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When Heaven to all thy joys bestows,
Where tranıpling Tyranny with Fate;
Britannia watch!-remember peerless Rome,
down, (Fame, virtue, courage, property, forgot) Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns, Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot; On deep foundations may thy freedom stand, Long as the surge shall lash thy sea-encircled land. TO HEALTH.
WRITTEN ON A RECOVERY FROM THE SMALL-POX.
O WHETHER with laborious clowns,
Or in the temperate Brachman's cell;
In Bath or in Montpellier's plains,
Ne'er saw the purple Autumn smile,
O lovely queen of mirth and ease,
And kings on ivory couches pine;
To aid a languid wretch repair,
And meagre Melancholy die;
O come, restore my aching sight,
O'erpowerd by Beauty's piercing rays ;
How nearly had my spirit pass'd,
And the black river's mournful strand;
Where Maro and Musæus sit
While, monarch of the tuneful throng,
Hence to some Convent's gloomy aisles,
Where cheerful daylighit never smiles: Tyrant! from Albion haste, to slavish Rome;
There by dim tapers' livid light,
At the still solemn hours of nigbt, In pensive musings walk o'er many a sounding tomb.
Thy clanking chains, thy crimson steel,
Thy venom'd darts, and barbarous wheel, Malignant fiend, bear from this isle away,
Nor dare in error's fetters bind
One active, freeborn, British mind; [sway. That strongly strives to spring indignant from thy
Thou bad'st grim Moloch's frowning priest
Snatch screaming infants from the breast, Regardless of the frantic mother's woes; Thou led'st the ruthless sons of Spain
To wondering India's gulden plain, From deluges of blood where tenfold harvests rose.
But lo! how swiftly art thou fled,
When Reason lifts his radiant head;
Blind Ignorance, thy doting sire,
Thy daughter, trembling Fear, retire;
So by the Magi hail'd from far,
The shrieking ghosts to their dark charnels flock;
The full gorg'd wolves retreat; no more
[rock. But hasten with their prey to some deep-cavern'd
Hail then, ye friends of Reason, hail!
Ye foes to Mystery's odious veil,
Where Clarke and Wollaston reside,
With Locke and Newton by their side, While Plato sits above enthron'd in endless light.
TO A GENTLEMAN,
UPON HIS TRAVELS THROUGH ITALY.
While I with fond officious care,
For you my chorded shell prepare, And not unmindful frame an humble lay;
Where shall this verse my Cynthio find,
Waar scene of art now charms your mind, Say, on what sacred spot of Roman ground you
Perhaps you cull each valley's bloom;
To strew o'er Virgil's laurell’d tomb, Whence oft at midnight echoing voices sound;
For at that hour of silence, there
The shades of ancient bards repair, To join in choral song his hallow'd urn around;
Or wander in the cooling shade