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Though not obtrusive, yet not quite unknown:

1040

My voice was heard again, though not so loud,

My page, though nameless, never disavow'd;

And now at once I tear the veil away: Cheer on the pack! the quarry stands at bay, Unscared by all the din of Melbourne house,

By Lambe's resentment, or by Holland's spouse,

By Jeffrey's harmless pistol, Hallam's rage, Edina's brawny sons and brimstone page. Our men in buckram shall have blows enough,

And feel they too are 'penetrable stuff:' And though I hope not thence unscathed to go, Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. The time hath been, when no harsh sound would fall

1051

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ject,

70

Precise in style, and cautious to select;
Nor slight applause will candid pens afford
To him who furnishes a wanting word.
Then fear not, if 't is needful, to produce
Some term unknown or obsolete in use
(As Pitt has furnish'd us a word or two,
Which lexicographers declined to do);
So you indeed, with care (but be content
To take this license rarely), — may invent.
New words find credit in these latter days,
If neatly grafted on a Gallic phrase;
What Chaucer, Spenser did, we scarce re-
fuse

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'Awake a louder and a loftier strain,' And pray, what follows from his boiling brain?

He sinks to Southey's level in a trice,
Whose epic mountains never fail in mice!
Not so of yore awoke your mighty sire 199
The temper'd warblings of his master-lyre;
Soft as the gentler breathing of the lute,
'Of man's first disobedience and the fruit'
He speaks, but, as his subject swells along,
Earth, heaven, and Hades echo with the
song.

Still to the midst of things' he hastens on,
As if we witness'd all already done;
Leaves on his path whatever seems too

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Though woman weep, and hardest hearts are stirr❜d,

When what is done is rather seen than heard,

Yet many deeds preserved in history's page
Are better told than acted on the stage;
The ear sustains what shocks the timid
eye,

And horror thus subsides to sympathy. 270
True Briton all beside, I here am French-
Bloodshed 't is surely better to retrench:
The gladiatorial gore we teach to flow
In tragic scene disgusts, though but in show;
We hate the carnage while we see the trick,
And find small sympathy in being sick.
Not on the stage the regicide Macbeth
Appals an audience with a monarch's death;
To gaze when sable Hubert threats to sear
Young Arthur's eyes, can ours or nature
bear?

280

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