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Of smiling victory that moment won,
And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame!
They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still
Consulting England's happiness at home,
Secur'd it by an unforgiving frown,
If any wrong’d her. Wolfe, where'er he fought,
Put so much of his heart into his act,
That his example had a magnet's force,
And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd.
Those suns are set. Oh, rise some other fuch!
Or all that we have left is empty talk
Of old achievements, and despair of new,

Muc

Now hoist the fail, and let the streamers float Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, That no rude favour maritime invade The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft, Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye Autes; That winds and waters, lull’d by magic sounds,

Ice

May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore!
True, we have lost an empire— let it pass.
True; we may thank the perfidy of France,
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious shrew.
And let that pass—-'twas but a trick of state!
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace.
And, sham'd as we have been, to th’ very beard
Brav'd and defied, and in our own sea prov'd
Too weak for those decisive blows that once
Ensured us mast’ry there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast
At least fùperior jockeyship, and claim
The honours of the turf as all our own!
Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek,
And show the shame ye might conceal at home
In foreign eyes !—be grooms, and win the plate
Where qnce your nobler fathers won a crown ! -

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'Tis gen’rous to communicate your skill

To those that need it. Folly is soon learn’d:. And, under such preceptors, who can fail! .

There is a pleasure in poetic pains Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, Th' expedients and inventions, multiform, To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win T'arrest the fleeting images that fill The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, And force them fit till he has pencil'd off A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; Then to dispose his copies with such art, That each may find its most propitious light, And shine by situation, hardly less Than by the labour and the skill it cost; Are occupations of the poet's mind So pleasing, and that steal away the thought With such address from themes of sad import,

That, loft in his own musings, happy man!
He feels th’ anxieties of life, denied
Their wonted entertainment, all retire.
Such joys has he that sings. But ah! not such,
Or seldom such, the hearers of his song.
Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps
Aware of nothing arduous in a task
They never undertook, they little note.
His dangers or escapes, and haply find
There least amusement where he found the most.
But is amusement all ? studious of song,
And yet ambitious not to sing in vain,
I would not trifle merely, though the world
Be loudest in their praise who do no more.
Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay?
It may correct a foible, may chastise
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,
Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch;
But where are its sublimer trophies found?
What vice has it fubdu'd ? whose heart reclaim'd

reform ?

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By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform?
Alas! Leviathan is not so tam’d:
Laugh’d at, he laughs again; and, stricken hard,
Turns to the stroke his adamantine fcales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.

ar noc

The pulpit, therefore (and I name it fillid With solemn awe, that bids me well beware With what intent I touch that holy thing) The pulpit (when the fatrist has at last, Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school, Spent all his force and made no profelyte) I say the pulpit (in the fober use Of its legitimate, peculiar pow'rs) Must stand acknowledg’d, while the world shall stand, The most important and effectual guard, Support, and ornament, of virtue's cause. There stands the messenger of truth: there stands The legate of the skies !--His theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear.

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