They shall or leave my tortur'd sight-behold! Dost thou not see their feather'd shafts fly round me?

Begone, ye ministers of wrath-Away! away! The guilt's not mine-Hence, through the yielding skies,

Fly swift to Heaven-and charge Apollo there,
Whose oracle betray'd me !-Ah I faint;
My spirits sink-Where am I now? Alas!
How have I left my bed?-how stray'd I hither?
O-I perceive—once more the raging waves
Have spent their force-and all is calin again-
My sister?-weeping too? Why dost thou turn
Thy face away, thus muffled in thy garment?
I grieve to think what I have made thee suffer;

Yet weep not for my crimes, unhappy maid!

The deed was mine-Thou only didst consent: 'Twas I that slew my mother-Phoebus himself Advis'd that impious act-the guilt be his,

THE XIVTH OLYMPICK OF FINDAR.

[me.

Whose words spoke comfort, but who now forsakes
But oh! Electra, had our father's shade
Been present then-had I, before the god,
Ask'd his consent, to strike the murderess dead,
The pitying manes sure had stopp'd my hand,
Nor would have wish'd for his own life again,
Redeem'd by guilt, so horrid in a son.

Now wipe away thy tears, lamenting maid;
Though we're both wretched, tears are shed in vain;
And when thou seest again my faltering reason,
Be ready thou to rule my broken sense,
And comfort my affliction-And when thou
Shalt sink beneath thy pressing woes, I'll strive
By soothing words to mitigate thy sorrows.
Such offices become our fond affection.

But now, retiring to thy own apartment, Let gentle slumber close thy wakeful eyes l Then rise refresh'd; anoint thy wearied limbs, And with due nourishment recruit thy spirits. Such ceaseless watchings will exhaust thy strength, And make thy languid life a burthen to thee. Thou seest all other friends are fled; thou art My only solace in this dire affliction. Should'st thou forsake ine too, I'm lost indeed.

ELECTRA.

O no! thy sister never will forsake thee; Nor only will I live, but die, with thee; What joy could life afford a wretched woman, Bereft of father, brother, every friend?

But if you so command, I will retire; In the meanwhile compose thyself to rest, Reclin❜d upon thy couch; nor let vain terrours Rouse thee again-Thy own upbraiding conscience Is the revengeful fiend that haunts thy breast!

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE

LORD CHANCELLOR PARKER.

JULY XXIII. M.DCC.XIX.

As father Thames pours out his plenteous urn O'er common tracts, with speed his waters flow; But where some beauteous palace does adorn

His banks, the river seems to move more slow; As if he stopp'd awhile, with conscious pride, Nor to the ocean would pursue his race, Till he reflects its glories in his tide,

And call the Water-nymphs around to gaze. So in Time's common flood the huddled throng Of Months and Hours unheeded pass away, Unless some general good our joy prolong.

And mark the moments of some festal day. Not fair July, though Plenty clothe his fields, Though golden suns make all his morning smile, Can boast of aught that such a triumph yields, As that he gave a Parker to our isle. Hail happy month! secure of lasting fame!

Doubly distinguish'd through the circling year: In Rome a hero gave thee first thy name;

A patriot's birth makes thee to Britain dear.

TO ASOPICUS OF ORCHOMENUS,

YE heavenly Graces, who reside
O'er Minyæa's happy soil, that breeds,

Swift for the race, the fairest steeds;
And rule the land, where with a gentle tide
Your lov❜d Cephisian waters glide!
To you Orchomenus's towers belong,
Then hear, ye goddesses, and aid the song.
Whatever honours shine below,
Whatever gifts can move delight,

Or sooth the ravish'd soul, or charm the sight,
To you their power of pleasing owe.
Fame, beauty, wisdom, you bestow;
Nor will the gods the sacred banquet own,
Nor on the Chorus look propitious down,

If you your presence have deny'd,

To rule the banquet, and the Chorus guide.
In Heaven itself all own your happy care;
Bless'd by your influence divine,
There all is good, and all is fair:

On thrones sublime you there illustrious shine;
Plac'd near Apollo with the golden lyre,

You all his harmony inspire,

And warbled hymns to Jove perpetual sing,
To Jove, of Heaven the father and the king.
Now hear, Aglaia, venerable maid!

Hear thou that tuneful verse dost love,
Euphrosyne join your cœlestial aid,
Ye daughters of immortal Jove!
Thalia too be present with my lays;

Asopicus has rais'd his city's name,

And, victor in th' Olympic strife, may claim From you his just reward of virtuous praise. And thou, O Fame! this happy triumph spread; Fly to the regions of the dead,

Through Proserpine's dark empire bear the sound,
There seek Cleodamus below,

And let the pleas'd paternal spirit know,
How on the plains of Pisa far renown'd,
His son, his youthful son, of matchless speed,
Bore off from all the victor's meed,

And with an olive wreath his envy'd temples crown'd.

THE MORNING APPARITION.
WRITTEN AT WALLINGTON-HOUSE, IN SURRY,

THE SEAT OF MR. BRIDGES.

ALL things were hush'd, as Noise itself were dead;
No midnight mice stirr'd round my silent bed;
Not e'en a gnat disturb'd the peace profound,
Dumb o'er my pillow hung my watch unwound;
No ticking death-worm told a fancy'd doom,
Nor hidden cricket chirrup'd in the room;
No breeze the casement shook, or fann'd the leaves,
Nor drops of rain fell soft from off the eaves;
Nor noisy splinter made the candle weep,
But the dim watchlight seem'd itself asleep,
When, tir'd, I clos'd my eyes-how long I lay
In slumber wrapp'd, I list not now to say:
When hark! a sudden noise-See! open flies
The yielding door-I, starting, rubb’d my eyes,

Past clos'd awhile; and, as their lids I rear'd,
Full at my feet a tall thin form appear'd,
While through my parted curtains rushing broke
A light like day, ere yet the figure spoke.
Cold sweat bedew'd my limbs-nor did I dream;
Hear, mortals, hear! for real truth's my theme.
And now, more bold, I rais'd my trembling bones
To look-when, lo! 'twas honest master Jones';
Who way'd his hand, to banish fear and sorrow,
Well charg'd with toast and sack, and cry'd

"Good morrow!"

WRITTEN IN A WINDOW AT WALLINGTON-House,

THEN THE SEAT OF

MRS. ELIZABETH BRIDGES.

M. DCC. XIX.

Exvy, if thy searching eye
Through this window chance to pry,
To thy sorrow thou shalt find,
All that's generous, friendly, kind,
Goodness, Virtue, every Grace,
Dwelling in this happy place:

Then, if thou would'st shun this sight,
Hence for ever take thy flight.

THE SUPPLEMENT:

THE CHARACTER OF

MRS. ELIZABETH BRIDGES 2.

IMPERFECT.

PAINTER, give o'er; here ends thy feeble art;
For how wilt thou describe th' immortal part?
Tho' Kneller's or tho' Raphael's skill were thine,
Or Titian's colours on the cloth did shine,
The labour'd piece must yet half-finish'd stand,
And mock the weakness of the master's hand.

Colours are but the phantoms of the day,
With that they're born, with that they fade away:
Like Beauty's charms, they but amuse the sight,
Dark in themselves, till, by reflection bright,
With the Sun's aid, to rival him they boast,
But, light withdrawn, in their own shades are lost.
Then what are these t' express the living fire,
The lamp within, that never can expire?
That work can only by the Muse be wrought;
Souls must paint Souls, and Thought delineate
Thought.

Then, Painter-Muse, begin, and, unconfin'd,
Draw boldly first a large extent of mind:
Yet not a barren waste, an empty space,
For crowds of virtues fill up all the place.
See! o'er the rest fair Piety presides,

As the bright Sun th' inferior planets guides;
To the soul's powers it vital heat supplies,
And hence a thousand worthy habits rise.

1 The butler.

2 She died Dec. 1, 1745, aged 88. See some verses to her memory in Mrs. Tollet's poems, p. 139.

So when that genial father of the Spring,
Smiles on the meads, and wakes the birds to sing,
And from the heavenly Bull his influence sheds
On the parterres and fruitful garden beds,
A thousand beauteous births shoot up to sight,
A thousand buds, unfolding, meet the light;
Each useful plant does the rich earth adorn,
And all the flowery universe is born.

This first of virtues, awful, yet serene,
O! could my verse describe this sacred queen,

Plain in her native charms, nor too severe,
Free from false zeal, and superstitious fear;
Such and so bright, as by th' effects we find,
She dwells in this selected, happy mind,
The source of every good should stand confest,
And all, who see, applaud the heaven-born guest!

Proceed, my Muse: next in the picture place
Diffusive Charity to human race.
Justice thou need'st not in thy draught express,
Since every greater still includes the less.
What were the praise, if Virtue idly stood,
Content alike to do nor harm nor good?
Though shunning ill, unactive, and supine,
Like painted suns, that warm not while they shine?
The nobler soul such narrow life disdains,
Flows out, and meets another's joys and pains,
Tasteless of blessings, if possest alone,

And in imparted pleasures seeks its own.

Hence grows the sense of Friendship's generous fires,
Hence Liberality the heart inspires,
Hence streams of good in constant actions flow,
And man to man becomes a god below!

A soul thus form'd, and such a soul is here,
Needs not the dangerous test of riches fear,
But, unsubdued to wealth, may safely stand,
And count o'er heaps with an unsully'd hand.
Heaven, that knew this, and where t' intrust its store,
And, blessing one, oft' blesses many more,
First gave a will to give, then fitly join'd
A liberal fortune to a liberal mind.
With such a graceful ease her bounty flows;
She gives, and scarce that she's the giver knows,
But seems receiving most, when she the most be-
Rich in herself, well may she value more [stows.
Her wealth within, the mind's immortal store;
Passions subdued, and knowledge free from pride,
Good humour, ever to good sense ally'd,
Well-season'd mirth, and wisdom unsevere,
An equal temper, and a heart sincere;
Gifts that alone from Nature's bounty flow,
Which Fortune may display, but not bestow;
For wealth but sets the picture more in sight,
And brings the beauties or the faults to light.
How true th' esteem that's founded in desert!
How pleasing is the tribute of the heart!
Here willing duty ne'er was paid in vain,
And ev'n dependence cannot feel its chain;'
Yet whom she thus sets free she closer binds,
(Affection is the chain of grateful minds)
And, doubly blessing her adopted care,
Makes them her virtues with her fortune share,
Leads by example, and by kindness guards,
And raises first the merit she rewards.

Oft too abroad she casts a friendly eye,
As she would help to every need supply,
The poor near her almost their cares forget,
Their want but serves as hunger to their meat;

For, since her soul's ally'd to human kind,
Not to her house alone her store's confin'd;
But, passing on, its own full banks o'erflows,
Enlarg'd, and deals forth plenty as it goes.
Through some fair garden thus a river leads
Its watery wealth, and first th' enclosure feeds,
Visits each plant, and every flower supplies;
Or, taught in sportive fountains to arise,
Casts sprinkled showers o'er every figur'd green;
Or in canals walks round the beauteous scene,
Yet stops not there, but its free course maintains,
And spreads gay verdure thro' the adjacent plains;
The labouring hinds with pleasure see it flow,
And bless those streams by which their pastures
grow.

O generous use of power! O virtuous pride!
Ne'er may the means be to such souls deny'd,
Executors of Heaven's all-bounteous will,
Who well the great First-giver's ends fulfil,
Who from superior heights still looking down
On glittering heaps, which scarce they think their
Despise the empty show of useless state,
And only would, by doing good, be great!

[own,

Here new-built towns, aspiring high,
Ascend, with lofty turrets crown'd;
There others fall, and mouldering lie,
Obscure, or only by their sins found.
Palmyra's far-extended waste I spy,

(Once Tadmor, ancient in renown)
Her marble heaps, by the wild Arab shown,
Still load with useless pomp the ground.
But where is lordly Babylon? where now

Lifts she to Heaven her giant brow?
Where does the wealth of Nineveh abound?
Or where's the pride of Afric's shore?
Is Rome's great rival then no more?
In Rome herself behold th' extremes of fate,
Her ancient greatness sunk, her modern boasted
See her luxurious palaces arise,

[state!

With broken arches mixt between! And here what splendid domes possess the skies! And there old temples, open to the day,

Their walls, o'ergrown with moss, display;

And columns, awful in decay,

Rear up their roofless heads to form the various

scene.

Around the space of Earth I turn my eye;

But where's the region free from woe? Where shall the Muse one little spot descry

The seat of Happiness below?
Here Peace would all its joys dispense,
The vines and olives unmolested grow,
But, lo! a purple pestilence
Unpeoples cities, sweeps the plains,
Whilst vainly through deserted fields
Her unreap'd harvests Ceres yields,
And at the noon of day a midnight silence reigns.
There milder heat the healthful climate warms,
But, slaves to arbitrary power,
And pleas'd cach other to devour,
The mad possessors rush to arins.
I see, I see them from afar,

I view distinct the mingled war!
I see the charging squadrons prest
Hand to hand, and breast to breast

Destruction, like a vulture, hovers nigh;

Lur'd with the hope of human blood, She hangs upon the wing, uncertain where to fly,

I pass cerulean gulphs, and now behold
New solid globes their weight, self-balanc'd, bear,
Unpropp'd, amidst the fluid air,

[roll'd.

Here cruel Discord takes a wider scene,
To exercise more unrelenting rage;

Appointed fleets their numerous powers engage,
With scarce a space of sea between.
Hark! what a brazen burst of thunder
Rends the clements asunder!
Affrighted Ocean flies the roar,

And drives the billows to the distant shore;
The distant shore,

That such a storm ne'er felt before,
Transmits it to the rocks around;

Unequal in their course, see they advance,

And form the planetary dance!

Here the pale Moon, whom the same laws ordain
Tobey the Earth, and rule the Main;
Here spots no more in shadowy streaks appear;
But lakes instead, and groves of trees,
The wondering Muse transported sees,
And their tall heads discover'd mountains rear.
And now once more I downward cast my sight,
When, lo! the Earth, a larger moon, displays
Far off, amidst the Heavens, her silver face,
And to her sister moon by turns gives light!

sound.

Still greater horrours strike my eyes.
Behold, convulsive earthquakes there,
And shatter'd land in pieces tear,

And ancient cities sink, and sudden mountains rise!
Thro' opening mines th' astonish'd wretches go,
Hurry'd to unknown depths below.

The bury'd ruin sleeps; and nought remains
But dust above and desert plains,
Unless some stone this sad inscription wear,
Rais'd by some future traveller:

"The prince, his people, and his kingdom, here, One common tomb contains."

[tide.

Again, behold where seas, disdaining bound, O'er the firm land usurping ride, And bury spacious towns beneath their sweeping Dash'd with the sudden flood the vaulted temples sound.

Waves roll'd on waves, deep burying deep, lift high

A watery monument, in which profound
The courts and cottages together lie.
Ev'n now the floating wreck I spy,
And the wide surface far around
With spoils of plunder'd countries crown'd.
Such, Belgia, was the ravage and affright,
When late thou saw'st thy ancient foe
Swell o'er thy digues, oppos'd in vain,
With deadly rage, and, rising in its might,
Pour down swift ruin on thy plains below.

Thus Fire, and Air, and Earth, and Main,
A never-ceasing fight maintain,
While man on every side is sure to lose ;
And Fate has furnish'd out the stage of life
With War, Misfortune, and with Strife;

Till Death the curtain drops, and shuts the scene

What power unknown my course still upwards

guides,

Where Mars is seen his ruddy rays to throw Through heatless skies, that round him seem to

glow,

And where remoter Jove o'er his four moons presides?
And now I urge my way more bold,
Unpierc'd by Saturn's chilling cold,

And pass his planetary guards, and his bright ring behold.

Here the Sun's beams so faintly play,
The mingled shades almost extinguish day.
His rays reverted hence, the fire withdraws,
For here his wide dominions end;
And other suns, that rule by other laws,
Hither their bordering realms extend.

And now far off, through the blue vacant borne,
I reach at last the milky road,

Once thought to lead to Jove's supreme abode, Where stars, profuse in heaps, Heaven's glittering heights adorn.

Lost in each other's neighbouring rays,

They undistinguish'd shine in one promiscuous blaze.
So thick the lucid gems are strown,
As if th' Almighty Builder here
Laid up his stores for many a sphere
In destin'd worlds, as yet unknown.
Hither the nightly-wakeful swain,
That guards his folds upon the plain,
Oft turns his gazing eyes,

Yet marks no stars, but o'er his head
Beholds the streamy twilight spread,
Like distant morning in the skies;

And wonders from what source its dawning splendours rise.

But, lo!-what's this I see appear?

It seems, far off, a pointed flame; From carth-wards too the shining meteor came. How swift it climbs th' aërial space! And now it traverses each sphere,

Aud seems some living guest, familiar to the place. "Tis he as I approach more near,

The great Columbus of the skies I know!
'Tis Newton's soul, that daily travels here
In search of knowledge for mankind below.
O stay, thou happy spirit, stay,

And lead me on thro' all th' unbeaten wilds of day;
As when the Sibyl did Rome's father guide
Safe through the downward roads of night,
And in Elysium blest his sight