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My sire secured them on that fatal day,

All the rewards which once to thee were vow'd, Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey:

If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bestow'd.' Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine,

Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view Tuo talents polish'd from the glittering mine; A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew; An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave,

Lycaon's atmost skill had graced the steel,
While yet our vessels press'd the Punic wave: For friends to envy and for foes to feel:
But when the hostile chiefs at length bow down, A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil,
When great Æneas wears Hesperia's crown,

Slain midst the forest, in the hunter's toil,
The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows,
Which Turnus guides with more than mortal speed, And old Alethes' casque defends his brows.
Are thine ; no envious lot shall then be cast,

Arm'd, thence they go, while all th' assembled train, I pledge my word, irrevocably past:

To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain. Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six captive dames, More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace, To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, Iulus holds amidst the chiefs his place : And all the realmns which now the Latins sway His prayer he sends; but what can prayers avail, The labours of to-night shall well repay.

Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale !" But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years

The trench is pass'd, and, favour'd by the night, Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveres,

Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight. Henceforth affection, sweetly thus begun,

When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er ? Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one;

Alas! some slumber who shall wake no more ! Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine;

Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen; Without thy dearadvice, no great design;

And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between ; Alike through life esteem d, thou godlike boy,

Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine; In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy,'

A mingled chaos this of war and wine.

Now,' cries the first, for deeds of blood prepare, To him Euryalus : 'No day shall shame The rising glories which from this I claim.

With me the conquest and the labour share :

Here lies our path; lest any hand arise,
Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown,
But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown.

Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies; Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart,

I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe,

And clear thy road with many a deadly blow.'
One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart :
My mother, sprung from Priam's royal line,

His whispering accents then the youth repress'd, Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine,

And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting

breast: Nor Troy, nor king Acestes' realms restrain

Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed; Her feeble age from dangers of the main;

Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed :
Alone she came, all selfish fears above,
A bright example of maternal love.

To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince,

His omens more than augur's skill evince;
Unknown the secret enterprise I brave,

But he, who thus foretold the fate of all,
Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave;
From this alone no fond adieus I seek,

Could not avert his own untimely fall.

Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell,
No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek;

And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell ;
By gloomy night and thy right hand I vow
Her parting tears would shake my purpose now:

The charioteer along his courser's sides
Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain,

Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides : In thee her much-loved child may live again;

And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead: Her dying hours with pious conduct bless,

Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping lead; Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress :

From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents pour : So dear a hope must all my soul inflame,

Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore. To rise in glory, or to fall in fame.'

Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire, Struck with a filial care so deeply felt,

And gay Serranus, filled with youthful fire; In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt:

Half the long night in childish games was passid ; Faster than all, Iulus' eyes o'erflow;

Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last; Such love was his, and such had been his woe.

Ah! happier far had he the morn survey'd, "All thou hast asked, receive,' the prince replied ;

And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd. Nor this alone, but many a gift beside.

In slaughter'd fold, the keepers lost in sleep, To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep; Creusa's style but wanting to the dame.*

Mid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls, Fortune an adverse, wayward course may run,

With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls :
But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son.

Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams;
Now, by my life l--my sire's most sacred oatlu In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams.
To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth,

Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came,

But falls on feeble crowds without a name; as The mother of Julys, lost on the night when Troy His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, was

Yet wakeful Rhesus sees the threatening steel;

His coward breast behind a jar he hides,

| Him with loud shouts the furious knights pursue, And vainly in the weak defence confides ;

Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins, What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare! The reeking weapon bears alternate stalns ;

Ah I must he rush, his comrade's fate to share ? Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow, What force, what aidh what stratagem essay, One feeble spirit seeks the shades below.

Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey?
Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, His life a votive ransom nobly give,
Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray;

Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live?
There, unconfined, behold each grazing steed, Poising with strength his lifted lance on high,
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed :

On Luna's orb he cast his frenzied eye : Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm,

"Goddess serene, transcending every star! Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm : Queen of the sky, whose beams are seen afar! 'Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd; By night heaven owns thy sway, by day the grove, Full foes enough to-night have breathed their last : When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn


If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn.' Thine altars with the produce of the chase,

Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd, What silver arms, with various art emboss'd, To free my friend, and scatter far the proud.' What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd,

Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung; They leave regardless ! yet one glittering prize Through parted shades the hurtling weapon sung ; Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes;

The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay, The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt,

Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay : The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt

He sobs, he dies,--the troop in wild amaze, This from the pallid corse was quickly torn,

Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze. Once by a line of former chieftains worn.

While pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven, Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears,

A second shaft with equal force is driven : Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears ;

Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes ; Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend,

Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies. To seek the vale where safer paths extend.

Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall.

• Thou youth accurst, thy life shall pay for all !" Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse

Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew, To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course: While the slow foot their tardy march delay,

And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew. The knights, impatient, spur along the way:

Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals,

Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals;
Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led,
To Turnus with their master's promise sped;

Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise,

And pour these accents, shrieking as he fies:
Now they approach the trench, and view the walls,
When, on the left, a light reflection falls;

Me, me, --your vengeance hurl on me alone;

Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own. The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright.

Ye starry spheres! thou conscious Heaven I attest!

He could not-durst not--lo! the guile confest! Volscens with question loud the pair alarms: • Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms?

All, all was mine, -his early fate suspend;

He only loved too well his hapless friend :
From whence ? to whom?'-He meets with no reply
Trusting the covert of the night, they fly :

Spare, spare, ye chiefs 1 from him your rage remove; The thicket's depth with hurried pace they tread,

His fault was friendship, all his crime was love.' While round the wood the hostile squadron spread.

He pray'd in vain; the dark assassin's sword
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored;

Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest,
With brakes entangled, scarce a path between,

And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast: Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene :

As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air, Euryalus his heavy spoils impede, The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead;

Languid in death, expires beneath the share; But Nisus scours along the forest's inaze

Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower, To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze,

Declining gently, falls a fading flower; Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend,

Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head, On every side they seek his absent friend.

And lingering beauty hovers round the dead. "O God! my boy,' he cries, 'of me bereft,

But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, In what impending perils art thou left I'

Revenge his leader, and despair his guide: Listening he runs-above the waving trees, Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host, Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze ; Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost; The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around

Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe; Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground. Rage nerves his arm, fate gleams in every blow; Again he turns, of footsteps hears the noise

In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, The sound elates, the sight his hope destroys: Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds; The hapless boy a ruffian train surround,

In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion Ajes, While lengthening shades his weary way confound; Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies;

Deep in his throat its end the weapon found,

Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails.. The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound.

No friend thy wretched fate deplores, Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved

No kindred voice with rapture hails Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved;

Thy steps within a stranger's doors. Then on his bosom sought his wonted place, And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace.

Perish the fiend whose iron heart,

To fair affection's truth unknowii, Celestial pair I if aught my verse can claim,

Bids her he fondly loved depart, Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame!

Unpitied, helpless, and alone ; Ages on ages shall your fate admire,

Who ne'er unlocks with silver keyt No future day shall see your names expire,

The milder treasures of his soul, -While stands the Capitol, immortal dome!

May such a friend be far from me, And vanquish'd millions hail their empress, Rome!

And ocean's storms between us roll!



WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge

The breast where love is wont to glow, What mind can stem the stormy surge

Which rolls the tide of human woe? The hope of praise, the dread of shame,

Can rouse the tortured breast 10 more ; The wild desire, the guilty flame,

Absorbs each wish it felt before. But if affection gently thrills

The soul by purer dreams possest, The pleasing balm of mortal ills

In love can soothe the aching breast : If thus thou comest in disguise,

Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven, What heart unfeeling would despise

The sweetest boon the gods have given? But never from thy golden bow

May I beneath the shaft expire !
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,

Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts ! ye jealous fears!

With others wage internal war;
Repentance, source of future tears,

From me be ever distant far!
May no distracting thoughts destroy

The holy calm of sacred love!
May all the hours be wing'd with joy,

Which hover faithful hearts above! Fair Venus ! on thy myrtle shrine

May I with some fond lover sigh, Whose heart inay mingle pure with mine

With me to live, with me to die ! My native soil ! beloved before,

Now dearer as my peaceful home, Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore,

A hapless banish'd wretch to roam ! This very day, this very lour,

May I resign this fleeting breath! Nor quit my sllent humble bower;

A doom to me far worse than death.


High in the midst, surrounded by his peers,
Magnus his ample front sublime uprcars:
Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god,
While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod.
As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom,
His voice in thunder shakes the sounding dome;
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,
Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.

Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried,
Though little versed in any art beside ;
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen,
Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken.
What, though he knows not how his fathers bled,
When civil discord piled the fields with dead,
When Edward bade his conquering bands advance,
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France,
Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta,
Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta;
Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made,
While Blackstone's on the shelf neglected laid;
of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame,
of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name.

Such is the youth whose scientific pate Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await ; Or even perhaps the declamation prize, If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes. But loi no common orator can hope The envied silver cup within his scope. Not that our heads much eloquence require, Th' Athenian's glowing style, or Tully's fire. A manner clear or warm is useless, since We do not try by speaking to convince. Be other orators of pleasing proud, We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd: Our gravity prefers the muttering tone : A proper mixture of the squeak and groan: No borrow'd grace of action must be seen ; The slightest motion would displease the Dean ;

Have I not heard the exile's sigh,

And seen the exile's silent tear, Through distant climes condemnd to fly,

A pousive weary wanderer here?

• Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The chorus froin which this is taken here addresses Medea ; though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by, expanding the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation.

+ The original ineans literally, disclosing the bright key of the mind,

Whilst every staring graduate would prate
Against what he could never imitate.

The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up;
Nor stop, but rattle over every word
No matter what, so it can not be heard.
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest :
Who speaks the fastest 's sure to speak the best ;
Who utters most within the shortest space
May safely hope to win the wordy race.

As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,
No spirit, from within, reproved us,
Say rather, ''twas the spirit moved us.'
Though what they utter'd I repress,
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
This for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night, through day;
Awake, with it my fancy teems;
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight,
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or woe my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.

The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade; Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept-for die: Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls, They think all learning fix'd within their walls : In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, All modern arts affecting to despise ; Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's note,* More than the verse on which the critic wrote: Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale, Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal. With eager haste they court the lord of power, Whether 'tis Pitt or Petty rules the hour; To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, While distant mitres to their eyes are spread. But should a storm o'erwhelin him with disgrace, They'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his place. Such are the men who learning's treasures guard! Such is their practice, such is their reward ! This much, at least, we may presume to sayThe premium can't exceed the price they pay.

Alas! again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then let me breathe this parting prayer,
The dictate of my bosom's care:
"May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker!
Oh! may the happy mortal fated
To be, by dearest ties, related,
For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know
What 'tis to feel the restless woe,
Which stings the soul with vain regret
Of him who never can forget l'


TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. SWEET girl! though only once we met, That meeting I shall ne'er forget; And though we ne'er may meet again, Remembrance will thy form retain. I would not say, 'I love,' but still My senses struggle with my will: In vain, to drive thee from my breast, My thoughts are more and more represt; In vain I check the rising sighs, Another to the last replies: Perhaps this is not love, but yet Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

No specious splendour of this ston

Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone,

And blushes modest as the giver.

Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties,

Have for my weakness oft reproved me; Yet still the simple gist I prize,

For I am sure the giver loved me.

He offer'd it with downcast look,

As fearful that I might refuse it; I told him, when the gift I took,

My only fear should be to lose it.

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale it never feels:
Deceit the guilty lips impart,
And hush the mandates of the heart;
But soul's interpreters, the eyes,
Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise,

This pledge attentively I view'd,

And sparkling as I held it near, Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,

And ever since I've loved a tear,

Professor Porson, of Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may perhaps justify their preference.

Still, to adorn his humble youth,

Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; But he who seeks the flowers of truth

Must quit the garden for the field,

'Tis not the plant prear'd in sloth,

These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume;

We give the palm where justice points it's due. The flowers which yield the most of both

TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.

Had Fortune aided Nature's care,

O FACTIOUS viper ! whose envenom'd tooth
For once forgetting to be blind,

Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth ; His would have been an ample share,

What though our nation's foes' lament the late, If well proportioned to his mind.

With generous feeling, of the good and great, But had the goddess clearly seen,

Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name

of him whose meed exists in endless fame? His form had fix'd her fickle breast;

When Pitt expired in plenitude of power,
Her countless hoards would his have been,

Though ill success obscured his dying hour,
And none remain'd to give the rest

Pity her dewy wings before him spread,
For noble spirits 'war not with the dead.'

His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave.

As all his errors slumber'd in the grave;
DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neatli the weight

Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state;

When, lo! a Hercules in Fox appeard, THEATRE.

Who for a time the ruin'd fabric reard ; SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age

He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;

With him our fast-reviving hopes have died; Since taste has now expunged licentious wit,

Not one great people only raise his urn, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; All Europe's far-extended regions mourn. Since now to please with purer scenes we seek,

*These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; To give the palm where Justice points it's due;' Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim,

Yet let not canker'd Calumny assail, And meet indulgence, though she find not fame.

Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. Still, not for her alone we wish respect,

Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, Others appear more conscious of defect:

Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep; To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,

For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, In all the arts of scenic action old;

While friends and foes alike his talents own; No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here,

Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine, No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear;

Nor e'en to Pitt the patriot's palm resign; To-night you throng to witness the début

Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, Of embryo actors, to the Drama new :

For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dared to ask.
Here, then, our alnost unfledged wings we try;
Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly:
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,

Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.

O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,

Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ;

Felix ! in imo qui scatentem But all our dramatis persone wait

Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.'--GRAY. In fond suspense this crisis of their fate.

WHEN Friendship or Love our sympathies move, No venal views our progress can retard,

When Truth in a glance should appear, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward.

The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile, For these, each Hero all his power displays,

But the test of affection's a Tear. Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze.

Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile. Surely the last will some protection find;

To mask detestation or fear; None to the softer sex can prove unkind:

Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye While Youth and Beauty form the female shield,

Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.
The sternest censor to the fair must yield.
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,

Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail,

Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,

Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt,
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

And its dew is diffused in a Tear.
The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale,

Through billows Atlantic to steer,

As he bends o'er the wave which may soon Lehis THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU


The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

The soldier braves death for a fanciful wrea:h OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath : In Glory's romantic career;

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