But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores, The reddening orange and the swelling grain; Oh Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train; Eased of her load, Subjection grows more light, And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of Nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores; How has she oft exhausted all her stores, How oft in field of death thy presence sought, Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! On foreign mountains may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil : We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiades shine: 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mount ains smile. T2 PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, When in the sultry glebe I faint, Though in the paths of death I tread, Though in a bare and rugged way, AN ODE. How are thy servants bless'd, oh Lord! How sure is their defence! Eternal wisdom is their guide, Their help Omnipotence. In foreign realms, and lands remote, Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, Think, oh my soul, devoutly think, Confusion dwelt on every face, And fear in every heart; When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, O'ercame the pilot's art. Yet then from all my griefs, oh lord! Whilst in the confidence of prayer For though in dreadful whirls we hung I knew thou wert not slow to hear, The storm was laid, the winds retired, The sea, that roar'd at thy command, In midst of dangers, fears, and death, And praise thee for thy mercies pass'd, My life, if thou preserv'st my life, And death, if death must be my doom, MATTHEW PRIOR. 1664-1721. THE CHAMELEON. As the chameleon, who is known To be a statesman or a wit; He saunters wildly up and down, Till some acquaintance, good or bad, Admits him in among the gang; They jest, reply, dispute, harangue : He acts and talks as they befriend him, Smear'd with the colours which they lend him. Thus, merely as his fortune chances, His merit or his vice advances. If, haply, he the sect pursues That read and comment upon news, He takes up their mysterious face, He drinks his coffee without lace; This week his mimic tongue runs o'er And teaches Marlborough when to fight. With folks who have more wealth than wit; PROTOGENES AND APELLES. WHEN poets wrote and painters drew, Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece Lived there, a burgess, scot and lot; Agreed these points of time and place, |