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Then flamed thy spirit high : but who can speak,
1505 And with his prison-hours enriched the world ; Yet found no times, in all the long research, So glorious, or so base, as those he proved, In which he conquered, and in which he bled. Nor can the Muse the gallant SIDNEY pass,
1510 The plume of war! with early laurels crowned, The Lover's myrtle, and the Poet's bay. A HAMPDEN too is thine, illustrious land, Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul, Who stemmed the torrent of a downward age 1515 To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. Bright, at his call, thy Age of Men effulged, Of Men on whom late time a kindling eye Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. 1520 Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew The grave where Russel lies ; whose tempered blood, With calmest cheerfulness for thee resigned, Stained the sad annals of a giddy reign ; Aiming at lawless power, tho' meanly sunk 1525 In loose inglorious luxury. With him His friend, the * BRITISH CASSIUS, fearless bled :
Of high determined spirit, roughly brave,
1540 Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully joined. The great deliverer he ! who from the gloom Of cloistered monks, and jargon-teaching schools, Led forth the true Philosophy, there long Held in the magic chain of words and forms, 1545 And definitions void : he led her forth, Daughter of Heaven ! that slow-ascending still, Investigating sure the chain of things, With radiant finger points to Heaven again. The generous * ASHLEY thine, the friend of Man ; 1550 Who scanned his Nature, with a brother's eye, His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim, To touch the finer movements of the mind, And with the moral beauty charm the heart. Why need I name thy BOYLE, whose pious search 1555 Amid the dark recesses of his works, The great CREATOR sought ? And why thy LOCŘE, Who made the whole internal world his own?
+ Apthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury.
Poets. British Fair.
Let NEWTON, pure intelligence, whom God
May my song soften, as thy DAUGHTERS I, BRITANNIA, hail ! for beauty is their own,
1580 The feeling heart, simplicity of life, And elegance, and taste : the faultless form, Shaped by the hand of harmony ; the cheek, Where the live crimson, through the native white, Soft-shooting o'er the face, diffuses bloom,
1585 And every nameless grace; the parted lip, Like the red rose-bud moist with morning dew, Breathing delight ; and, under flowing jet, Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown, The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast; 1590 The look resistless, piercing to the soul,
Prayer for Saving Virtues.
And by the soul informed, when drest in love
Island of bliss ! amid the subject seas
O Thou ! by whose almighty Nod the scale
1615 Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey, And, ever musing on the common weal, Still labours glorious with some great design.
Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds 1620 Assembled gay, a richly-gorgeous train, In all their pomp attend his setting throne. Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And now, As if his weary chariot sought the bowers
Of Amphitritè, and her tending nymphs
1625 (So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb ; Now half-immersed ; and now a golden curve Gives one bright glance, then total disappears.
For ever running an enchanted round, Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void ;
1630 As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, This moment hurrying wild the impassioned soul, The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank : A sight of horror to the cruel wretch,