What then ayails Ambition's wide-stretch'd wing! The schoolman's page, or pride of beauty's bloom!

The crape-clad hermit, and the rich-rob'd king,
Mingle promiscuous in the levelling tomb.

So Saladin 3, for arts and arms renown'd,

The Syrians and Egyptians both subdu'd; Returning, with imperial triumphs crown'd, Sigh'd, when the perishable pomp he view'd.

And as he rode, high on his regal car,

In all the purple pride of Conquest drest, Conspicuous o'er the trophies gain'd in war, Plac'd on a pendant spear his burial vest.

While thus the herald cry'd, "This son of Pow'r,
This Saladin, to whom the nations bow'd,
May, in the space of a revolving hour,

Boast of no other spoil but yonder shroud."

Can the deep statesman, skill'd in great design, Save, for the smallest space, precarious breath? Or the tun'd follower of the sacred Nine,

Soothe, with his melody, the tyrant Death?

No! though the palace bar her golden gate,
Or monarchs plant ten thousand guards around,
Unerring, and unseen, the shaft of Fate
Strikes the devoted victim to the ground.

If in the tent retir'd, or battle's rage,
Britannia's sighs shall reach great Fred'ric's ear;
He'll drop the sword, or shut the sophic page,
And pensive pay the tributary tear.

Then shall the monarch weigh the moral thought,
(As he laments the parent, friend, ally,)
The solemn truth, by sage Reflection taught,
That, spite of glory, Fred'ric's self must die.

Crowns, like the glow-worm's scarce distinguish'd light,

For a short moment glance their twinkling fires, But there's a deathless wreath, divinely bright, Whose more than diamond lustre, ne'er expires.

Such is the starry meed that Virtue ty'd

With her own hands on George's gracious brow; Eternal shall its golden beams abide,

Though the bright Sun should from its orbit bow.

Nor is the sacred gift to kings confin'd,

The wretch, to fortune, friends, and fame unknown, Shall, if sweet piety adorn his mind,

Mount to the highest step of Glory's throne.

ing his glory and power, he was no more than a mere mortal man.

3 Saladin, a famous eastern emperor, in his triumphant return from the most remarkable conquests, had a shroud carried before him, while proclamation was made, That the victor, after all his glory, could lay real claim to nothing but that wretched linen to wrap his body in for the tomb. Frederic, king of Prussia.

While Death devours the darling of his age: Nature the pencil'd stroke of art derides, When grief distracts with agonizing rage.

Then let the Muse her sablest curtain spread,

By Sorrow taught her nerveless pow'r to know I When nations cry, their king, their parent's dead, The rest is dumb, unutterable woe.

Mercy, co-partner of great George's throne,
Through the embrighted air ascendant flies,
Duteous, the peace-bestowing maid is flown
To smooth his halcyon progress to the skies.
But see a sacred radiance beams around!

That with returning hope a people cheers! Behold you youth, with grace imperial crown'd, How awful! yet how lovely in his tears!

Mark how his bosom heaves the filial sigh!

He droops distress'd like a fair frost-chill'd flower, Till Glory, from her radiant sphere on high,

Hails him to hold the reins of regal Power.

The sainted sire to realms of bliss remov'd,
Like the fam'd phenix from his pyre shall
spring

Another George, as gracious, as belov❜d,
As good, and glorious, as the parent king.

HORACE, ODE X. BOOK IV.

IMITATED.

CHLOE, my most tender care,
Always coy, and always fair,
Should unwish'd-for languor spread
O'er that beauteous white and red;
Should these locks, that sweetly play
Down these shoulders, fall away,
And that lovely bloom, that glows
Fairer than the fairest rose,
Should it fade, and leave thy face
Spoil'd of every killing grace:
Should your glass the charge betray,
Thus, my fair, you'd weeping say,
"Cruel gods! does beauty fade?
Now warm desires my breast invade;
And why, while blooming youth did glow,
Was this heart as cold as snow?"

SENT TO MISS BELL H

WITH A PAIR OF BUCKLES.

HAPPY trifles, can ye bear
Sighs of fondness to the fair;
If your pointed tongues can tell,
How I love my charming Bell?
Fondly take a lover's part,
Plead the anguish of my heart.

5 Apelles finding it impossible to express with his pencil the distress of Agamemnon, while his daughter Iphigenia was offered as a sacrifice, painted him with a veil spread over his face.

Thee, ever gentle Rose, we greet, We worship thee, delicious sweet! For though by mighty gods caress'd, You deign to make us mortals blest. The Cupids, and the Graces fair, With myrtle sprigs adorn their hair; And nimbly strike celestial ground, Eternal roses blooming round.

Bring us more sweets, ere these expire, And reach me that harmonious lyre; Gay Bacchus, Jove's convivial son, Shall lead us to his fav'rite ton: Among the sporting youths and maids, Beneath the vine's auspicious shades, For ever young-for ever gay, We'll dance the jovial hours away.

ON A VERY YOUNG LADY. SEE how the buds and blossoms shoot: How sweet will be the summer fruit! Let us behold the infant rose; How fragrant when its beauty blows! The morning smiles, serenely gay; How bright will be the promis'd day! Contemplate next the charming maid, In early innocence array'd! If, in the morning of her years, A lustre so intense appears,

When time shall point her noon-tide rays, When her meridian charms shall blaze, None but the eagle-ey'd must gaze,

MOSCHUS.

IDYLLIUM VII.

(AS TRANSLATED BY DR. BROOME.)

TO THE EVENING STAR.

HAIL, golden star, of ray serene!
Thou fav'rite of the Cyprian queen!
O Hesper! glory of the night,
Diffusing through the gloom, delight!
Whose beams, all other stars outshine,
As much as silver Cynthia, thine:
O guide me, speeding o'er the plain,
To him I love, my shepherd swain;
He keeps the mirthful feast, and soon
Dark shades will cloud the splendid Moon.
Of lambs I never robb'd the fold,
Nor the lone traveller of gold:
Love is my crime: O! lend thy ray

To guide a lover on her way.

May the bright star of Venus prove

The gentle harbinger of Love!

***To this Idyllium (translated by Dr. Broome) the author owns himself indebted for a hint, from which the following Pastoral proceeds.

A PASTORAL,

WHERE the fond Zephyr through the woodbine

plays,

And wakes sweet fragrance in the mantling bow't, Near to that grove my lovely bridegroom stays Impatient-for 'tis past-the promis'd hour! Lend me thy light, O ever-sparkling star!

Bright Hesper! in thy glowing pomp array'd, Look down, look down, from thy all-glorious car, And beam protection on a wand'ring maid. 'Tis to escape the penetrating spy,

And pass, unnotic'd, from malignant sight, This dreary waste, full resolute I try,

And trust my footsteps to the shades of night. The Moon has slipp'd behind an envious cloud, Her smiles, so gracious, I no longer view; Let her remain behind that envious shroud, My hopes, bright Hesperus, depend on you. No rancour ever reach'd my harmless breast; I hurt no birds, nor rob the bustling bee: Hear, then, what Love and Innocence request, And shed your kindest influence on me.

'Tis true, the reproof (though severe) Is just from the letters I owe;

ire. VOL XIV.

For nonsense is all I bestow.

Hh