HORACE's ODE to THALIARCHUS, by Anna Seward.
Ν dazzling whitenefs, lo, Soracte towers,
As all the mountain were one heap of snow ; Rush from the loaded woods the glitt'ring fhow'rs— The froft-bound waters can no longer flow!
Let plenteous billets on the glowing hearth'
Diffolve the ice-dart ere it reach thy veins;
Bring mellow wines, to prompt convivial mirth-
Nor heed th' arrefted ftreams or flipp'ry plains!
High heav'n, refiftlefs in his varied fway,
Speaks!-The wild elements contend no more; Nor then, from raging feas, the foamy spray Climbs the dark rock, or curls upon the shore!
And peaceful then yon aged afh fhall ftand,
In 'breathlefs calm the dufky Cypress rife :
To-morrow's deftiny the gods command;
To-day is thine-enjoy it, and be wise.
Youth's radiant tide too fwiftly rolls away!—
Now, in its flow, let pleasures round thee bloom;
Join the gay dance, awake the melting lay
Ere hoary treffes blossom for the tomb!
Spears, and the fteed, in bufy camps impel;
And, when the early darkness veils the grove,
Amid the leaflefs boughs let whispers steal,
While frolic beauty feeks the near alcove.
Soft as thy tip-toe ftep the mazes rove:
A laugh half-fmother'd thy pleas'd ear shall meet,
And sportive in the charming wiles of love,
Betray the artifice of coy retreat!
And then the ring, or from her snowy arm
The promis'd bracelet, may thy force employ:
Her feign'd reluctance, height'ning ev'ry charm,
Shall add new value to the ravifh'd toy!
A PERSIAN KING to his SON; from a Profe Tranflation in Sir William Jones's Effay on the Poetry of the Eastern Nations.
YUARD thou, my fon, the helplefs and the poor;
Nor in the chains of thine own indolence
Slumber enervate, while the joys of fenfe
Engrofs thee, and thou fay'st-" Í ask no more."
Wife men the fhepherd's lumber will deplore,
When the rapacious wolf has leap'd the fence-
And ranges through the fold! My fon, difpenfe
Thofe laws that juftice to the wrong'd restore.
The common-weal fhould be the first purfuit
Of the crown'd warrior; for the royal brows
The people firft enwreath'd-they are the root,
The King the tree. Aloft he fpreads his boughs
Glorious: but learn, impetuous youth, at length,
Trees from the root alone derive their strength.
VERSES on his own BIRTH-DAY, written by the Hon. Charles James Fox, addressed to a Lady.
F years I have now half a century paft,
And none of the fifty fo blefs'd as the laft,
How it happens my troubles thus daily fhould cease,
And my happiness ftill with my years should increase,
In defiance of Nature's more general laws
You alone can explain, who alone are the cause.
A NEGRO SONG; from an Event that occurred in Mr. Mungo Park's Travels in Africa. The Words by the Duchefs of Devonshire.
HE loud wind roar'd, the rain fell fast,
The white man yielded to the blast:
He fat him down, beneath our tree,
For weary, fad, and faint, was he;
And ah, no wife, or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare.
The white man fhall our pity fhare;
Alas, no wife or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare.
The form is o'er, the tempeft paft;
And Mercy's voice has hufh'd the blaft,
The wind is heard in whispers low;
The white man far away muft go;—
But ever in his heart will bear
Remembrance of the negro's care,
Go, white man, go;-but with thee bear
The negro's wish, the negro's pray'r;
Remembrance of the negro's care."
EPILOGUE to the Play of PIZARRO; written by the Hon. Mr. Lambe.
RE yet suspense has still'd its throbbing fear,
Or melancholy wip'd the graceful tear,
"While e'en the m series of a finking state,
"A monarch's danger and a nation's fate,
"Command not now your eyes with grief to flow,
"Loft in a trembling mother's nearer woe;"
What moral lay fhall poetry rehearse,
Or how fhall elocution pour the verfe
So fweetly, that its mufic fhall repay
The lov'd illufion which it drives away?
Mine is the task, to rigid cuftom due,
To me ungrateful, as 'tis harfh to you,
To mar the work the tragic fcene has wrought,
To roufe the mind that broods in penfive thought,
To scare reflection, which in abfent dreams
Still lingers mufing on the recent themes,
"Attention, ere with contemplation tir'd,
"To turn from all that pleas'd, from all that fir'd,
"To weaken leffons ftrongly now impreft,
"And chill the intereft glowing in the breast-
"Mine is the tafk; and be it mine to spare
"The fouls that pant the griefs they fee to share;"
Let me with no unhallow'd jeft deride
The figh that fweet compaffion owns with pride
The figh of comfort, to Affliction dear,
That Kindness heaves, and Virtue loves to hear.
Thalia will not now refufe
E'en gay
This gentle homage to her fifter-muse.
O! ye, who liften to the plaintive strain,
With ftrange enjoyment, and with rapturous pain,
Who 'erft have felt the Stranger's lone defpair,
And Haller's fettled, fad, remorfeful care,
Does Rolla's pure affection lefs excite
The inexpreffive anguish of delight?
Do Cora's fears, which beat without controul,
With lefs folicitude engrofs the foul?
Ah, no! your minds with kindred zeal approve
Maternal feeling, and heroic love.
"You must approve ;-where man exists below,
"In temperate climes, or midft drear waftes of fnow,
"Or where the folar fires inceffant flame,
"Thy laws, all-powerful Nature, are the fame-
"Vainly the fophift boafts he can explain
"The caufes of thy univerfal reign
"More vainly would his vain prefumptuous art,
"Difprove thy general empire o'er the heart."
A voice proclaims thee, that we must believe,
A voice that furely fpeaks not to deceive;
That voice poor Cora heard, and closely preft
Her darling infant to her fearful breaft;"
Distracted dared the bloody field to tread,
And fought Alonzo through the heaps of dead,
"Eager to catch the mufic of his breath,
"Though faultering in the agonies of death,
"To touch his lips, though pale and cold, once more,
"And clafp his bofom, though it ftream with gore;"
That voice too Rolla heard, and, greatly brave,
His Cora's deareft treasure died to fave,
Gave to the hopeless parent's arms her child,
Beheld her tranfports and expiring fmil'd.
That voice ye hear-O! be its will obey'd,
'Tis Valour's impulfe, as 'tis Virtue's aid-
It prompts to all benevolence admires,
To all that heav'nly piety infpires,
To all that praife repeats through lengthen'd years,
That honour fantifies, and time reveres,
N. B. For the Prologue to
Pizarro, we refer our readers to the first
thirty lines of that to the " Miniature Picture" which we gave in our
Register for the year 1780.
SONG in PIZARRO, Sung by Mrs. Jordan, in the character of Cora: the Words by Mr. Sheridan.
O'er his pale corfe then while thy lightnings glare,
I'll prefs his clay cold lips and perish there.
On yon green bed of mofs there lies my child,
O fafer lies from these chill'd arms apart;
He fleeps, sweet lamb, nor heeds the tempeft wild,
O fweeter fleeps than near this breaking heart!
Alas, my babe, if thou would't peaceful reft,
Thy cradle muft not be thy mother's breast;
Yet thou will't wake again my boy
Again thoul't rife to life and joy,
Thy Father never!
Thy laughing eyes will meet the light,
Unconscious that eternal night
Veils his for ever!
PIZARRO: An excellent New Song.
SI walk'd through the Strand fo careless and gay
I met a young girl who was wheeling a barrow:
Choice fruit, fir," faid fhe-" and a bill of the play?”
So my apples I bought, and fet off for Pizarro.
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