[2] JESSE.

[3] SOLOMON.

[4] JOSAPHAT.

[5] ELISHA.

[6] JOATHAM.

[7] HEZEKIAH.

[8] SENNACHERIB.

[9] ZOROBABEL.

A

FRAGMENT.

BY MR. MALLET.

Fair morn ascends: fresh zephyr's breath Blows liberal o'er yon bloomy heath; Where, sown profusely, herb and flower, Of balmy smell, of healing power, Their souls in fragrant dews exhale, And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale.

Here, spreads a green expanse of plains, Where, sweetly-pensive, Silence reigns: And there, at utmost stretch of eye, A mountain fades into the sky; While winding round, diffus'd and deep, A river rolls with sounding sweep.

Of human art no traces near, I seem alone with nature here!

Here are thy walks, O sacred HEALTH!

The Monarch's bliss, the Beggar's wealth; The seasoning of all good below, The sovereign friend in joy or woe.

O Thou, most courted, most despis'd: And but in absence duly priz'd!

Power of the soft and rosy face!

The vivid Pulse, the vermil grace, The spirits when they gayest shine, Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!

O sun of life! whole heavenly ray Lights up, and chears our various day, The turbulence of hopes and fears, The storm of fate, the cloud of years, Till nature with thy parting light, Reposes late in Death's calm night: Fled from the trophy'd roofs of state, Abodes of splendid pain and hate; Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep, Hot Riot would his anguish steep, But tosses through the midnight shade, Of death, of life, alike afraid; For ever fled to shady cell, Where Temperance, where the Muses dwell; Thou oft art seen, at early dawn, Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn: Or on the brow of mountain high, In silence feasting ear and eye, With song and prospect, which abound From birds, and woods, and waters round.

But when the sun, with noon-tide ray, Flames forth intolerable day; While Heat sits fervent on the plain, With Thirst and Languor in his train; (All nature sickening in the blaze) Thou, in the wild and woody maze, That clouds the vale with umbrage deep, Impendent from the neighbouring sleep, Wilt find betimes a calm retreat, Where breathing Coolness has her seat.

There plung'd amid the shadows brown, Imagination lays him down; Attentive in his airy mood, To every murmur of the wood: The bee in yonder flow'ry nook; The chidings of the headlong brook; The green leaf quivering in the gale; The warbling hill, the lowing vale; The distant woodman's echoing stroke; The thunder of the falling oak.

From thought to thought in vision led, He holds high converse with the Dead; Sages or Poets. See, they rise!

And shadowy skim before his eyes.

Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again, That softened savages to men: Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven, To whom its moral will was given.

Fathers and friends of human kind!

They form'd the nations, or refin'd, With all that mends the head and heart, Enlightening truth, adorning art.

Thus musing in the solemn shade; At once the sounding breeze was laid: And Nature, by the unknown law, Shook deep with reverential awe.

Dumb silence grew upon the hour; A browner night involv'd the bower: When issuing from the inmost wood, Appear'd fair Freedom's GENIUS good.

O Freedom! sovereign boon of Heav'n; Great Charter, with our being given; For which the patriot, and the sage, Have plan'd, have bled thro' ev'ry age!

High privilege of human race, Beyond a mortal monarch's grace: Who could not give, who cannot claim, What but from G.o.d immediate came!

THE

EAGLE

A N D

ROBIN RED-BREAST.

A FABLE.[10]

BY MR. ARCHIBALD SCOTT.

The Prince of all the feather'd kind, That with spread wings out-flies the wind, And tow'rs far out of human sight To view the shining orb of light: This Royal Bird, tho' brave and great, And armed strong for stern debate, No tyrant is, but condescends Oft-times to treat inferior friends.

One day at his command did flock To his high palace on a rock, The courtiers of ilk various size That swiftly swim in chrystal skies; Thither the valiant Ta.r.s.els doup, And here rapacious Corbies croup, With greedy Gleads, and sly Gormahs, And dinsom Pyes, and chattering Dawes; Proud Peac.o.c.ks, and a hundred mae, Brush'd up their pens that solemn day, Bow'd first submissive to my Lord, Then took their places at his board.

Meantime while feasting on a fawn, And drinking blood from Lamies drawn, A tuneful ROBIN trig and young, Hard-by upon a burr-tree sung.

He sang the EAGLE's royal line, His piercing eye, and right divine To sway out-owre the feather'd thrang, Who dread his martial bill and fang: His flight sublime, and eild renew'd, His mind with clemency endow'd; In softer notes he sang his love, More high, his bearing bolts for Jove.

The Monarch Bird with blitheness heard The chaunting little silvan Bard, Call'd up a Buzzard, who was then His favourite, and chamberlain.

Swith to my treasury, quoth he, And to yon canty ROBIN gie As muckle of our current gear As may maintain him thro' the year; We can well spar't, and it's his due; He bade, and forth the Judas flew, Straight to the branch where ROBIN sung, And with a wicked lying tongue, Said ah! ye sing so dull and rough, Ye've deaf'd our lugs more than enough, His Majesty has a nice ear, And no more of your stuff can bear; Poke up your pipes, be no more seen At court, I warn you as a frien.

He spake, while ROBIN's swelling breast, And drooping wings his grief exprest; The tears ran hopping down his cheek, Great grew his heart, he could not speak, No for the tinsel of reward, But that his notes met no regard: Strait to the shaw he spread his wing, Resolv'd again no more to sing, Where princely bounty is supprest By such with whom They are opprest; Who cannot bear (because they want it) That ought should be to merit granted.

FOOTNOTE:

[10] Written before the year 1600.

O D E

TO

FANCY.

BY THE REV. MR. JOSEPH WARTON.

O Parent of each lovely muse, Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse!

O'er all my artless songs preside, My footsteps to thy temple guide!

To offer at thy turf-built shrine, In golden cups no costly wine; No murder'd fatling of the flock, But flowers and honey from the rock.

O nymph with loosely-flowing hair, With buskin'd leg, and bosom bare; Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound, Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd, Waving in thy snowy hand An all-commanding magic wand; Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens blow 'Mid chearless Lapland's barren snow; Whose rapid wings thy flight convey, Thro' air, and over earth and sea: While the vast various landscape lies Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes; O lover of the desart, hail!

Say, in what deep and pathless vale: Or on what h.o.a.ry mountain's side, 'Midst falls of water you reside: 'Midst broken rocks, a rugged scene, With green and gra.s.sy dales between: 'Midst forest dark of aged oak, Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke; Where never human art appear'd, Nor ev'n one straw-rooft cott was rear'd; Where Nature seems to sit alone, Majestic on a craggy throne.

Tell me the path, sweet wand'rer, tell, To thy unknown sequester'd cell, Where woodbines cl.u.s.ter round the door, Where sh.e.l.ls and moss o'erlay the floor; And on whose top an hawthorn blows, Amid whose thickly-woven boughs Some nightingale still builds her nest, Each ev'ning warbling thee to rest.

Then lay me by the haunted stream, Wrapt in some wild, poetic dream; In converse while methinks I rove With Spencer thro' a fairy grove; Till suddenly awak'd, I hear Strange whisper'd music in my ear; And my glad soul in bliss is drown'd, By the sweetly-soothing sound!

Me, G.o.ddess, by the right-hand lead, Sometimes thro' the yellow mead; Where Joy, and white-rob'd Peace resort, And Venus keeps her festive court, Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet, And lightly trip with nimble feet, Nodding their lilly-crowned heads, Where Laughter rose-lip'd Hebe leads: Where Echo walks steep hills among, List'ning to the shepherd's song.

Yet not these flow'ry fields of joy, Can long my pensive mind employ; Haste, FANCY, from the scenes of folly, To meet the matron Melancholy!