty-four excel,
In tafte I mean-but, fir, in number,
One dozen muft to two knock under;
Befides you know as well as I,
They mean to fell who aim to buy;
And who that muft his freedom lofe,
Think ye, the smallest price would chuse?

A PASTORAL ELEGY On the Death of Mr. JOHN CUNNINGHAM, An eminent Paftoral Poet.

S lately I walk'd o'er the plain,

The lovelieft of nymphs I efpy'd; With forrow I heard her complain,

For with anguifh fhe bitterly figh'd.

I refolv'd to addrefs the fair maid,

And learn the fad cause of her moan; But as I approach'd her she said, "Kind thepherd, pray leave me alone.

Quite

To my defponding PH OE B E.

True content is the eye's quiet, the thought's medicine, and the defire's mithridate; it stays the torrent of rage and infelts, kills ADVERSITY if it assaults, and at last prefers us to a feat amongst the immortal gods. SOCRATES.

ELL me no more of ample fields,

TEL

Nor talk of pleafure fortune yields;
Of hoarded wealth, of dress, of ease ;
Ah! prithee lay no more of thefe.

But tell me, Phoebe, tell me why
You drop the tear, and heave the figh,
When grandeur, with her gilded train,
Sweeps glitt'ring o'er our peaceful plain.

Say, is't because you fcorn your lot,
And Damon's mots-clad wholefome cot?
The worth he owns, misjudging fair,
Grandeur herself might wish to fhare.

'Tis true, to ftate and courts unknown,
He shifts on little-all his own;
He thears his flock, can dress the hive,
And scorns by meaner arts to thrive.

The running ftream, at rifing day,
Doth often Damon's thirst allay;
For coarfer viands fraught with health,
He fhuns the stews of pamper'd wealth.

Still us'd the ways of truth to trace,
He never can her foes embrace;
Nor would not, for a Statefman's bribe,
Herd with flatt'ry's fervile tribe.

While Damon's bleft with fuch a mind,
Surely my Phoebe fhould be kind :
Then rack no more his honeft breaft,
But fweetly fmile, and make him bleft.

And hence reflect no more on fate, Nor covet to be rich, or great ; Kind Providence for all has fent, And he is richest who's content.

For gilded toys the ftripling cries;
Trifles light in fapient eyes:
Ah! prize the moments as they fly,
For rare's the gem that's worth a figh.

Regard not tho' Belinda fcowl,

She fhews the meannefs of her foul;
And smile when fuch of honours prate;
In being honest, we're as great.

What! 'cause her titled parents hold
Some acres of the common mold ;
Shall the, like a Coloffus, ftride
O'er folks fo low, and thew her pride.

No, my fad Phœbe! think not fo! In one fo great 'tis mean-'tis low; Let her enjoy what fortune fent, You'll ftill be richest, if content.

The pow'r who gave her birth, gave thee
The boon of life and liberty:

Thefe bleffings then difcreetly fhare,
For know-we're all alike his care.

KIND ADVICE to the HAPPY SHEPHERD.

56

Now of the Stygian gulf he raves,
Now pores in Ætna's fulph'rous caves,
'Till frantic Fancy refts her head
In the burning torrent's bed!

Shepherd, ere it be too late,
Would'st thou fhun his wayward fate?
Then leave the melancholy plain,
So fhalt thou live an happy fwain!

Oft, beneath the twilight trees,
Lurks a fadly fullen breeze!
And Pan to shapes of luckle's pow'r
Oft delegates the lonely hour.

Where the oak his gnarled root
Doth across the pathway shoot,
Or with Linden's gloffy rine
Laurel-treffes intertwine;

While himself, to jocund dance
Bids the dryad-train advance,
Nor breaks off the frolic found,
'Till the tell-tale fun comes round-

Let the breast that cares oppress
Dwell with folitarinefs!
Nor change the Mufes defert fprings
For the joys that wait on kings!

Tho' by Aganippe's streams
Ancient bards had golden dreams,
Deem not blissful life was their

• Golden grain is choak'd with tares.'

Tremblingly alive all o'er,
Much to feel is to deplore,
And the foul of fentes strong
Gives but forrows to the fong.

Think'st thou care fhall ne'er invade,
With venom fhaft thy fecret shade?
In form of love, be foftly fteals,
And unfufpecting hearts assails.

Or, if his way a diftant friend
Should to thy lovely threshold bend,
Like my Timæus, he may be,
In death, an endless woe to thee!

Poetry.

Or, if thy fates do not defign
That he should die, and thou should'st pine,
As I with Lycon, both may prove
Abfence is death to thofe that love!

But it is not fo in courts-
There Cupid with light dalliance fports,
And Venus in a kind disguise
Looks milder thro' Afpafia's eyes.

Jan.

If a lov'd friend should die, 'tis there
Thou may'ft with ease the lofs repair:
And tho' one nymph fhould faithless prove,
Another will requite thy love.

Then, hafte thee to the haunts of men!
Nor let the little careless wren,
As thro' the nut-tree fhade he hops,
Seduce thee to the filent copfe.

And, in fome much frequented room
May'st thou find a tranquil tomb!
While thy unprifon'd fenfes fly
To the fphere of harmony!

And let the gentle flumber fleal,
The shepherd's clofing eye to feal,
And bring that future life of blif's
For which the virtuous pant in this!
Sweet luxury of fouls refin'd,
How would it fuit the vulgar mind?
Let vulgar minds at diftance keep!
Nor fright away the shepherd's fleep!
For the HIBERNIAN MAGAZINE.