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Could I, like him, in tuneful grief excel,
And mourn like Stella for her Astrofel;
Then might I raise my voice, (secure of skill)
And with melodious woe the valleys fill;
The listening Echo on my song should wait,
And hollow rocks Pastora's name repeat;
Each whistling wind, and murmuring stream
How lov'd she liv'd, and how lamented fell.
Wert thou with every bay and laurel crown'd, And high as Pan himself in song renown'd; Yet would not all thy art avail, to show Verse worthy of her name,' or of our woe: But such true passion in thy face appears, In thy pale lips, thick sighs, and gushing tears; Such tender sorrow in thy heart I read, As shall supply all skill, if not exceed. Then leave this common line of dumb distress, Each vulgar grief can sighs and tears express; In sweet complaining notes thy passion vent, And not in sighs, but words explaining sighs, lament.
Wild be my words, Menalcas, wild my thought, Artless as Nature's notes in birds untaught; Boundless my verse, and roving be my strains, Various as flowers on unfrequented plains. And thou, Thalia, darling of my breast, By whom inspir'd, I sung at Comus' feast; While, in a ring, the jolly rural throng Have sat and smil'd to hear my cheerful song: Begone, with all thy mirth and sprightly lays, My pipe no longer now thy power obeys; Learn to lament, my Muse, to weep, and mourn, Thy springing laurels all to cypress turn; Wound with thy dismal cries the tender air, [hair; And beat thy snowy breast, and rend thy yellow Far hence, in utmost wilds, thy dwelling choose, Begone, Thalia; Sorrow is my Muse.
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn, And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn. No more these woods shall with her sight be bless'd,
Nor with her feet these Rowery plains be press'd;
No more the winds shall with her tresses play,
And from her balmy breath steal sweets away;
No more these rivers cheerfully shall pass,
Pleas'd to reflect the beauties of her face;
While on their banks the wondering flocks have
Greedy of sight, and negligent of food.
No more the nymphs shall with soft tales delight
Her ears, no more with dances please her sight:
Nor ever more shall swain make song of mirth,
To bless the joyous day that gave her birth;
Lost is that day which had from her its light,
For ever lost with her, in endless night:
In endless night and arms of Death she lies,
Death in eternal shades has shut Pastora's eyes.
Lament, ye nymphs, and mourn, ye wretched
Stray, all ye flocks, and desert be, ye plains;
Sigh, all ye winds, and weep, ye crystal floods;
Fade, all ye flowers, and wither, all ye woods.
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn, And sable clouds her chalky cliff's adorn. Within a dismal grot, which damps surround, All cold she lies upon th' unwholesome ground; The marble weeps, and, with a silent pace, Its trickling tears distil upon her face.
Falsely ye weep, ye rocks, and falsely mourn;
For never will you let the nymph return!
With a feign'd grief the faithless tomb relents,
And, like the crocodile, its prey laments.
O she was heavenly fair, in face and mind!
Never in nature were such beauties join'd:
Without, all shining; and within, all white;
Pure to the sense, and pleasing to the sight;
Like some rare flower, whose leaves all colours yield,
And, opening, is with sweetest odours fill'd.
As lofty pines o'ertop the lowly reed,
So did her graceful height all nymphs exceed;
To which excelling height, she bore a mind
Humble, as osiers bending to the wind.
Thus excellent she was
Ah wretched fate! she was, but is no more:
Help me, ye hills and vallies, to deplore.
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn,
And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
From that blest earth, on which her body lies,
May blooming flowers with fragrant sweets arise.
Let Myrrha, weeping aromatic gum,
And ever-living laurel, shade her tomb.
Thither let all th' industrious bees repair,
Unlade their thighs, and leave their honey there :
Thither let fairies with their train resort,
Neglect their revels and their midnight sport;
There in unusual wailings waste the night,
And watch her by the fiery glow-worm's light.
There may no dismal yew nor cypress grow,
Nor holly-bush, nor bitter elder's bough;
Let each unlucky bird far build his nest,
And distant dons receive each howling beast;
Let wolves be gone, be ravens put to flight,
With hooting owls, and bats that hate the light.
But let the sighing doves, that sorrows bring,
And nightingales, in sweet complainings sing;
Let swans from their forsaken rivers fly,
And, sickening at her tomb, make haste to die,
That they may help to sing her elegy.
Let Echo too, in mimic moan, deplore,
And cry with me, "Pastora is no more!"
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn,
And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
And see, the Heavens to weep in dew prepare,
And heavy mists obscure the burthen'd air;
A sudden damp o'er all the plain is spread,
Each lily folds its leaves and hangs its head:
On every tree the blossoms turn to tears,
And every bough a weeping moisture bears.
Their wings the feather'd airy people droop,
And flocks beneath their dewy fleeces stoop.
The rocks are cleft, and new-descending rills
Furrow the brows of all th' impending hills;
The water-gods to floods their rivulets turn,
And each, with streaming eyes, supplies his want-
The fawns forsake the woods, the nymphs the
And round the plain in sad distraction rove;
In prickly brakes their tender limbs they tear,
And leave on thorns their locks of golden hair.
With their sharp nails, themselves the satyrs
And tug their shaggy beards, and bite with grief
Lo, Pan himself, beneath a blasted oak,
Dejected lies, his pipe in pieces broke.
See, Pales weeping too, in wild despair,
And to the piercing winds her bosom bare.
And see yon fading myrtle, where appears The queen of love, all bath'd in flowing tears;
See how she wrings her hands, and beats her breast, | New fire informs my soul, unfelt before;
And tears her useless girdle from her waist:
Hear the sad murmurs of her sighing doves,
For grief they sigh, forgetful of their loves.
Lo, Love himself, with heavy woes opprest!
See how his sorrows swell his tender breast;
His bow he breaks, and wide his arrows flings,
And folds his little arms, and hangs his drooping
Then lays his limbs upon the dying grass, [wings;
And all with tears bedews his beauteous face,
With tears, which from his folded lids arise,
And even Love himself has weeping eyes.
All nature mourns; the floods and rocks deplore,
And cry with me,
66 Pastora is no more!"
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn, And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn. The rocks can melt, and air in mists can mourn, And floods can weep, and winds to sighs can turn; The birds, in songs, their sorrows can disclose, And nymphs and swains, in words, can tell their But, oh! behold that deep and wild despair, [woes. Which neither winds can show, nor floods, nor air.
See the great shepherd, chief of all the swains, Lord of these woods, and wide-extended plains, Stretch'd on the ground, and close to earth his face, Scalding with tears th' already-faded grass; To the cold clay he joins his throbbing breast, No more within Pastora's arms to rest! No more! for those once soft and circling arms Themselves are clay, and cold are all her charms; Cold are those lips, which he no more must kiss, And cold that bosom, once all downy bliss; On whose soft pillows, lull'd in sweet delights, He us'd in balmy sleep to lose the nights.
Ah! where is all that love and fondness fled? Ah! where is all that tender sweetness laid ? To dust must all that heaven of beauty come! And must Pastora moulder in the tomb! Ah, Death! more fierce and unrelenting far, Than wildest wolves or savage tigers are: With lambs and sheep their hungers are appeas'd, But ravenous Death the shepherdess has seiz'd.
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn, And sable clouds her chalky cliff's adorn. But see, Menalcas, where a sudden light, With wonder stops my song, and strikes my sight! And where Pastora lies, it spreads around, Showing all radiant bright the sacred ground. While from her tomb, behold, a flame ascends Of whitest fire, whose flight to Heaven extends! "On flaking wings it mounts, and, quick as sight, Cuts through the yielding air with rays of light; Till the blue firmament at last it gains, And, fixing there, a glorious star remains!
Fairest it shines of all that light the skies, As once on Earth were seen Pastora's eyes.
Præsenti tibi maturos largimur honores :
Nil oriturum aliàs, nil ortum tale fatentes.
flor, ad Augustum.
Or arms and war my Muse aspires to sing,
And strike the lyte upon an untry'd string:
And, on new wings, to heights unknown I soar.
power unseen! by whose resistless force Compell'd, I take this flight, direct my course; For fancy wild and pathless ways will choose, Which judgment rarely, or with pain, pursues : Say, sacred nymph, whence this great change proceeds,
Why scorns the lowly swain his oaten reeds;
Daring aloud to strike the sounding lyre,
And sing heroic deeds;
Neglecting flames of love, for martial fire?
William, alone, my feeble voice can raise; What voice so weak, that cannot sing his praise! The listening world each whisper will befriend! That breathes his name, and every ear attend. The hovering winds on downy wings shall wait around, [sound. And catch, and waft to foreign lands, the flying Ev'n I will in his praise be heard ; For by his name my verse shall be preferr'd. Borne like a lark upon this eagle's wing, High as the spheres, I will his triumph sing; High as the head of Fame; Fame, whose exalted size From the deep vale extends up to the vaulted skies: A thousand talking tongues the monster bears, A thousand waking eyes and ever-open ears; Hourly she stalks with huge gigantic pace, Measuring the globe, like Time, with constant race:
Yet shall she stay, and bend to William's praise: Of him her thousand earsshall hear triumphantlays, Of him her tongue shall talk, on him her eyes shall gaze.
But lo, a change, astonishing my eyes!
And all around, behold, new objects rise!
What forms are these I see? and whence?
Beings substantial! or does air condense,
To clothe in visionary shape my various thought?
Are these by fancy wrought!
Can strong ideas strike so deep the sense? O sacred Poesy! O boundless power! What wonders dost thou trace, what hidden worlds explore!
Through seas, earth, air, and the wide-circling
sky, [eye! What is not sought and seen by thy all-piercing
'Twas now, when flowery lawns the prospect made,
And flowing brooks beneath a forest's shade;
A lowing heifer, loveliest of the herd,
Stood feeding by; while two fierce bulls prepar'd
Their armed heads for fight, by fate of war to prove
The victor worthy of the fair-one's love :
Unthought presage of what met next my view!
For soon the shady scene withdrew:
And now, for woods, and fields, and springing
Behold a town arise, bulwark'd with walls, and lofty
Two rival armies all the plain o'erspread,
Each in battalia rang'd, and shining arms array'd.
With eager eyes beholding both from far
Namur, the prize and mistress of the war.
Now, thirst of conquest, and immortal fame,
Does every chief and soldier's heart inflame.
Defensive arms the Gallic forces bear,
While hardy Britons for the storm prepare;
For Fortune had, with partial hand, before
Resign'd the rule to Gallia's power.
High on a rock the mighty fortress stands,
Founded by Fate, and wrought by Nature's hands.
A wondrous task it is th' ascent to gain,
Through craggy cliffs, that strike the sight with
And nod impending terrours o'er the plain.
To this, what dangers men can add, by force or
(And great is human force and wit in ill) [skill
Are join'd; on every side wide-gaping engines wait,
Teeming with fire, and big with certain fate;
Ready to hurl destruction from above,
In dreadful roar, mocking the wrath of Jove.
Thus fearful does the face of adverse power appear;
But British forces are unus'd to fear:
Though thus oppos'd they might, if William were
But hark, the voice of war! behold the storm begin!
The trumpet's clangour speaks in loud alarms,
Mingling shrill notes, with dreadful din
Of cannons' burst, and rattling clash of arms.
Clamours from Earth to Heaven, from Heaven to
Distinction in promiscuous noise is drown'd,
And echo lost in one continued sound.
Torrents of fire from brazen mouths are sent,
Follow'd by peals, as if each pole were rent;
Such flames the gulf of Tartarus disgorge,
So vaulted Ætna roars from Vulcan's forge;
Such were the peals from thence, such the vast blaze
Reddening with horrid gloom the dusky smoke, When the huge Cyclops did with moulding thunder sweat,
And massive bolts on repercussive anvils beat.
Amidst this rage, behold, where William stands,
With face serene, dispensing dread commands;
Which, heard with awe, are with delight obey'd.
A thousand fiery deaths around him fly;
And burning balls hiss harmless by:
For ev'ry fire his sacred head must spare,
Nor dares the lightning touch the laurels there.
Now many a wounded Briton feels the rage
Of missive fires that fester in each limb,
Which dire revenge alone has power t' assuage;
Revenge makes danger dreadless seem.
And now, with desperate force, and fresh attack,
Through obvious deaths, resistless way they
Raising high piles of earth, and heap on heap they
And then ascend; resembling thus (as far
As race of men inferior may)
The fam'd gigantic war,
When those tall sons of Earth did Heaven aspire;
(A brave, but impious fire!)
Uprooting hills, with most stupendous hale,
To form the high and dreadful scale.
The gods, with horrour and amaze, look'd down,
Beholding rocks from their firm basis rent;
Mountain on mountain thrown, [ment!
With threatening hurl, that shook th' aerial firma-
Th' attempt did fear in Heaven create;
Even Jove desponding sate,
Till Mars, with all his force collected, stood,
And pour'd whole war on the rebellious brood;
Who, tumbling headlong from th' empyreal skies,
O'erwhelm'd those hills, by which they thought
Mars on the gods did then his aid bestow,
And now in godlike William storms with equal force
Still they proceed, with firm unshaken pace,
And hardy breasts oppos'd to danger's face.
With daring feet, on springing mines they tread
Of secret sulphur, in dire ambush laid.
Still they proceed; though all beneath, the labour-
Trembles to give the dread irruptions birth.
Through this, through more, through all they go,
See, how they climb, and scale the steepy walls!
Mounting at last amidst the vanquish'd foe.
See, how the Britons rise! see the retiring Gauls!
Now from the fort, behold, the yielding flag is
And William's banner on the breach display'd.
Hark, the triumphant shouts from every voice!
The skies with acclamations ring?
Hark, how around, the hills rejoice,
And rocks reflected los sing!
Hautboys and fifes and trumpets join'd
Heroic harmony prepare,
And charm to silence every wind,
And glad the late-tormented air,
Far is the sound of martial music spread,
Echoing through all the Gallic host,
Whose numerous troops the dreadful storm sur-
But they, with wonder or with awe dismay'd,
Unmov'd beheld the fortress lost.
William, their numerous troops with terrour fill'd,
Such wondrous charms can godlike valour show!
Not the wing'd Perseus, with petrific shield
Of Gorgon's head, to more amazement charm'd his
Nor, when on soaring horse he flew, to aid
And save from monster's rage the beauteous
Or more heroic was the deed; [maid;
Or she to surer chains decreed,
Than was Namur, till now by William freed.
Descend, my Muse, from thy too-daring height,
Descend to Earth, and ease thy wide-stretch'd
For weary art thou grown of this unwonted flight,
And dost with pain of triumphs sing:
More fit for thee, resume thy rural reeds;
For war let more harmonious harps be strung:
Sing thou of love, and leave great William's
To him who sung the Boyne; or him to whom he
Time and the Muse set forth with equal pace;
At once the rivals started to the race:
And both at once the destin'd course shall end,
Or both to all eternity contend.
One to preserve what t' other cannot save,
And rescue Virtue rising from the grave.
To thee, O Montague, these strains are sung,
For thee my voice is tun'd, and speaking lyre is
For every grace of every Muse is thine; [strung;
In thee their various fires united shine,
Darling of Phoebus and the tuneful Nine!
To thee alone I dare my song commend,
Whose nature can forgive, and power defend,
And show by turns the patron and the friend.
Begin, my Muse, from Jove derive thy song,
Thy song of right does first to Jove belong :
For thou thyself art of celestial seed,
Nor dare a sire inferior boast the breed.
When first the frame of this vast ball was made,
And Jove with joy the finish'd work survey'd ;
Vicissitude of things, of men and states,
Their rise and fall, were destin'd by the Fates.
Then Time had first a name; by firm decree
Appointed lord of all futurity,
Within whose ample bosom Fates repose
Causes of things, and secret seeds enclose,
Which, ripening there, shall one day gain a birth,
And force a passage through the teeming Earth.
To him they give to rule the spacious light,
And bound the yet unparted day and night;
To wing the hours that whirl the rolling sphere,
To shift the seasons, and conduct the year,
Duration of dominion and of power
To him prescribe, and fix each fated hour.
This mighty rule to Time the Fates ordain,
But yet to hard conditions bind his reign;
For every beauteous birth be brings to light,
(How good soe'er and grateful in his sight)
He must again to native earth restore,
And all his race with iron teeth devour.
Nor good nor great shall 'scape his hungry maw,
But bleeding Nature prove the rigid law.
Not yet the loosen'd Earth aloft was slung,
Or pois'd amid the skies in balance hung;
Nor yet did golden fires the Sun adorn,
Or borrow'd lustre silver Cynthia's horn;
Nor yet had Time commission to begin,
Or Fate the many twisted web to spin;
When all the heavenly host assembled came
To view the world yet resting on its frame;
Eager they press, to see the sire dismiss
And roll the globe along the vast abyss.
When deep revolving thoughts the God retain,
Which for a space suspend the promis'd scene;
Once more his eyes on Time intentive look,
Again inspect Fate's universal book :
Abroad the wondrous volume he displays,
And present views the deeds of future days.
A beauteous scene adorns the foremost page,
Where Nature's bloom presents the golden age.
The golden leaf to silver soon resigns,
And fair the sheet, but yet more faintly, shines.
Of baser brass, the next denotes the times:
An impious page, deform'd with deadly crimes.
The fourth yet wears a worse and browner face,
And adds to gloomy days an iron race.
He turns the book, and every age reviews,
Then all the kingly line his eye pursues :
The first of men, and lords of Earth design'd,
Who under him should govern human-kind.
Of future heroes, there, the lives he reads,
In search of glory spent, and godlike deeds;
Who empires found, and goodly cities build,
And savage men compel to leave the field.
All this he saw, and all he saw approv'd;
When lo! but thence a narrow space remov'd,
And hungry Time has all the scene defac'd,
The kings destroy'd, and laid the kingdoms
Together all in common ruins lie,
And but anon, and ev'n the ruins die.
Th' Almighty, inly touch'd, compassion found,
To see great actions in oblivion drown'd;
And forward search'd the roll, to find if Fate
Had no reserve to spare the good and great.
Bright in his view the Trojan heroes shine,
And Ilian structures rais'd by hands divine;
But Ilium soon in native dust is laid,
And all her boasted pile a ruin made:
Nor great Æneas can her fall withstand,
But flies, to save his gods, to foreign land.
The Roman race succeed the Dardan state,
And first, and second Cæsar, godlike great.
Still on to after-days his eyes descend,
And rising heroes still the search attend.
Proceeding thus, he many empires pass'd;
| When fair Britannia fix'd his sight at last.
Above the waves she lifts her silver head,
And looks a Venus born from Ocean's bed.
For rolling years, her happy fortunes smile,
And Fates propitious bless the beauteous Isle;
To worlds remote she wide extends her reign,
And wields the trident of the stormy main.
Thus on the base of empires firm she stands,
While bright Eliza rules the willing lands.
But soon a lowering sky comes on apace,
And Fate, revers'd, shows an ill-omen'd face.
The void of Heaven a gloomy horrour fills,
And cloudy veils involve her shining hills;
Of greatness pass'd no footsteps she retains,
Sunk in a series of inglorious reigns.
She feels the change and deep regrets the shame
Of honours lost, and her diminish'd name:
Conscious, she seeks from day to shrowd her head,
And glad would shrink beneath her oozy bed.
Thus far, the sacred leaves Britannia's woes
In shady draughts and dusky lines disclose.
Th' ensuing scene revolves a martial age,
And ardent colours gild the glowing page.
Behold! of radiant light an orb arise,
Which, kindling day, restores the darken'd skies:
And see! on seas the beamy ball descends,
And now its course to fair Britannia bends:
Along the foamy main the billows bear
The floating fire, and waft the shining sphere.
Hail, happy omen! hail, auspicious sight!
Thou glorious guide to yet a greater light.
For see a prince, whom dazzling arms array,
Pursuing closely, plows the watery way,
Tracing the glory through the flaming sea
Britannia, rise! awake, Q fairest Isle,
From iron sleep! again thy fortunes smile.
Once more look up, the mighty man behold,
Whose reign renews the former age of gold.
The Fates, at length, the blissful web have spun,
And bid it round in endless circles run.
Again shall distant lands confess thy sway,
Again the watery world thy rule obey;
Again thy martial sons shall thirst for fame,
And win in foreign fields a deathless name;
For William's genius every soul inspires,
And warms the frozen youth with warlike fires.
Already, see, the hostile troops retreat,
And seem forewarn'd of their impending fate.
Already routed foes his fury feel,
And fly the force of his unerring steel.
The haughty Gaul, who well, till now, might boast
A matchless sword, and unresisted host,
At his foreseen approach the field forsakes ;
His cities tremble, and his empire shakes.
His towering ensigns long had aw'd the plain,
And fleets audaciously usurp'd the main;
A gathering storm he seem'd, which from afar
Teem'd with a deluge of destructive war,
Till William's stronger genius soar'd above,
And down the skies the daring tempest drove.
So from the radiant Sun retires the night,
And western clouds shot through with orient light.
So when th' assuming god, whom storms obey,
To all the warring winds at once gives way,
The frantic brethren ravage all around,
And rocks, and woods, and shores, their rage re
Incumbent o'er the main, at length, they sweep
The liquid plains, and raise the peaceful deep.
But when superior Neptune leaves his bed,
His trident shakes, and shows his awful head;
The madding winds are hush'd, the tempests cease,
And every rolling surge resides in peace.
And now the sacred leaf a landscape wears,
Where heaven serene, and air unmov'd, appears.
The rose and lily paint the verdant plains,
And palm and olive shade the sylvan scenes.
The peaceful Thames heneath his banks abides,
And soft, and still, the silver surface glides.
The Zephyrs fan the fields, the whispering breeze
With fragrant breath remurmurs thro' the trees.
The warbling birds, applauding new-born light,
In wanton measures wing their airy flight.
Above the floods the finny race repair,
And bound aloft, and bask in upper air;
They gild their scaly backs in Phœbus' beams,
And scorn to skim the level of the streams.
Whole Nature wears a gay and joyous face,
And blooms and ripens with the fruits of peace.
No more the labouring hindregrets his toil,
But cheerfully manures the grateful soil;
Secure the glebe a plenteous crop will yield,
And golden Ceres grace the waving field.
Th' adventurous man, who durst the deep explore,
Oppose the winds, and tempt the shelfy shore,
Beneath his roof now tastes unbroken rest,
Enough with native wealth and plenty blest.
No more the forward youth pursues alarms,
Nor leaves the sacred arts for stubborn arms.
No more the mothers from their hopes are torn,
Nor weeping maids the promis'd lover mourn.
No more the widows' shricks, and orphans' cries,
Torment the patient air, and pierce the skies;
But peaceful joys the prosperous times afford,
And banish'd Virtue is again restor'd.
And he whose arms alone sustain'd the toil,
And propp'd the nodding fraine of Britain's isle;
By whose illustrious deeds, her leaders fir'd,
Have honours lost retriev'd, and new acquir'd,
With equal sway will Virtue's laws maintain,
And good, as great, in awful peace shall reign;
For his example still the rule shall give,
And those it taught to conquer, teach to live.
Proceeding on, the Father still unfolds
Succeeding leaves, and brighter still beholds &
The latest seen the fairest seems to shine,
Yet sudden does to one more fair resign.
Th' Eternal paus'd—~
Nor would Britannia's fate beyond explore:
Enough he saw besides the coming store.
Enough the hero had already done,
And round the wide extent of glory run:
Nor further now the shining path pursues,
But, like the Sun, the same bright race renews.
And shall remorseless Fates on him have power!
Or Time unequally such worth devour!
Then, wherefore shall the brave for fame contest?
Why is this man distinguish'd from the rest?
Whose soaring genius now sublime aspires,
And deathless fame, the due reward, requires.
Approving Heaven th' exalted virtue views,
Nor can the claim which it approves refuse.
The great Creator soon the grant resolves,
And in his mighty mind the means revolves.
He thought; nor doubted once again to choose,
But spake the word, and made th' immortal Muse.
Ne'er did his power produce so bright a child,
On whose creation infant Nature smil'd.
Perfect at first, a finish'd form she wears,
And youth perpetual in her face appears.
Th' assembled gods, who long expecting staid,
With new delight gaze on the lovely maid,
And think the wish'd-for world was well delay'd
Nor did the Sire himself his joy disguise,
But stedfast view'd, and fix'd, and fed his eyes:
Intent a space, at length he silence broke,
And thus the god the heavenly fair bespoke:
"To thee, immortal maid, from this bless'd hour,
O'er Time and Fame, I give unbounded power.
Thou from oblivion shalt the hero save;
Shalt rise, revive, immortalize the brave.
To thee, the Dardan prince shall owe his fame ;-
To thee, the Cæsars their eternal name.
Eliza, sung by thee, with Fate shall strive,
And long as Time in sacred verse survive.
And yet, O Muse, remains the noblest theme;
The first of men, mature for endless fame,
Thy future songs shall grace, and all thy lays,
Thenceforth, alone shall wait on William's praise.
On his heroic deeds thy verse shall rise;
Thou shit diffuse the fires that he supplies.
Through him thy songs shall more sublime aspire;
And he, thro' them, shall deathless fame acquire.
Nor Time nor Fate his glory shall oppose,
Or blast the monuments the Muse bestows."
This said; no more remain'd. Th' ethereal host,
Again impatient, crowd the crystal coast.
The Father, now, within his spacious hands,
Encompass'd all the mingled mass of seas and lands;
And, having heav'd aloft the ponderous sphere,
He launch'd the world to float in ambient air.
MRS. ARABELLA HUNT, SINGING.
LET all be hush'd, each softest motion cease,
Be every loud tumultuous thought at peace,
And every ruder gasp of breath
Be calm, as in the arms of Death.