The well e'er since a secret power retains
On human foreheads antlers to convey.
'Twas now the heavy period fix'd by Fate
Hasten'd apace, with evil mischief fraught.
'Tis true no comet stream'd terrific blaze,
Nor thunder-crack sinistrous roar'd aloud;
Not but a crazy sound gave certain proof
Of hidden crack, foreboding wider wounds,
Yet 'scaped suspicion. Foresight ever fails
When unavoided ruin is decreed.

The feeble Sun, array'd with lifeless flames,
Inn'd at the bearded Goat, and drove his car
Extinguish'd heavy half the tour of heaven,
And winter, keen of breath, blew shivering cold
Around the globe and hid the voluble streams:
Some to the chimney's warm protection fly,
And fright the sooty earth with sooty tale
Of sprite nocturnal or adventurous knight;
Some bid defiance to the' inclement air,
Fired with the juicy flame of old Falern.
Amidst a jovial crew fair Chloe quaff'd
With loud carouse, till sated nature craved
Timely relax, distent with liquid pain.
Alone she lifts the Jordan to her aid,
And straight a hideous din 'gan roa aloud;
Wave dash'd on wave, deluge on deluge roll'd,
And curl'd the circling eddy to the brim.
Whole cataracts at once discharged fell down
With violent gush, and drove the deep cascade,
Till weary of its load the labouring urn
Flew from its hold: a horrid burst ensues,
And mangled limbs bestrew the bruised floor:
Not louder roars the three-edged bolt of heaven
When form'd by Vulcan, or when thrown by Jove.

Forth from the hideous shreds a tepid sea
Rolls angry foam, and smokes along the plain:
Part of the stream with slow and silent pace
Sunk unobserved, in narrow crannies lost;
Part murmurs crowding at the portal wide
Which opes the mazy way that winding leads
To the' ancient race of earth: protected mice,
The race exiguous, uninured to wet,

Their mansions quit, and other countries seek.

Thus fell the Jordan, that had long withstood, Firm and resolved, the shock of mighty waves, Which lost their strength and dash'd her shores in vain ;

Till, at the' approach of one impetuous tide, Fate took the' occasion and confirm'd its doom.

So the famed Edistone near Plymouth Fort (Sure mark to wandering ships and lost at night) Contemn'd the billows tumbling round its sides And mock'd their sports, till on a fatal night The wind blew loud, the' enraged ocean roar'd, And plunged the Pharos in the vast abyss.

BACCHANALIAN SONG'.

COME, fill me a glass, fill it high;
A bumper a bumper I'll have:

He's a fool that will flinch; I'll not bate an inch,
Though I drink myself into my gravé.

Here's a health to all those jolly souls

Who, like me, will never give o'er; Whom no danger controls, but will take off their bowls,

And merrily stickle for more.

Drown Reason, and all such weak foes,
I scorn to obey her command;

Could she ever suppose, I'd be led by the nose,
And let my glass idly stand?

Reputation's a bugbear to fools,

A foe to the joys of dear drinking, Made use of by tools, who'd set us new rules, And bring us to politic thinking.

Fill them all, I'll have six in a hand,

For I've trifled an age away;

'Tis in vain to command; the fleeting sand Rolls on, and cannot stay.

1 This Song is printed in the fourth volume of Nichols's Select Collection; and, in a subjoined note, is supposed to have been written by Mr. Philips.

Come, my

Lads! move the glass; drink about; We'll drink the universe dry;

We'll set foot to foot, and drink it all out;
If once we grow sober, we die.

END OF VOL. XXI.

E. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.