Τ

Breathing toward the Heavenly Country.

Cafimire, Book I. Od. 19. imitated..

"Urit me Patriæ Decor, &c."

THE beauty of my native land
Immortal love inspires;

I burn, I burn with strong desires,
And figh, and wait the high command.
There glides the moon her fhining way,
And fhoots my heart through with a filver ray,
Upward my heart afpires :

A thousand lamps of golden light

Hung high, in vaulted azure, charm my fight,
And wink and beckon with their amorous fires..
O ye fair glories of my heavenly home,

Bright centinels who guard my Father's court,
Where all the happy minds refort,

When will my Father's chariot come ?
Muft ye for ever walk th' ethereal round,

For ever fee the mourner lie

An exile of the sky,

A prifoner of the ground?

Defcend fome fhining fervants from on high,

Build me a hafty tomb;

A graffy turf will raife my head ;

The neighbouring lilies dress my bed;
And shed a fweet perfume..

Here

Here I put off the chains of death,

My foul too long has worn:
Friends, I forbid one groaning breath,

Or tear to wet my urn;

Raphael, behold me all undreft,

Here gently lay this flesh to reft;

Then mount, and lead the path unknown,

Swift I purfue thee, flaming guide, on pinions of my own.

The HUNDREDTH EPIGRAM of CASSIMIRE.

On Saint Ardalio, who from a Stage-Player became a Chriftian, and fuffered Martyrdom.

ARDALIO jeers, and in his comic ftrains

The myfteries of our bleeding God profanes, While his loud laughter hakes the painted fcenes. Heaven heard, and ftrait around the fmoaking throne The kindling lightning in thick flashes shone, And vengeful thunder murmur'd to be gone.

Mercy ftood near, and with a fmiling brow

Calm'd the loud thunder; "There's no need of you;
"Grace fhall defcend, and the weak man fubdue."
Grace leaves the fkies, and he the ftage forfakes,
He bows his head down to the martyring ax,
And as he bows, this gentle farewell speaks;

"So goes the comedy of life away;

“Vain earth, adieu; Heaven will applaud to-day; "Strike, courteous tyrant, and conclude the play."

When

When the Proteftant Church at Montpelier was demolished by the French King's Order, the Proteftants laid Stones up in their Buryingplace, whereon a Jesuit made a Latin Epigram. Englished thus:

A Hug'not church, once at Montpelier built,

Stood and proclaim'd their madness and their guilt; Too long it stood beneath heaven's angry frown, Worthy when rising to be thunder'd down. Lewis, at last, th' avenger of the skies, Commands, and level with the ground it lies : The ftones difpers'd, their wretched offspring come, Gather, and heap them on their father's tomb. Thus the curs'd house falls on the builder's head And though beneath the ground their bones are laid, Yet the juft vengeance ftill pursues the guilty dead.

A

The Answer by a French Protestant.

Englished thus:

Chriftian church once at Montpelier ftood,

And nobly spoke the builder's zeal for God.

It stood the envy of the fierce dragoon,

But not deferv'd to be destroy'd fo soon :
Yet Lewis, the wild tyrant of the age,
Tears down the walls, a victim to his rage.

Young

Young faithful hands pile up the facred flones

(Dear monument !), o'er their dead fathers' bones; The ftones fhall move when the dead fathers rife, Start up before the pale destroyer's eyes,

And teftify his madness to th' avenging skies.

}

Two happy Rivals, Devotion and the Mufe.

WILD

as the lightning, various as the moon, Roves my Pindaric fong:

Here the glows like burning noon

In fiercest flames, and here fhe plays

Gentle as ftar-beams on the midnight feas;

Now in a smiling angel's form,

Anon fhe rides upon the ftorm,

Loud as the noify thunder, as a deluge strong.

Are

my thoughts and wishes free,

And know no number nor degree?
Such is the Mufe: Lo fhe difdains

The links and chains,

Measures and rules of vulgar strains,

[reigns.

And o'er the laws of harmony a Sovereign Queen the

If the roves

By streams or groves

Tuning her pleasures or her pains,

My paffion keeps her ftill in fight,

My paffion holds an equal flight

Through love's, or nature's wide campaigns.

If with bold attempt the fings
Of the biggest mortal things,
Tottering thrones and nations flain;
Or breaks the fleets of warring kings,

While thunders roar

From fhore to fhore,

My foul fits faft upon her wings,

And sweeps the crimfon furge, or fcours the purple plain; Still I attend her as he flies,

Round the broad globe, and all beneath the skies.

But when from the meridian ftar

Long streaks of glory shine,
And heaven invites her from afar,
She takes the hint, she knows the fign,

The Mufe afcends her heavenly carr,

And climbs the freepy path and means the throne divine.
Then the leaves my fluttering mind

Clogg'd with clay, and unrefin'd,
Lengths of distance far behind :
Virtue lags with heavy wheel;
Faith has wings, but cannot rife,
Cannot rife,- -Swift and high
As the winged numbers fly,

And faint devotion panting lies

When fhall thefe hateful fetters break

That have confin' me long?