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Stars on his robes in beauteous order meet,
And the sun burns beneath his awful feet.
Now an archangel eminently bright,
From off his silver staff of woud'rous height,
Unfurls the Christian flag, which waving flies,
And shuts and opens more than half the skies:
The Cross so strong a red, it sheds a stain
Where'er it floats, on earth, and air, and main;
Flushes the hill, and sets on fire the wood,
And turns the deep-dyed ocean into blood.

Oh formidable Glory! dreadful bright!
Refulgent torture to the guilty sight!
Ah turn, unwary Muse, nor dare reveal
What horrid thoughts with the polluted dwell.
Say not (to make the Sun shrink in his beam)
Dare not affirm, they wish it all a dream;
Wish or their souls may with their limbs decay,
Or God be spoil'd of his eternal sway.
But rather, if thou know'st the means, unfold
How they with transport might the scene behold.
Ah how but by Repentance-by a mind
Quick and severe its own offence to find?
By tears, and groans, and never-ceasing care,
And all the pious violence of pray'r?
Thus then, with fervency till now unknown,
I cast my heart before th' eternal throne,
In this great temple, which the skies surround,
For homage to its Lord a narrow bound: [weigh,
"O Thou! whose balance does the mountains
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey,
Whose breath can turn those wat'ry worlds to
flame,

That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame;
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls,
And on the bounties of thy goodness calls.
"O! give the winds all past offence to sweep,
To scatter wide, or bury in the deep:
Thy pow'r, my weakness, may I ever see,
And wholly dedicate my soul to thee!
Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow
At thy command, nor human motive know!
If anger boil, let anger be my praise,
And sin the graceful indignation raise.
My love be warm to succour the distress'd,
And lift the burden from the soul oppress'd.
may my understanding ever read
This glorious volume, which thy wisdom made!
Whodecks the maiden Spring with flow'ry pride?
Who calls forth Summer like a sparkling bride?
Who joys the mother Autumn's bed to crown?
And bids old Winter lay her honors down?
Not the great Ottoman, or greater Czar,
Not Europe's arbitress of peace and war.
May sea and land, and earth and heav'n be join'd,
To bring th' eternal Author to my mind!
When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll,
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake

0

my soul !

When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine,
Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine!
Thro' ev'ry scene of life, or peace, or war,
Plenty, or want, thy glory be my care!
Shine we in arms or sing beneath our vine?
Thine is the vintage, and the conquest thine :

Thy pleasure points the shaft and bends the bow,
The cluster blasts or bids it brightly glow:
'Tis thou that lead'st our pow'rful armies forth,
And giv'st great Anne thy sceptre o'er the north.
"Grant I may ever, at the morning ray,
Open with pray'r the consecrated day;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And with the mounting sun ascend the skies!
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardor of consummate love;
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.

66

"And, oh, permit the gloom of solemn night To sacred thought may forcibly invite. When this world 's shut, and awful planets rise, Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies. Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight, And show all nature in a milder light; How ev'ry boist'rous thought in calms subsides; How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides! O how divine, to tread the milky way To the bright palace of the Lord of day! His court admire, or for his favor sue, Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew! Pleas'd to look down, and see the world asleep, While I long vigils to its Founder keep! [trol, Canst thou not shake the centre? Oh conSubdue by force, the rebel in my soul! Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood, Restrain the various tumults of my blood; Teach me, with equal firmness, to sustain Alluring pleasure, and assaulting pain. O may pant for thee in each desire, And with strong faith foment the holy fire! Stretch out my soul in hope, and grasp the prize Which in Eternity's deep bosom lies! At the great day of reconpence behold, Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold! Then, wafted upwards to the blissful seat, From age to age my grateful song repeat; My Light, my Life, my God, my Saviour see, And rival angels in the praise of Thee!

Falles for the Female Sex. Moore, § 280. FABLE I. The Eagle and the Assembly of Birds.

I

To her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales. THE moral lay, to beauty due, write, Fair Excellence, to you; Well pleas'd to hope my vacant hours Have been employ'd to sweeten yours. Truth under fiction I impart, To weed out folly from the heart, And show the paths that lead astray The wand'ring nymph from wisdoin's way. I flatter none. The great and good Are by their actions understood; Your monument, if actions raise, Shall I deface by idle praise? I echo not the voice of Fame; That dwells delighted on your name + Her friendly tale, however true, Were flatt`ry, if I told it you,

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The proud, the envious, and the vain,
The jilt, the prude, demand my strain;
To these, detesting praise, I write,
And vent in charity my spite.
With friendly hand I hold the glass
To all, promiscuous, as they pass:
Should folly there her likeness view,
I fret
that the mirror's true:
If the fantastic form offeud,
I made it not, but would amend.
Virtue, in ev'ry clime and age,
Spurns at the folly-soothing page;
While satire, that offends the ear,
Of vice and passion, pleases her.

Premising this, your anger spare;
And claim the fable
you who dare.
The birds in place, by fictions press'd,
To Jupiter their pray'rs address'd:
By specious lies the state was vex'd,
Their counsels libellers perplex'd ;
They begg'd (to stop seditions tongues)
A gracious hearing of their wrongs.
Jove grants the suit. The Eagle sate
Decider of the grand debate.

The Pye, to trust and pow'r preferr'd,
Demands permission to be heard.
Says he, prolixity of phrase
You know I hate. This libel says,
"Some birds there are, who, prone to noise,
Are hir'd to silence wisdom's voice;
And skill'd, to chatter out the hour,
Rise by their emptiness to pow'r.",
That this is aim'd direct at me,
No doubt you'll readily agree;
Yet well this sage assembly knows,
By parts to government I rose.
My prudent counsels prop the state;
Magpies were never known to prate.

The Kite rose up. His honest heart In virtue's sufferings bore a part. That there were birds of prey he knew : So far the libeller said true : "Voracious, bold, to rapine prone, Who knew no int'rest but their own; Who hov'ring o'er the farmer's yard, Nor pigeon, chick, or duckling spar'd." This might be true; but, if applied To him, in troth, the sland'rer lied. Since ign'rance then might be misled, Such things, he thought, were best unsaid. The Crow was vex'd. As yester-morn He flew across the new-sown corn, A screaming boy was set for pay, He knew, to drive the crows away; Scandal had found him out in turn, And buzz'd abroad that crows love corn, The Owl arose with solemn face, And thus harangu'd upon the case: That magpies prate, it may be true; A kite may be voracious too; Crows sometimes deal in new-sown pease, He libels not, who strikes at these : The slander's here- But there are birds, Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words;

Blund'rers, who level in the dark,
And always shoot beside the mark."
He nanies not me; but these are hints,
Which manifest at whom he squints;
I were indeed that blund'ring fowl,
To question if he meant an owl.

Ye wretches, hence! the Eagle cries, "Tis conscience, conscience that applies; The virtuous mind takes no alarm, Secur'd by innocence from harm; While Guilt, and his associate Fear, Are startled at the passing air.

FABLE II. The Panther, the Horst, and other Beasts.

§ 281.

THE man who seeks to win the fair
(So custom says) must truth forbear;
Must fawn and flatter, cringe and lie,
And raise the goddess to the sky.
For truth is hateful to her ear;
A rudeness which she cannot bear.
A rudeness! Yes, I speak my thoughts;
For truth upbraids her with her faults.

How wretched, Chloe, then am I,
Who love you, and yet cannot lie?
And still, to make you less my friend,
I strive your errors to amend!
But shall the senseless fop impart
The softest passion to your heart;
While he, who tells you honest truth,
And points to happiness your youth,
Determines, by his care, his lot,
And lives neglected and forgot?

Trust me, my dear, with greater ease,
Your taste for flatt'ry I could please;
And similes in each dull line,
Like glow-worms in the dark, should shine.
What if I say your lips disclose
The freshness of the op'ning rose?
Or that your cheeks are beds of flow'rs,
Enripen'd by refreshing show'rs?
Yet certain as these flow'rs shall fade,
Time ev'ry beauty will invade.
The butterfly of various hue,
More than the flow'rs resembles you;
Fair, flutt'ring, fickle, busy thing,
To pleasure ever on the wing,
Gaily coquetting for an hour,
To die, and ne'er be thought of more.

Would you the bloom of youth should last! 'Tis virtue that must bind it fast'; An easy carriage, wholly free From sour reserves or levity; Good-natur'd mirth, an open heart, And looks unskill'd in any art; Humility enough to own The frailties which a friend makes known, And decent pride enough to know The worth that virtue can bestow.

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You'll frown, and ask, To what intent
This blunt address to you is sent?
I'll spare the question, and confess
I'd praise you, if I lov'd you less.
But rail, be angry, or complain,
I will be rude while you are vain.
Beneath a lion's peaceful reign,
When beasts met friendly on the plain,
A Panther of majestic port
(The vainest female of the court)
With spotted skin, and eyes of fire,
Fill'd every bosom with desire.
Where'er she mov'd, a servile crowd
Of fawning creatures cring'd and bow'd:
Assemblies ev'ry week she held
(Like modern belles) with coxcombs fill'd;
Where noise, and nonsense, and grimace,
And lies, and scandal, fill'd the place.

Behold the gay fantastic thing
Encircled by the spacious ring!
Low bowing, with important look,
As first in rank, the Monkey spoke:
"Gad take me, madam! but I swear,
No angel ever look'd so fair:
Forgive my rudeness, but I vow
You were not quite divine till now;

Those limbs that shape! and then those eyes! Who servilely their lives employ

O close them, or the gazer dies!"

Nay, gentle pug, for goodness hush,
I vow and swear you make me blush ;
I shall be angry at this rate;
'Tis so like flatt'ry, which I hate.

In business, enemy to joy.
Mean, vulgar herd! ye are my scorn;
For grandeur only I was born,
Or sure am sprung from race divinę
And plac'd on earth to live and shine.
Those lights that sparkle so on high,
Are but the glow-worms of the sky;
And kings on earth their gems admire,
Because they imitate my fire.

The Fox, in deeper cunning vers'd,
The beauties of the mind rehears'd,
And talk'd of knowledge, taste, and sense,
To which the fair have vast pretence !
Yet well he knew them always vain
Of what they strive not to attain;
And play'd so cunningly his part,
That pug was rivall'd in his art.

The Goat arow'd his am'rous flame,
And burnt--for what he durst not name;
Yet hop'd a meeting in the wood
Might make his meaning understood.
Half angry at the bold address,
She frown'd; but yet she must confess
Such beauties might inflame his blood,
But still his phrase was somewhat rude.

The Hog her neatness much admir'd;
The formal Ass her swiftness fir'd:
While all to feed her folly strove,
And by their praises shar'd her love.
The Horse, whose gen'rous heart disdain'd
Applause by servile flatt'ry gain'd,
With graceful courage silence broke,
And thus with indignation spoke :
When flatt'ring monkeys fawn and prate,
They justly raise contempt or hate;
For merit's turn'd to ridicule,
Applauded by the grinning fool,
The artful fox your wit commends,
To lure you to his selfish ends;
From the vile flatt'rer turn away,
For knaves make friendships to betray,

Dismiss the train of fops and fools,
And learn to live by wisdom's rules:
Such beauties might the lion warm,
Did not your folly break the charm;
For who would court that lovely shape,
To be the rival of an ape?

He said, and snorting in disdain,
Spurn'd at the crowd, and sought the plain.

§ 282.

FABLE III. The Nightingale and the
Glow-worm.

THE prudent nymph, whose cheeks disclose
The lily and the blushing rose,
From public view her charms will screen,
And rarely in the crowd be seen;
This simple truth shall keep her wise-
"The fairest fruits attract the flies."

One night a Glow-worn, proud and vain,
Contemplating her glitt'ring train,
Cried, Sure there never was in nature
So elegant, so fine a creature.
All other insects that I see,
The frugal ant, industrious bee,
Or silk-worm, with contempt I view ;
With all that low, mechanic crew,

She spoke. Attentive on a spray,
A Nightingale forbore his lay;
He saw the shining morsel near,
And flew, directed by the glare;
Awhile he gaz'd with sober look,
And thus the trembling prey bespoke:

Deluded fool, with príde elate!
Know, 'tis thy beauty brings thy fate:
Less dazzling, long thou mightst have lain
Unheeded on the velvet plain :
Pride, soon or late, degraded mourns,
And beauty wrecks whom she adorns.

§ 283. FABLE IV. Hymen and Death.
SIXTEEN, d' ye say?
? Nay then, 'tis time;
Another year destroys your prime.
But stay-the settlement?" That's made."
Why then's my simple girl afraid?
Yet hold a moment, if you can,
And heedfully the fable scan.

The shades were fled, the morning blush'd,
The winds were in their caverns hush'd,
When Hymen, pensive and sedate,
Held o'er the fields his musing gait.
Behind him, thro' the green-wood shade,
Death's meagre form the god survey'd ;
Who quickly, with gigantic stride,
Outwent his pace, and join'd his side.

The

The chat on various subjects ran,
Till angry Hymen thus began :
Relentless Death! whose iron sway
Mortals reluctant must obey,
Still of thy pow'r shall I complain,
And thy too partial hand arraign?
When Cupid brings a pair of hearts,
All over stuck with equal darts,
Thy cruel shafts my hopes deride,
And cut the knot that Hymen tied.

Shall not the bloody and the bold, The miser hoarding up his gold, The harlot reeking from the stew, Alone thy fell revenge pursue? But must the gentle and the kind Thy fury, undistinguish'd, find?

The monarch calmly thus replied: Weigh well the cause, and then decide. That friend of yours you lately nam'd, Cupid alone, is to be blam'd; Then let the charge be justly laid: That idle boy neglects his trade, And hardly one in twenty years A couple to your temple bears. The wretches, whom your office blends, Silenus now, or Plutus sends ; Hence care, and bitterness, and strife, Are common to the nuptial life.

Believe me! more than all mankind Your vot'ries my compassion find. Yet cruel am I call'd, and base, Who seek the wretched to release; The captive from his bonds to free, Indissoluble but for me.

"Tis I entice him to the yoke;
By me your crowded altars smoke :
For mortals boldly dare the noose,
Secure that Death will set them loose.

$284. FABLE V. The Poet and his Patron.
WHY, Celia, is your spreading waist
So loose, so negligently lac'd?
Why must the wrapping bed-gown hide
Your snowy bosom's swelling pride?
How ill that dress adorns your head,
Distain'd and rumpled from the bed!
Those clouds that shade your blooming face
A little water might displace,
As Nature ev'ry morn bestows
The crystal dew to cleanse the rose.
Those tresses, as the raven black,
That wav'd in ringlets down your back,
Uncomb'd, and injur'd by neglect,
Destroy the face which once they deck'd,
Whence this forgetfulness of dress?
Pray, Madam, are you married?
Nay, then indeed the wonder ceases;
No matter now how loose your dress is ;
The end is won, your fortune 's made;
Your sister now may take the trade.

- Yes.

-

Alas! what pity 'tis to find This fault in half the female kind! From hence proceeds aversion, strife, And all that sours the wedded life.

Beauty can only point the dart,
'Tis neatness guides it to the heart;
Let neatness then and beauty strive
To keep a wav'ring flame alive.

'Tis harder far (you'll find it true)
To keep the conquest, than subdue;
Admit us once behind the screen,
What is there farther to be seen?
A newer face may raise the flame,
But ev'ry woman is the same.

Then study chiefly to improve
The charm that fix'd your husband's love.
Weigh well his humor. Was it dress
That gave your beauty pow'r to bless ?
Pursue it still; be neater seen;
'Tis always frugal to be clean;
So shall you keep alive desire,
And time's swift wing shall fan the fire.
In garret high (as stories say)
A Poet sung his tuneful lay;
So soft, so smooth, his verse you 'd
Apollo and the Muses there.
Thro' all the town his praises rung;
His sonnets at the playhouse sung;
High waving o'er his lab'ring head,
The goddess Want her pinions spread,
And with poetic fury fir'd,
What Phoebus faintly had inspir'd.

A noble youth, of taste and wit,
Approv'd the sprightly things he writ,
And sought him in his cobweb dome,
Discharg'd his rent, and brought him home.
Behold him at the stately board!
Who but the Poct and my Lord!
Each day deliciously he dines,
And greedy quaffs the gen'rous wines;
His sides were plump, his skin was sleek,
And plenty wanton'd on his cheek;
Astonish'd at the change so new,
Away th' inspiring goddess flew.

swear

Now, dropt for politics and news,
Negleeted lay the drooping Muse,
Unmindful whence his fortune came,
He stifled the poetic flame;
Nor tale, nor sonnet, for my lady,
Lampoon, nor epigram, was ready.

With just contempt his Patron saw
(Resolv'd his bounty to withdraw);
And thus with anger in his look,
The late-repenting fool bespoke:

Blind to the good that courts thee grown,
Whence has the sun of favor shone?
Delighted with thy tuneful art,
Esteem was growing in my heart;
But idly thou reject'st the charm
That gave it birth, and kept it warm,
Unthinking fools alone despise
The arts that taught them first to rise.

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BOOK I.

SACRED

May horror scise his midnight hour,
Who builds upon a parent's pow'r.
And claims, by purchase vile and base,
The loathing maid for his embrace;
Hence virtue sickens; and the breast,
Where had built her downy nest,
peace
Becomes the troubled seat of care,
And pines with anguish and despair.
A Wolf, rapacious, rough, and bold,
Whose nightly plunders thinn'd the fold,
Contemplating his ill-spent life,
And cloy'd with thefts would take a wife.
His purpose known, the savage race
In num rous crowds attends the place;
For why, a mighty wolf he was,
And held dominion in his jaws.
Her fav rite whelp each mother brought,
And humbly his alliance sought;
But cold by age, or else too nice,
None found acceptance in his eyes.
It happen'd as at early dawn,
He solitary cross'd the lawn,
Stray'd from the fold, the sportive Lainb
Skipp'd wanton by her fleecy Dam;
When Cupid, foe to man and beast,
Discharg'd an arrow at his breast.

The um'rous breed the robber knew,
And trembling o'er the meadow flew;
Their nimblest speed the Wolf o'ertook,
And courteous thus the Dam bespoke:
Stay, fairest, and suspend your fear,
Trust me, no enemy is near:
These jaws, in slaughter oft imbru'd,
At length have known enough of blood;
And kinder bus'ness brings me now,
Vauquish'd, at beauty's feet to bow.
You have a daughter-sweet, forgive
in her I live;
A Wolf's address ·
Love from her eyes like lightning came,
And set my marrow all on flame;
Let your consent confirm my choice,
And ratify our nuptial joys.

AND MORAL.

Torn from the tyrant mother's side,
The trembler goes, a victim-bride;
Reluctant meets the rude embrace,
And bleats among the howling race.
With horror oft her eves behold
Her murder'd kindred of the fold;
Each day a sister lamb is serv'd,
And at the glutton's table carv'd;
The crashing bones he grinds for food,
And slakes his thirst with streaming blood.
Love, who the cruel mind detests,
And lodges but in gentle breasts,
Was now no more. Enjoyment past,
The savage hunger'd for the feast;
But (as we find in human race,
A mask conceals the villain's face)
Justice must authorise the treat;
Till then he long'd, but durst not eat.

Me ample wealth and pow'r attend, Wide o'er the plains my realms extend; What midnight robber dare invade The fold, if I the guard am made? At home the shepherd's cur may sleep, While I secure my master's sheep. Discourse like this attention clairo'd; Grandeur the mother's breast inflam'd; Now fearless by his side she walk'd, Of settlements and jointures talk'd; Propos'd, and doubled her demands, Of flow'ry fields, and turnip-lands. The Wolf agrees. Her bosom swells ; To Miss her happy fate she tells; And, of the grand alliance vain, Contemns her kindred of the plain.

157

The loathing Lamb with horror hears, And wearies out her Dam with pray'rs ; But all in vain; mamma best knew What unexperienc'd girls should do. So, to the neighb'ring meadow carried, A formal ass the couple married.

As forth he walk'd in quest of prey, The hunters met him on the way: Fear wings his flight; the marsh he sought: The snuffing dogs are set at fault. His stomach banik'd, now hunger gnaws, Howling he grinds his empty jaws: Food must be had, and Lamb is nigh; His maw invokes the fraudful lie. Is this (dissembling rage, he cried) The gentle virtue of a bride? That, learn'd with man's destroying race, She sets her husband for the chace? By treach'ry prompts the noisy hound To scent his footsteps on the ground? Thou trait'ress vile! for this thy blood Shall glut my rage, and dye the wood!

So saying, on the Lamb he flies, Beneath his jaws the victim dies.

286. FABLE VII. The Goose and the Swans, HATE the face, however fair,

That carries an affected air;

The lisping tone, the shape constrain'd,
The studied look, the passion feign'd,
Are fopperies which only tend
To injure what they strive to mend.

With what superior grace enchants
The face, which nature's pencil paints!
Where eyes, unexercis'd in art,
Glow with the meaning of the heart!
Where freedom and good-humor sit,
And easy gaiety and wit!
Though perfect beauty be not there,
The master lines, the finish'd air,
We catch from ev'ry look delight,
And grow enamour'd at the sight:
For beauty, though we all approve,
Excites our wonder more than love;
While the agreeable strikes sure,
And gives the wounds we cannot cure,
Why then, my Amoret, this care,
That forms you, in effect, less fair?
If nature on your check bestows
A bloom that emulates the rose,
Or from some heavenly image drew
A form Apelles never knew,

You

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