A facred tree, which royal fruit did bear,
Yet it in pieces I confpir'd to tear ;
Beware, my child! divinity is there.
This fo undid all I had done before,
I could attempt, and he endure no more;
My unprepar'd, and unrepenting breath,
Was fnatch'd away by the swift hand of death;
And I, with all my fins about me, hurl'd
To th' utter darknefs of the lower world:
A dreadful place! which you too foon will fee,
If you believe feducers more than me.
HOU, happy creature, art fecure
From all the torments we endure;
Defpair, ambition, jealousy,
Loft friends, nor love, difquiet thee;
A fullen prudence drew thee hence
From noife, fraud, and impertinence.
Though life effay'd the fureft wile,
Gilding itself with Laura's fmile;
How didft thou fcorn life's meaner charms,
Thou who could'ft break from Laura's arins!
Poor Cynick! ftill methinks I hear
Thy awful murmurs in my ear;
As when on Laura's lap you lay,
Chiding the worthless crowd away.
How fondly human paffions turn!
What we then envy'd, now we mourn!
WHEN ACTED AT THE THEATRE IN DUBLIN.
'OU've seen to-night the glory of the Eaft,
The man, who all the then known world poffest, That kings in chains did son of Ammon call, And kingdoms thought divine, by treason fall. Him Fortune only favour'd for her sport; And when his conduct wanted her support, His empire, courage, and his boafted line, Were all prov'd mortal by a slave's defign.
Great Charles, whose birth has promis'd milder fway
Whofe awful nod all nations musft obey,
Secur'd by higher powers, exalted stands
Above the reach of facrilegious hands;
Those miracles that guard his crowns, declare
That heaven has form'd a monarch worth their care;
Born to advance the loyal, and depofe
His own, his brother's, and his father's foes.
Faction, that once made diadems her prey,
And ftopt our prince in his triumphant way,
Fled like a mist before this radiant day.
So when, in heaven, the mighty rebels rofe,
Proud, and refolv'd that empire to depofe,
Angels fought firft, but unsuccessful prov'd,
God kept the conqueft for his best belov'd:
At fight of fuch omnipotence they fly,
Like leaves before autumnal winds, and die.
All who before him did afcend the throne,
Labour'd to draw three reftive nations on.
He boldly drives them forward without pain,
They hear his voice, and straight obey the rein.
Such terror fpeaks him deftin'd to command;
We worship Jove with thunder in his hand;
But when his mercy without power appears,
We flight his altars, and neglect our prayers.
How weak in arms did civil difcord fhew!
Like Saul, fhe ftruck with fury at her foe,
When an immortal hand did ward the blow.
Her offspring, made the royal hero's scorn,
Like fons of earth, all fell as foon as born:
Yet let us boaft, for fure it is our pride,
When with their blood our neighbour lands were dy'd,
Ireland's untainted loyalty remain'd,
Her people guiltlefs, and her fields unstain’d.
HE day of wrath, that dreadful day,
Shall the whole world in aihes
As David and the Sibyls fay.
What horror will invade the mind,
When the ftrict Judge, who would be kind,
Shall have few venial faults to find!
The laft loud trumpet's wondrous found,
Shall through the rending tombs rebound,
And wake the nations under ground.
Nature and Death fhall, with furprize,
Behold the pale offender rife,
And view the Judge with confcious eyes.
The Judge afcends his awful throne,
He makes each fecret fin be known,
And all with fhame confefs their own.
O then! what intereft fhall I make,
To fave my last important stake,
When the most just have caufe to quake?
Thou mighty, formidable King,
Thou mercy's unexhausted spring,
Some comfortable pity bring!
Forget not what my ransom coft,
Nor let my dear-bought foul be loft,
In ftorms of guilty terror toft.
Thou who for me didft feel fuch pain,
Whose precious blood the cross did stain,
Let not thofe agonies be vain.
Thou whom avenging powers obey,
Cancel my debt (too great to pay)
Before the fad accounting-day.
Surrounded with amazing fears,
Whofe load my foul with anguifh bears,
I figh, I weep: Accept my tears.
Thou who wert mov'd with Mary's grief,
And, by abfolving of the thief,
Haft given me hope, now give relief.
Reject not my unworthy prayer,
Preferve me from that dangerous fnare
Which death and gaping hell prepare.
Give my exalted foul a place
Among thy chofen right-hand race;
The fons of God, and heirs of grace.
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