Imatges de pàgina
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To you we fifters of the wood

At once our charge refign,

Ye fea-green daughters of the flood,

Old OCEAN'S NEREID line.

• So fhall they to this threaten'd place

• A barrier firm extend,

< And fhores their fhade was wont to grace, • Their thunder shall defend.'

EPITAPH

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WH

HEN Pomp, when Wealth, when Greatnefs fink to duft,

Though Vanity adorn the fplendid bust,

Sincerer drops of tributary woe

O'er the lone urn of modeft Merit flow.

And tears as true as e'er embalm'd the dead

Shall D'AUSSEY! o'er thy humble tomb be shed,

For though thy frugal temper ne'er supplied

The selfish calls of Luxury and Pride,

Yet Pity's gentle voice thy heart purfu'd,

And felt the Luxury of doing good,

While Want reliev'd by filent bounties given,

Wafts with her grateful prayers thy foul to heaven.

Sent to MR. HAYLEY, on reading his EPISTLES on EPIC POETRY.

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And fhewn that ftill in their exhaustless mine

The pureft gems of radiant Genius fhine,
To grace the venturous Poets who explore
The unfun'd treasures of their facred ftore?

Nor this the Syren note of flattering praise, Or the fond tribute partial friendship pays;

A

A voice unknown to fame, to thee unknown,

But wak'd by thy fuperior worth alone,

Attempts, perhaps with too officious zeal,

Thy thoughts awhile from higher cares to steal,
And in prefumptuous numbers dares effay
To hail the glories of thy matchless lay.

O faireft hope of BRITAIN'S tuneful Choir! Why yield to other hands the Epic Wire?

A

Say who of all her Bards like thee fhall fwell
To ftrains of extafy th' Heroic fhell?
When the long series of connecting rhime
Denies the raptur'd flight or march sublime

Who fhall the interval fo well beguile

With each rich ornament of polifh'd style?

A

Who o'er the thrilling heart fuch forms fhall throw

Of frantic horror, or pathetic woe?

Or

Or when the notes from Freedom's clarion blown
Chill the pale Despot on his trembling throne,
What manly son of BRITAIN's warbling throng
Shall join the PEAN with fo bold a fong?
And if inventive Fancy love to ftray

'Mid the wild tracts of Fiction's faery way,

Say who shall mate those magic powers that

ftole

The nightly vifion o'er SERENA's foul?

Then let, illuftrious Bard!-though rude her

voice,

A MUSE of humble mien divert thy choice.-
With timid hand fnatch no reflected grace

From the sweet* Maniac of HESPERIAN race.

Since Genius' keenest rays thy bosom fire

O ftrike with native force the BRITISH Lyre,

Dante.

That

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