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THE

BASTAR D.

N gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,

IN

The Mufe, exulting, thus her lay began..

Bleft be the Baftard's birth! through wondrous ways,
He fhines eccentric like a comet's blaze!
No fickly fruit of faint compliance He!
He! ftampt in nature's mint of ecstacy!

He lives to build, not boaft, a generous race :.
No tenth tranfmitter of a foolish face.

His daring hope, no fire's example bounds;
His firft-born lights, no prejudice confounds.
He, kindling from within, requires no flame;
He glories in a Baftard's glowing name.

Born to himself, by no poffeffion led,.
In freedom fofter'd, and by fortune fed ;

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Nor guides, nor rules, his fovereign choice control, 15.
His body independent as his foul;

Loos'd to the world's wide range-enjoy'd no aim,
Prefcrib'd no duty, and affign'd no name :
Nature's unbounded fon, he stands alone,
His heart unbiafs'd, and his mind his own.
O Mother, yet no Mother! 'tis to you,
My thanks for such distinguish'd claims are due.
You, unenflav'd to Nature's narrow laws,
Warm championefs for freedom's facred caufe,
From all the dry devoirs of blood and line,
From ties maternal, moral and divine,

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Difcharg'd

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Discharg'd my grasping soul; push'd me from shore,
And launch'd me into life without an oar.
What had I loft, if, conjugally kind,
By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd,
Untaught the matrimonial bounds to flight,
And coldly conscious of a husband's right,
You had faint-drawn me with a form alone,
A lawful lump of life by force your own!
Then, while your backward will retrench'd defire, 35
And unconcurring spirits lent no fire,

'I had been born your dull, domestic heir,
Load of your life, and motive of your care;
Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great,
The flave of pomp, a cypher in the state;
Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown,
And slumbering in a seat, by chance my own.
Far nobler bleffings wait the Baftard's lot;
Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot!
Strong as neceffity, he starts away,
Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day.
Thus unprophetic, lately misinfpir'd,

I fung: Gay fluttering hope, my fancy fir'd;
Inly fecure, through conscious scorn of ill,
Nor taught by wisdom, how to balance will,
Rafhly deceiv'd, I faw no pits to fhun,
But thought to purpose and to act were one;
Heedless what pointed cares pervert his way,
Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray;
But now, expos'd, and fhrinking from diftrefs,
I fly to fhelter, while the tempefts prefs;

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My Mufe to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan.
O memory! thou foul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why doft thou aggravate the wretch's woe ?
Why add continuous fmart to every blow?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad'st me not:
While sharp and numberless my sorrows fall;
Yet thou repeat'ft, and multiply'st them all!

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Is chance a guilt? that my disasterous heart, For mifchief never meant, must ever smart? Can felf-defence be fin !-Ah, plead no more! What though no purpos'd malice ftain'd thee o'er? 70 Had heaven befriended thy unhappy fide,

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Thou hadst not been provok'd-Or thou hadst died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all
On whom, unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale Dead revives, and lives to me,
To me through Pity's eye condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their way! 80
He might have liv'd till folly died in fhame,
Till kindling wisdom felt a thirst for fame.

He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd;
Both happy, generous, candid, and belov'd

He might have fav'd some worth, now doom'd to fall ; And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.

O fate

O fate of late repentance! always vain :
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.

Where shall my hope find reft ?-No Mother's care
Shielded my infant innocence with prayer:

No father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome powerful arm,'
First to advance, then fkreen from future harm?
Am I return'd from death, to live in pain?
Or would Imperial Pity save in vain ?
Diftruft it not-What blame can mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind?

Mother, miscall'd, farewell-of foul fevere,
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by to you I ow'd,
Alone from ftrangers every comfort flow'd!

Loft to the life you gave, your fon no more,
And now adopted, who was doom`d before,
New-born, I may a nobler Mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name;
Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestic Mother of a kneeling State!
QUEEN of a People's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed-yet now with one confent adore!

One conteft yet remains in this defire,

Who most shall give applause, where all admire.

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And either India pours into her arms;
Where Liberty bids honest arts abound,
And pleasures dance in one eternal round;
High-thron'd appears the laughter-loving dame,
Goddess of mirth! Euphrofyne her name.
Her fmile more cheerful than a vernal morn ;
All life! all bloom! of Youth and Fancy born.
Touch'd into joy, what hearts to her submit!
She looks her Sire, and speaks her Mother's wit. 10
O'er the gay world the fweet infpirer reigns;
Spleen flies, and Elegance her pomp sustains.
Thee, goddess! thee! the fair and young obey;
Wealth, Wit, Love, Mufic, all confess thy fway.

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