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Her horn redundant; all the blushing year
With rich luxuriance bloffom'd in her smile.

He stood ;-and sudden in the swelling tide
Plung'd his broad trident. From its bottom turn'd,
The working current boil'd. Not long its bank
Repress'd the stream; but, rising o'er the mound,
It swept, a deluge, o'er the shrinking lawns ;
And rollid promiscuous on its wave, the spoils
That crown'd the smiling year. Its banks o'erspread,
Full on the city pour'd the gushing stream,
And shook the circling terras. Wide around
It spread, and whelming wrapt the broad champain,
Far as the keen eye stretch'd its boundless view.

Within, the voice of tumult and amaze
Was heard discordant; for the swarming throng
Rush'd o’er the street; some from the shelter'd wall
To see the copious tides, to mark the field
Just shrinking from the fight ; or the rude rock,
Half-loft, and half-projected o'er the waves,
O'erlook the mighty ruin. Some intent,
With eager hope explor'd the rising stream,
And search'd its depth. Thence kindling fancy

The distant autumn, saw the forward step
Of laughing Ceres, or aghaft, beheld
Where pale-lip'd Famine, from her baneful wing,
Shook livid poison on the blasted year.
Most sought the sacred fane. The sacred fane

open porch receiv'd the folemn throng
That call’d their God. But starting with amaze,
What sudden horror thrill'd the darting thought !
When for that God whole thunder rends the skies ;
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Whose glance is lightning, and whose arm sublime
Controls the vast of nature ;—when for Him
Unknown,-the brute stood bellowing ! In the fane;
Superb of structure, lodg’d the lordly bull,
And stared, affrighted at the proftrate train
That bow'd before his shrine! with awe-check'd

Approaching ! and with pious fervour warm,
Imploring aid! Grim Superstition then
Obtain'd his noblest triumph ; and elate,
Chain'd Reason to his car.--Aghaft I gaz'd
With silent wonder, till resentment loos'd
The struggling thought, and gave the voice to flow.
“ Thus then absorb'd is Truth's meridian


y? “ Thus stoops th' Almighty's image to the shrine “ Of grovelling Instinct ? then how vain is Man! “ Whence then the judging power by Heav'n be

« ftow'd ? “ Whence, weak Philofophy, thy boasted sway? “ Why hears the mind appallid the bold reproach « Of Heav'n's vicegerent? Why the great command # That once conferr'd dominion ?-Yet not all “ Thus meanly bend; thus from his glorious sphere “ Pull that internal sun that lights the foul, “ And quench her radiant beam.—But say, what men, “ What fons of night and ignorance are these?”



S E C T.




LO O, Athens rises to thy view! Thou seest

The clime belov'd of wisdom, where improv'd, The morn of science ripens into day. There the faint beam that o'er th' Egyptian clime Shook loosely-fluttering, pours a steady blaze, Unstain'd by passing clouds. The Persian there, Marks his young system opening on the gaze, To full proportion'd symmetry. With joy, Thy fons, Phænicia, in the thronging port Behold reviving commerce. Ev'n the look Of pale Judea brightens, as the draught Unfolds Religion's beauteous form, pourtray'd In fairer colours, and the kindling flame Wak'd at Devotion's shrine. No more thou view'. Auftere Philosophy confin'd to few. Lo where she moves, with all th' immortal nine, That sweep the lyre, melodious ! in her eye The Graces languish, and her melting voice Is harmony. In Plato's glowing page, Her strain still vibrates to the thrilling heart Deep-pierc'd, that pants to clasp the lovely form Of smiling Beauty; or entranc'd surveys, In vifion's vivid beam, Elysian groves, The great rewards of virtue; and elate, Bursts o’ér the bound of death, and hopes the skies. There heav’n-bred genius fir’d Pericles' soul, E 3



Belov'd of Pallas, on whose tuneful tongue
Divine Persuasion pour'd her magic lay.
Stern Justice there to Ariftides' hand
Confign'd her balance; thro' the illumin'd soul
Of godlike Socrates, meek Wisdom shot
Her purest ray, and to the mental hope
Display'd a world to come. Themistocles
Elate, from Luxury's high-arch'd brow,
Snatch'd the loose plume, and on her purple crest,
That shook on Victory's triumphant wheel,
Wrote disappointment.— Yet not all the arts
That polish life; nor the meridian reign
Of mild Philosophy, that forms the mind;
Not all the just fimplicity of taste ;
Nor pour'd.from warbling lutes, the melting lay;
Nor the sweet plaining of the tragic Muse
That thrill’d the ear of Pity ; nor the tide
Of rapid eloquence, that rush'd along,
And whirl'd light paffion on its headlong wave :
Not these united gave the soul to reach
The First of Beings.-Back th' astonish'd thought
Recail'd to earth, loft in the boundless maze
Of His perfections, and despair'd to rise.



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BY Time’s How-heaving

tide, the works of man

Are whelm’d; how sinks beneath his wasteful

The pride of empire! glittering for a while,
The gilded vessels sport along the stream,
Fann'd with propitious gales : the fides are firm,
The hull capacious ; and the swelling fails
Float to the breeze of summer. Ah! how foon,
Torn by the tempest's wildly-rushing wing,
And foundering on the deep it lies deformid,
A shatter'd wreck! Nor less on life descende
The storm impetuous ; let thy silver hairs,
Time-hallow'd age, be witness! the dim eye,

The tottering tread, the furrow'd cheek, the hand
Yet trembling from the blast. Tell, ye who tend
The bed of death, how o'er the helpless race
Of human victims, strides the harpy foot
Of Misery triumphant! while the veins
Shrink to the Fever's scorching breath, or feel
Starting, the fiery dart of racking Pain,
That writhes to agony; or, loosen'd shake
Before Consumption; when her baleful spunge
Drops its green poison on the springs of life.

Nor these alone pursue the race of man.
Far other ills await ; far other woes
Like vultures revel on his canker'd heart.
Oye who nightly languish o'er the tomb,


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