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At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding,

Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view ?
What new Alcæus,* fancy-blest,
Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,

At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing, (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?)

Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing,
It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt ber prompted wound!

O Goddess, in that feeling hour,
When most its sounds would court thy ears,

Let not my shell's misguided power,
E’er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.
No, Freedom, no, I will not tell,
How Rome, before thy weeping face,
With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fellet

• A Greek poet, the reputed author of a very popular Song, in which are these lines :

Εν μυρία κλαδι το ξιφος φορησω, ,
Ωσπερ Αρμοδιος και Αρισογείων,
Οταν τον τυραννον κανότην,

Ισονομές τ' Αθηνας εποιησαθην.
In mirtle wreathed I'll bear the sword,
As young Harmodius, and the bold
Aristogeiton did of old,
When by a just and sudden stroke
Th'usurping tyrant's rod they broke,

And to the Athenian State her equal laws restored. C. + The Author confounds the times of the Republic with those of the Empire, in order, by blending the glories of each, to delight the imagination with an era more free than the later, more splendid than the earlier period

Push'd by a wild and artless race,
From off its wide ambitious base,
When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,

And all the splendid work of strength and grace,

With many a rude repeated stroke, And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments broke.


Yet even, where'er the least appear'd,
Th’admiring world thy hand rever'd;
Still, 'midst the scattered states around,
Some remnants of her strength were found ;
They saw, by what escap'd the storm,
How wonderous rose her perfect form ;
How in the great, the labour'd whole,
Each mighty master pour'd his soul !
For sunny Florence, seat of art,
Beneath her vines preserv'd a part,
Till they, whom science lov’d to name,
(0 who could fear it?) quench'd her flame.
And lo, an humbler relic laid
In jealous Pisa's olive shade !
See small Marino joins the theme,
Tho' least, not last in thy esteem;
Strike, louder strike th' ennobling strings
To those, whose merchant sons were kings ;

of its history: for surely that Rome, which was overthrown by the northern sons of spoil, had no claim to draw down the tears of Freedom at her fall.-B.

1 1


To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride:
Hail port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,
Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure :
Nor e'er her former pride relate,
To sad Liguria's bleeding state,
Ah no! more pleased thy haunts I seek,
On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak:
(Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring archer heard thy voice;
Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,
The ravening Eagle northward fled.)
Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With thoset to whom thy Stork is dear:
Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd,
Whose crown a British

queen refus'd!
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains,
One holier name alone remains;
The perfect spell shall then avail,
Hail Nymph, ador'd hy Britain, hail!

Tell.-For an account of the celebrated event referred to see Voltaire's Epistle to the King of Prussia.-L.

+ The Dutch, amongst whom there are very severe penalties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept tame in almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are said to entertain a superstitious sentiment, that if the whole species of them should become extinct, they should lose their liberties.


Beyond the measure vast of thought,
The works, the wizzard Time has wrought !

The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story,
Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand, *

No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary,
He pass'd with unwet feet thro' all our land.

To the blown Baltic then, they say,

The wild waves found another way,
Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding ;

Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise,
A wide wild storm even Nature's self confounding,

Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth surprise,
This pillar'd earth so firm and wide,

By winds and inward labours torn, In thunders dread was push'd aside,

And down the shouldering billows born.
And see, like gems,t her laughing train,

The little isles on every side,
Mona,f once hid from those who search the main.

Where thousand Elfin shapes abide,

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* This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. Some naturalists too have endeavoured to support the probability of the fact, by arguments drawn from the correspondent disposition of the two opposite coasts. I don't remember that any poetical use has been hitherto made of it. # From Milton.

the sea-girt isles, That like to rich and various gems inlay

The unadorned bosom of the deep.-Comus, v. 21. | There is a tradition in the isle of Man, that a mermaid becoming enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of

And Wight who checks the westering tide,

For thee consenting heaven has each bestowed,
A fair attendant on her sovereign pride:

To thee this blest divorce she ow'd,
For thou hast made her vales thy lor'd, thy last abode!

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Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile,
'Midst the green navel" of our isle,
Thy shrine in some religious wood,
O soul-enforcing Goddess, stood!
There oft the painted native's feet
Were wont thy form celestial meet :
Tho' now with hopeless toil we trace
Time's backward rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-tressed Dane,
Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
'Twere hard for modern song to tell.

meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, and opened her passion to him, but was received with a coldness, occasioned by his horror and sur. prise at her appearance. This however was so misconstrued by the sea-lady that, in revenge for his treatment of her, she punished the whole island, by covering it with a mist, so that all who attempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs.

• This metaphor comes from the Greek. Both Pindar and Euripides call the Temple at Delphi-the Navel of the world.

It is found in Milton:

Within the Navel of this hideous wood. Comus, v.520.-C.

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