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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 bistory 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's, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their names, their years, spelt by the unletter'd
And many a holy text around she strews-
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's 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,
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,
eye, nor list’ning ear, an object finds;
Silence and darkness! solemn sisters! twins
in the grave;
Assist me; I will thank
you The grave, your kingdom; there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.
SATAN Calling the fallen Angels from the Oblivious Pool.
MILTON. P. L. B. 1.
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 “ Eternal spirits: or have ye chosen this place, « After the toil of battle, to repose 16 Your wearied virtue,—for the ease you find " To slumber here, as in the vales of heaven? o Or in this abject posture have ye sworn " To adore the conquerer? who now beholds. « Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood, " With scatter'd arms and ensigns; till, anon, “ His swift pursuers, from heaven-gates, discern « The advantage, and, descending, tread us down, “ Thus drooping; or, with linked thunderbolts, « Transfix us to the bottom of this gulph.
-Awake! arise!-or be for ever fallen!" 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.
SHAKSPEARE. Most potent, grave, and reverend signors, My very noble and approv'd good masters; That I have taken away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her;The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent—no more. Rude am I in speech, And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years pith, 'Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And, therefore, little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself; yet, by your patience,
breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence;-) Of battles bravely, hardly fought; of victories, For which the conquerer mourn'd—so many fell! Sometimes I told the story of a siege, Wherein I had to combat plagues and famine: Soldiers unpaid; fearful to fight, yet bold In dangerous mutiny.
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,1 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 strange;