The promis'd seat of empire shall again
Cover the mountain, and command the plain;
And, from thy race distinguish'd, one shall spring,
Greater in act than victor, more than king
In dignity and power, sent down from heaven,
To succor Earth. To him, to him, 'tis given,
Passion, and care, and anguish, to destroy.
Through him, soft peace, and plenitude of joy,
Perpetual o'er the world redeem'd shall flow;
No more may man inquire, nor angel know.

"Now, Solomon! remembering who thou art,
Act through thy remnant life the decent part.
Go forth be strong with patience and with care
Perform, and suffer: to thyself severe,
Gracious to others, thy desires suppress'd,
Diffus'd thy virtues; first of men! be best.
Thy sum of duty let two words contain;
(O may they graven in thy heart remain !)
Be humble, and be just." The angel said :—
With upward speed his agile wings he spread;
Whilst on the holy ground I prostrate lay,
By various doubts impell'd, or to obey,
Or to object; at length (my mournful look
Heaven-ward erect) determin'd, thus I spoke :

"Supreme, all-wise, eternal Potentate!

Sole Author, sole Disposer of our fate!
Enthron'd in light and immortality,

Whom no man fully sees, and none can see!
Original of beings! Power divine!
Since that I live, and that I think, is thine!
Benign Creator! let thy plastic hand
Dispose its own effect; let thy command
Restore, Great Father! thy instructed son;
And in my act may thy great will be done!"

Then, turning about to the hangman, he said, Dispatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade; For thy cord and my cord both equally tie, And we live by the gold for which other men die Derry down, &c.

A SONG.

In vain you tell your parting lover,
You wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows, and cold disdain?

Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose.

Your care does further yet extend:
That spy is guarded by your friend.—
But has this friend nor eye nor heart?
May he not feel the cruel dart,
Which, soon or late, all mortals feel?
May he not, with too tender zeal,
Give the fair prisoner cause to see,
How much he wishes she were free?
May he not craftily infer

The rules of friendship too severe,
Which chain him to a hated trust;
Which make him wretched, to be just?
And may not she, this darling she,

Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,
Easy with him, ill us'd by thee,

Allow this logic to be good?"
"Sir, will your questions never end?
I trust to neither spy nor friend.
In short, I keep her from the sight

Of every human face."-"She'll write."-
"From pen and paper she's debarr'd."-
"Has she a bodkin and a card?

She'll prick her mind."-" She will, you say: But how shall she that mind convey?

I keep her in one room: I lock it:

46

The key, (look here,) is in this pocket."— "The key-hole, is that left?"-" Most certain."

"She'll thrust her letter through, Sir Martin."

46

'Dear, angry friend, what must be done?

"Is there no way ?"- "There is but one.

Send her abroad: and let her see,

That all this mingled mass, which she,
Being forbidden, longs to know,

Is a dull farce, an empty show,

Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau;

A staple of romance and lies,

False tears and real perjuries:

Where sighs and looks are bought and sold,

And love is made but to be told:

Where the fat bawd and lavish heir
The spoils of ruin'd beauty share;
And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame.
Must give up age to want and shame.
Let her behold the frantic scene,
The women wretched, false the men:
And when, these certain ills to shun,
She would to thy embraces run,

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And, whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd;
I sung, and gaz'd; I play'd and trembled:
And Venus to the Loves around

Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.

THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.

In imitation of a Greek Idyllium.

CELIA and I, the other day,
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting Sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost:
And, on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep:
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.

But, oh the change! the winds grow high; Impending tempests charge the sky;

The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,

She turns her head, and wings her flight:
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.

"Once more, at least, look back," said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good-humor drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The Sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of Love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

"But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me the rising storm is nigh;
"Tis then, thou art yon angry main,
Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labors less than I.