Heaven from all ages has reserved for you That happy clime, which venom never knew ; Or if it had been there, your eyes alone Have power to chase all poison but their own. Now in this interval, which fate has cast Betwixt your future glories, and your past; This pause of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn; While England celebrates your safe return, By which you seem the seasons to command, And bring our summers back to their forsaken land. The vanquish'd isle our leisure must attend, Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send; [lend. Nor can we spare you long, though often we may The dove was twice employ'd abroad, before The world was dried; and she return'd no more. Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger, New from her sickness, to that northern air; Rest here a while your lustre to restore, That they may see you, as you shone before; For yet, the' eclipse not wholly past, you wade Through some remains and dimness of a shade. A subject in his prince may claim a right, Nor suffer him with strength impair'd to fight; Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, And curb his warlike wish to cross the main. Now past the danger, let the learn'd begin The' inquiry, where disease could enter in ; How those malignant atoms forced their way; What in the faultless frame they found to make their Where every element was weigh'd so well, [prey? That Heaven alone, who mix'd the mass, could tell Which of the four ingredients could rebel; And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage, A soul might well be pleased to pass an age. And yet In vain your lord like young Vespasian mourn'd, When the fierce flames the sanctuary burn'd: And I prepared to pay in verses rude A most detested act of gratitude: Even this had been your elegy, which now As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree, And for that end, preserved the precious mould, An heir from you, which may redeem the failing kind. Bless'd be the power which has at once restored The hopes of lost succession to your lord, Joy to the first and last of each degree, Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see, To you the Graces, and the Muse to me. 1 Christopher Love Morley, M. D. O daughter of the Rose, whose cheeks unite The soft recesses of your hours improve 2 Alluding to her descent from the Plantagenets, as daughter of Henry, Duke of Beaufort. PALAMON AND ARCITE; OR, THE KNIGHT'S TALE. FROM CHAUCER. BOOK I. IN days of old there lived of mighty fame, ; Of Athens he was lord; much land he won, I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array, The field is spacious I design to sow, To tire your patience, and to waste my strength; That others may have time to take their turn; 'Tell me,' said Theseus, what and whence you And why this funeral pageant you prepare? [are, Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds? Or envy you my praise, and would destroy With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy? Or are you injured, and demand relief? Name your request, and I will ease your grief.' The most in years of all the mourning train Began, (but swooned first away for pain); Then, scarce recover'd, spoke: Nor envy we The great renown, nor grudge thy victory; |