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Vix'd gore and cider flow. What shall we say | Rejoice, O Albion! sever'd from the world
Of rash Elpenor, who in evil hour

By Nature's wise indulgence, indigent
Dry'd an immeasurable bowl, and thought

Of nothing from without; in one supreme
T exhale his surfeit by irriguous sleep,

Entirely blest; and from beginning time
Imprudent? him Death's iron-sleep opprest, Design'd thus happy; but the fond desire
Descending careless from his couch; the fall Of rule and grandeur multiply'd a race
Lust his neck-joint, and spinal marrow bruis'd. Of kings, and numerous sceptres introduc'd,
Nor need we tell what anxious cares attend

Destructive of the public weal. For now
The turbulent mirth of wine ; nor all the kinds Each potentate, as wary fear, or strength,
Of maladies, that lead to Death's grim cave, Or emulation urg'd, his neighbour's bounds
Wrought by intemperance, joint-racking gout, Invades, and ampler territory seeks
Intestine stone, and pining atrophy,

With ruinous assault; on every plain
Chill even when the Sun with July heats

Host cop'd with host, dire was the din of war, Fries the scorch'd soil, and dropsy all a-float, And ceaseless, or short truce haply procur'd Yet craving liquids : nor the Centaurs tale

By havoc, and dismay, till jealousy Be bere repeated; how, with lust and wine

Rais'd new combustion. Thus was peace in rain Inflam'd, they fought, and split their drunken souls Sought for by martial deeds, and conflict stern : At feasting hour. Ye heavenly Powers, that guard Till Edgar grateful (as to those who pine The British isles, such dire events remove

A dismal half-year night, the orient beam
Far from fair Albion, nor let civil broils

Of Phæbus' lamp) arose, and into one
Ferment from social cups : may we, remote Cemented all the long-contending powers,
Froun the hoarse, brazen sound of war, enjoy Pacific monarch; then her lovely head
Our humid products, and with seemly draughts Concord rear'd high, and all around diffus'd
Eakindle mirth, and hospitable love.

The spirit of love. At ease, the bards new strung Too oft, alas! has mutual hatred drench'd

Their silent harps, and taught the woods and vales, Our swords in native blood; too oft has pride, In uncouth rhymes, to echo Edgar's name. And hellish discord, and insatiate thirst

Then gladness smil'd in every eye; the years Of others rights, our quiet discompos'd.

Ran smoothly on, productive of a line Have we forgot, how fell Destruction rag'd Of wise, heroic kings, that by just laws Wide-spreading, when by Eris' torch incens'd Establish'd happiness at home, or crush'd Our fathers warr'd? what beroes, signalis'd

Insulting enemies in furthest climes. For loyalty and prowess, met their fate

See lion-hearted Richard, with his force Untimely, undeserv'd! how Bertie fell,

Drawn from the North, to Jewry's hallow'd plains ! Compton, and Granville, dauntless sons of Mars, Piously valiant (like a torrent swellid Fit themes of endless grief, but that we view With wintry tempests, that disdains all mounds, Their virtues yet surviving in their race !

Breaking a way impetuous, and involves Can we forget, how the mad, headstrong rout Within its sweep, trees, houses, men) he press'd Defy'd their prince to arms, nor made account Amidst the thickest battle, and o'erthrew Of faith or duty, or allegiance sworn ?

Whate'er withstood his zealous rage: no pause, Apostate, atheist rebels! bent to ill,

No stay of slaughter, found his vigorous arm, With seeming sanctity, and cover'd fraud,

But th' unbelieving squadrons turn'd to flight, Instillid by him, who first presum'd t'oppose Smote in the rear, and with dishonest wounds Omnipotence; alike their crime, th' event

Mangled behind The Soldan, as he fled, Was not alike; these triumph’d, and in height Oft call’d on Alla, gnashing with despite, Of barbarous malice, and insulting pride,

And shame, and murmur'd many an empty curse. Abstain'd not from imperial blood. O fact

Behold third Edward's streamers blazing high Unparallel'd! O Charles, O best of kings !

On Gallia's hostile ground ! his right withheld, What stars their black disastrous influence shed Awakens vengeance. O imprudent Gauls, On thy nativity, that thou should'st fall

Relying on false hopes, thus to incense Thus, by inglorious hands, in this thy realm, The warlike English! One important day Supreme and innocent, adjudg'd to death

Shall teach you meaner thoughts. Eager of fight, By those thy mercy only would have sav'd!

Fierce Brutus' offspring to the adverse front
Yet was the Cider-land unstain'd with guilt; Advance resistless, and their deep array
The Cider-land, obsequious still to thrones,

With furious inroad pierce : the mighty force Abborr'd such base disloyal deeds, and all

Of Edward twice o'erturn'd their desperate king; Her pruning-hooks extended into swords,

Twice he arose, and join'd the horrid shock : Undaunted, to assert the trampled rights

The third time, with his wide-extended wings, Of monarchy: but, ah! successless she,

He fugitive declin'd superior strength, However faithful! then was no regard

Discomfited; pursued, in the sad chase Or right, or wrong. And this once happy land, Ten thousand ignominious fall; with blood By hornebred fury rent, long groan'd beneath The vallies float. Great Edward thus aveng'd, Tyrannie sway, till fair revolving years

With golden Iris his broad shield emboss'd. Our exil'd kings and liberty restor'd.

Thrice glorious prince! whom Fame with all her Now we exult, by mighty Anna's care

tongues Secare at borne, while she to foreign realms

For ever shall resound. Yet from his loins Sends forth her dreadful legions, and restrains New authors of dissension spring : from him The rage of kings: here, nobly she supports Two branches, that in hosting long contend Justice oppress'd; here, her victorious arms | For sov'reign sway; and can such anger dwell Quell the ambitious: from her hand alone

In noblest minds? But little now avail'd Al Europe fears revenge, or hopes redress.

The ties of friendship; every man, as led

By inclination, or vain hope, repair'd

| Peculiar ends, on each side resolute
To either camp, and breath'd immortal hate, To fly conjunction; neither fear, nor hope,
And dire revenge. Now horrid Slaughter reigns : | Nor the sweet prospect of a mutual gain,
Sons against fathers tilt the fatal lance,

Could aught avail, till prudent Anna said,
Careless of duty, and their native grounds

Let there be union : strait with reverence due Distain with kindred blood; the twanging bows To her command, they willingly unite, Send showers of shafts, that on their barbed points One in affection, laws and government, Alternate ruin bear. Here might you see

Indissolubly firm; from Dubris south, Barons, and peasants on th' embattled field | To northern Orcades, her long domain. Slain, or half-dead, in one huge, ghastly heap

And now, thus leagued by an eternal bond, Promiscuously amass'd. With dismal groans, What shall retard the Britons' bold designs, And ejulation, in the pangs of death

Or who sustain their force, in union knit,
Some call for aid, neglected; some o'erturn'd Sufficient to withstand the powers combin'd
In the fierce shock, lie gasping, and expire, Of all this globe ? At this important act
Trampled by fiery coursers : Horrour thus, The Mauritanian and Cathaian kings
And wild Uproar, and Desolation, reign'd

Already tremble, and th' unbaptis'd Turk
Unrespited.Ah! who at length will end

Dreads war from utmost Thule. Uncontrollid This long, pernicious fray? what man has Fate The British navy through the ocean vast Reserv'd for this great work ? - Hail, happy prince Shall wave her double cross, t'extremest climesi Of Tudor's race, whom in the womb of Time Terrific, and return with odorous spoils Cadwallador foresaw ! thou, thou art he,

Of Araby well fraught, or Indus' wealth, Great Richmond Henry, that by nuptial rites Pearl, and barbaric gold: meanwhile the swains Must close the gates of Janus, and remove

Shall unmolested reap what Plenty strows Destructive Discord. Now no more the drum From well-stor'd horn, rich grain, and timely fruits. Provokes to arms, or trumpet's clangour sbrill The elder year, Pomona, pleas'd, shall deck Affrights the wives, or chills the virgin's blood; With ruby-tinctur'd births, whose liquid store But joy and pleasure open to the view

Abundant, flowing in well-blended streams, Uninterrupted! with presaging skill

The native shall applaud; while glad they talk Thou to thy own unitest Fergus' line

Of baleful ills, caus'd by Bellona's wrath By wise alliance : from thee James descends, In other realms ; where'er the British spread Heaven's chosen favourite, first Britannic king. | Triumphant banners, or their fame has reach'd To him alone hereditary right

Diffusive, to the utmost bounds of this Gave power supreme; yet still some seeds remain'd Wide universe, Silurian cider borne Of discontent: two nations under one,

Shall please all tastes, and triumph o'er the vine. In laws and interest diverse, still pursued

221

THOMAS PARNELL.

THOMAS PARNELL, an agreeable poet, was de don pulpits, with the intention of rising to notice ; but scended from an ancient family in Cheshire. His the change of the ministry at Queen Anne's death father, who was attached to the cause of the Par- put an end to his more brilliant prospects in the liament in the civil wars of Charles I., withdrew to church. By means, however, of Swift's recomIreland after the Restoration, where he purchased mendation to Archbishop King, he obtained a prean estate. His eldest son, Thomas, was born at bend, and the valuable living of Finglass. Dublin, in 1679, and received his school edu- His domestic happiness received a severe shock cation in that city. At an early age he was re- in 1712, by the death of his beloved wife; and it moved to the college, where he was admitted to was the effect on his spirits of this affliction which the degree of M. A. in 1700, took deacon's orders led him into such a habit of intemperance in wine in the same year, and was ordained priest three as shortened his days. This, at least, is the gloss years afterwards. In 1705 he was presented to the put upon the circumstance by his historian, Goldarchdeaconry of Clogher, and about the same time smith, who represents him, “as in some measure a married a lady of great beauty and merit. He martyr to conjugal fidelity." But it can scarcely now began to make those frequent excursions to be doubted, that this mode of life had already been England, in which the most desirable part of his formed when his very unequal spirits had required life was thenceforth spent. His first connections the aid of a glass for his support. He died at Were principally with the Whigs, at that time in Chester, on his way to Ireland, in July 1717, in power; and Addison, Congreve, and Steele are the thirty-eighth year of his age, and was buried in named among his chief companions. When, at the Trinity Church, in that city. latter part of Queen Anne's reign, the Tories were Parnell was the author of several pieces, both in triumphant, Parnell deserted his former friends. prose and verse; but it is only by the latter that he and associated with Swift, Pope, Gay, and Ar- is now known. Of these a collection was published buthnot. Swift introduced him to Lord - Treasurer by Pope, with a dedication to the Earl of Oxford. Harley; and, with the dictatorial air which he was Their characters are ease, sprightliness, fancy, fond of assuming, insisted upon the Treasurer's clearness of language, and melody of versification ; going with his staff in his hand into the anti- and though not ranking among the most finished chamber, where Parnell was waiting to welcome productions of the British muse, they claim a place him. It is said of this poet, that every year, as soon among the most pleasing. A large addition to as he had collected the rents of his estate, and the these was made in a work printed in Dublin, in revenue of his benefices, he came over to England, 1758, of which Dr. Johnson says, “ I know not and spent some months, living in an elegant style, whence they came, nor have ever enquired whither and rather impairing than improving his fortune. they are going.” At this time he was an assiduous preacher in the Lon

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But certes sorely sunk with woe

A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. Sir Topaz sees the elphin show, His spirits in him dye :

By the blue taper's trembling light, When Oberon cries, “ A man is near,

No more I waste thr wakeful night,
A mortal passion, cleeped fear,

Intent with endless view to pore
Hangs flagging in the sky."

The schoolmen and the sages o'er :

Their books from wisdom widely stray, With that sir Topaz, hapless youth !

Or point at best the longest way
In accents faultering, ay for ruth,

I'll seek a readier path, and go
Entreats them pity graunt;

Where wisdom 's surely taught below.
For als he been a mister wight

How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
Betray'd by wandering in the night

Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,
To tread the circled haunt;

While through their ranks in silver pride

The nether crescent seems to glide. “ Ah, losel vile,” at once they roar :

The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, « And little skill'd of fairie lore,

The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
Thy cause to come, we know :

Where once again the spangled show
Now has thy kestrel courage fell ;

Descends to meet our eyes below. And fairies, since a lye you tell,

The grounds, which on the right aspire, Are free to work thee woe.”

In dimness from the view retire :

The left presents a place of graves, Then Will, who bears the whispy fire

Whose wall the silent water laves.
To trail the swains among the mire,

That steeple guides thy doubtful sight
The caitiff upward fung;

Among the livid gleams of night.
There, like a tortoise, in a shop

There pass with melancholy state He dangled from the chamber-top,

By all the solemn heaps of Fate, Where whilome Edwin hung.

And think, as softly-sad you tread

Above the venerable dead, The revel now proceeds apace,

Time was, like thee, they life possest,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,

And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.
They sit, they drink, and eat ;

Those with bending osier bound,
The time with frolic mirth beguile,

That nameless heave the crumbled ground, And poor sir Topaz hangs the while

Quick to the glancing thought disclose, Till all the rout retreat.

Where toil and poverty repose.

The flat smooth stones that bear a name, By this the stars began to wink,

The chisel's slender help to fame, They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,

(Which ere our set of friends decay And down y-drops the knight :

Their frequent steps may wear away)
For never spell by fairie laid

A middle race of mortals own,
With strong enchantment bound a glade, Men, half ambitious, all unknown.
Beyond the length of night.

The marble tombs that rise on high,

Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,

Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones, Till up the welkin rose the day,

Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones, Then deem'd the dole was o'er ;

These, all the poor remains of state, But wot ye well his harder lot ?

Adorn the rich, or praise the great; His seely back the bunch had got

Who, while on Earth in fame they live, Which Edwin lost afore.

Are senseless of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;

The bursting earth unveils the shades! She softly stroak'd my youngling head,

All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with shrouds, And when the tale was done,

They rise in visionary crowds, “ Thus some are born, my son," she cries, And all with sober accent cry, « With base impediments to rise,

Think, mortal, what it is to die.And some are born with none.

Now from yon black and funeral yew,

That bathes the charnel-house with dew, But virtue can itself advance

Methinks, I hear a voice begin ; To what the favourite fools of chance

(Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, By fortune seem design'd;

Ye tolling clocks, no time resound Virtue can gain the odds of Fate,

O'er the long lake and midnight ground!) And from itself shake off the weight

It sends a peal of hollow groans, Upon th' unworthy mind."

Thus speaking from among the bones.

“ When men my scythe and darts supply,
How great a king of fears am I!
They view me like the last of things ;
They make, and then they draw, my strings.
Fools! if you less provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trud,
If man would ever pass to God :

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