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The applause of listening senates to command,The threats of pain and ruin to despise,To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd, alone, Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne; And shut the gate of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide; To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame; Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame!
Yet, even these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial, still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes, and shapeless sculpture, deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their names, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strews→→ That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing-lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies; Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Even from the tomb, the voice of Nature cries, Even in our ashes, live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead, Dost, in these lines, their artless tale relate,
By chance and lonely Contemplation led, To wander in the gloomy walks of fate;
Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;
In still small accents whispering from the ground A grateful earnest of eternal peace!
No more, with nature and thyself at strife, Give anxious cares and endless wishes room, But thro' the cool sequester'd vale of life Pursue the noiseless tenor of thy doom.
YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS. TIR'D Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes; Swift on his downy pinion flies from wo, And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear.
From short, (as usual) and disturbed repose,
At random drove, her helm of reason lost.
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,
Silence and darkness! solemn sisters! twins From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought To Reason, and on Reason build Resolve, (That column of true majesty in man)
Assist me; I will thank you in the grave;
Calling the fallen Angels from the Oblivious Pool.
MILTON. P. L. B. 1.
HE scarce had ceas'd, when the superior fiend
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,
He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep
"Princes! potentates! "Warriors! the flower of heaven, once yours, now lost,
"If such astonishment as this can seize
"Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
They heard, and were abash'd, and up they sprung Upon the wing; as when men wont to watch On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread, Rouse, and bestir themselves ere well awake.
OTHELLO'S ADDRESS TO THE SENATE:
Most potent, grave, and reverend signors,
And little of this great world can I speak
In speaking for myself; yet, by your patience,
my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) I won his daughter with.
Her father lov'd me; oft invited me;
I run it thro', even from my boyish days,
Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence;-
These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house affairs would draw her thence;Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,} That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not distinctively. I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs! She swore, "In faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing