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P. 42. That moly cannot cure.
Mercury is said to have presented moly to
Ulysses to preserve him from the charins of
Circe. Homer's Odyss. Lib. x.

Thus while he spoke, the sovereign plant he drew,
Where on th' all-bearing Earth unmark'd it grew.
And show'd its Nature and its wondrous pow'r;
Black was the root, but milky white the flow'r:
Moly the name.

Pope. Laudatissima herbarum est Homero, quam vocari a diis putat moly, & inventionem ejus Mercurio assignat, contraque summa veneficia demonstrat, &c. Plinius, Lib. xxv. c. 4.

P. 43. From Phalaris's bull, &c. Amongst several instruments of torment that Phalaris caused to be contrived, there was a bull of brass, in which people being cast, and a fire placed under it, they bellowed like oxen. Perillus the artist, demanding a great reward for his invention, was put in it himself to try the first experiment. Upon which Pliny makes this goodnatured reflection: Perillum nemo laudat, sæviorem Phalaride tyranno, qui taurum fecit, mugitus hominis pollicitus, igne subdito, & primus eum expertus cruciatum justiore sævitia, &c. Plinius, Lib. xxxiv. c. 8.

P. 43.

deceiv'd Ixion's void embrace.

Ixion being invited to dine with Jupiter fell in love with Juno, and endeavoured to debauch her, who acquainted her husband. He to try Ixion formed a cloud into Juno's likeness, upon which he satisfied his lust. Hygini Fab. Diador. vi. &c.

P. 43. Orinda.

Mrs. K. Philips, styled the matchless Orinda. See her poems in folio. Cowley has two odes upon her, in the 2d vol. of his works, 8vo.

P. 43. Blooming Killigrew's soft lay. See her poems in 4to. Mr. Dryden celebrates her death in an excellent ode. See his works, vol. 3d, folio, p. 186. See likewise Wood's Athena Oxon. vol. 2d.

P. 43. Loyola. Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits; against whom Mr. Oldham writ those satires, which are the best of his works.

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THE fair, the bright, the great, alas! are fall'n,
Nipt in the bloom of beauty, wit, and youth,
Death's undistinguish'd prey. Shall I complain
(When such th' establish'd ordinance of Heav'n)
If Sickness at my bosom lay the siege?
A worm to them! and to their light a shade,
Ungilded with one beam, which melted down
The tear fast-trickling o'er their honour'd tombs:
We all must die! Our every pulse that beats,
Beats toward eternity, and tolls our doom.

Fate reigns in all the portions of the year. The fruits of Autumn feed us for disease; The Winter's raw inclemencies bestow Disease on Death; while Spring, to strew our herse, Kindly unbosoms, weeping in their dews, Her flow'ry race! and Summer (kinder still) With the green turf and brambles binds our graves. But am I wake? or in Ovidian realms, And Circè holds the glass? What odious change What metamorphose strikes the dubious eye?" Ah, whither is retir'd the scarlet wave, [cheek, Mantling with health, which floated through the From the strong summer-beam imbib'd? And The forehead roughens to the wond'ring hand. The vernal lily's softly-blended bloom? [where Wide o'er the human-field, the body, spreads Contagious war, and lays its beauties waste. As once thy breathing harvest, Cadmus, sprung Sudden, a serpent-brood! an armed crop Of growing chiefs, and fought themselves to death. One black-incrusted bark of gory boils, One undistinguish'd blister, from the sole Of the sore foot, to the head's sorer crown. P. 43. And bless'd the English angel as he pass'd-Job's punishment! With patience like his own, At Bolognia he went by the name of L'Angelo Inglese. The same compliment seems to have been paid by that people to our great Milton in his travels, as we learn by this epigram of a learned Italian nobleman in the 2d volume of Milton's poetical works:

P. 43. Bononia fatal to our hopes. Bolognia a city in Italy, the first school of the Lombard painters, and a famous university, -Parvique Bononia Rheni. Silius Ital. Lib. viii.

Ut mens, forma, decor, facies, mos, si pietas sic,
Non Anglus, verum berc'le Angelus, ipse, fores.

P. 44. O lamented youth, &c.

O may I exercise my wounded soul,
And cast myself upon his healing hand,
Who bruiseth at his will, and maketh whole.

Ah, too, the lustre of the eyes is fled!
Heavy and dull, their orbs neglect to roll,
In motionless distortion stiff and fix'd;
Till by the trembling band of watchful age
(A weeping matron, timorous to affright,
And piously fallacious in her care,
Pretending light offensive, and the Sun)
Clos'd; and, perhaps, for ever! ne'er again

To open on the sphere, to drink the day,
Or (worse!) behold Ianthe's face divine,
And wonder o'er her charms.-But yet forbear,
O dare not murmur; 'tis Heav'n's high behest:
Tho' darkness through the chambers of the grave
This dust pursue, and death's sad shade involve,
Ere long, the Filial light himself shall shine;
(The stars are dust to him, the Sun a shade)
These very eyes, these tunicles of flesh,
Ev'n tho' by worms destroy'd, shall see my God,
And, seeing, ne'er remember darkness more,
Environ'd with eternity of day.

Tho', at their visual entrance, quite shut out
External forms, forbidden, mount the winds,
Retire to chaos, or with night commix;
Yet, Fancy's mimic work, ten thousand shapes,
Antic and wild, rush sweeping o'er my dreams,
Irregular and new; as pain or ease

The spirits teach to flow, and in the brain
Direction diverse hold: gentle and bright
As hermits, sleeping in their mossy cells,
Lull'd by the fall of waters! by the rills
From Heliconian cliffs devolv'd; or where,
Thy ancient river, Kishon, sacred stream!
Soft murmurs on their slumbers: peace within,
And conscience, ev'n to ecstasy sublim'd
And beatific vision. Sudden, black,
And horrible as murderers; or hags,

Their lease of years spun out, and bloody bond
Full-flashing on their eyes, the gulf, beneath,
Mad'ning with gloomy fires; and Heav'n, behind,
With all her golden valves for ever clos'd.

Now in Elysium lap'd, and lovely scenes,
Where honeysuckles rove, and eglantines,
Narcissus, jess'min, pinks, profusely wild,
In every scented gale Arabia breathe:
As blissful Eden fair; the morning-work
Of Heav'n and Milton's theme! where Innocence
Smil'd, and improv'd the prospect.--Now, anon,
By Isis' favourite flood supinely laid,
In tuneful indolence, behold the bards
(Harps in each hand, and laurel on each brow)
A band of demi-gods, august to sight,
In venerable order sweetly rise,

(The Muses sparkling round them) who have trod
In measur'd pace its banks, for ever green,
Enamell'd from their feet! harmonious notes,
Warbled to Doric reeds, to Lesbian lyres,
Or Phrygian minstrelsie, steal on the ear
Enamour'd with variety: and loud
The trumpets shrilling clangours fill the sky
With silver melody-now, happier still!
Round thy Italic cloisters, musing slow,
Or in sweet converse with thy letter'd sons,
Philosophers, and poets, and divines,
Enjoy the sacred walk, delighted, Queen's!
Where Addison and Tickell lay inspir'd,
Inebriated from the classic springs,

And tun'd to various-sounding harps the song,
Sublime, or tender, humorous, or grave,
Quaffing the Muses' nectar to their fill.
Where Smith in hoary reverence presides,
(Crown'd with the snow of Virtue for the skies)
With graceful gravity, and gentle sway;
With perfect peace encircled and esteem.
Whose mild and bright benevolence of soul,
By reason cool, and by religion warm,
And generous passion for the college-weal,

1 Queen's-college, in Oxford.

More than a Muse inspire.-Momental bliss!
For sudden rapt, the midnight howl of wolves,
The dragon's yell, the lion's roar, astound
My trembling ear. Ha! down a burning mount
I plunge deep, deep: sure Vulcan's shop is here-
Hark, how the anvils thunder round the dens
Flammivomous! What? are those chains to bind
This skeleton! the Cyclops must be mad :
Those bolts of steel, those adamantine links
Demand Typhæus' strength to burst.-Away-
Venus and Mars-beware.-In giddy whirls
I ride the blast, and tow'ring through the storm
Enjoy the palace of the Morn. The Sun
Resigns the reins of Phlegon to my hands:
His mane waves fire: he scorches me to dust:
Avaunt, thou fiend!—I'll hurl thee down the deep
Of Heav'n, with bolted thunder, and enwrapt
With forky light'ning.-Now staggering I reel,
By murderers pursu'd: my faithless feet
Scarce shift their pace: or down rushing amain,
I cease to recollect my steps, and roll
Passive on earth.-Sure, 'twas Astolpho's horn
Pour'd on my ear th' annoying blast: at which,
Rogero trembled, Bradamant grew pale,

And into air dissolv'd th' enchanted dome.

Now starting from this wilderness of dreams, I wake from fancy'd into real woe. Pain empties all her vials on my head, And steeps me o'er and o'er. Th' envenom'd shirt Of Hercules enwraps my burning limbs With dragon's blood: I rave and roar like him, Writhing in agony. Devouring fires Eat up the marrow, frying in my bones. O whither, whither shall I turn for aid?— Methinks a seraph whispers in my ears, Pouring ambrosia on them, "Turn to God; So peace shall be thy pillow, ease thy bed, And night of sorrow brighten. into noon. Let the young cherub Patience, bright-ey'd Hope, And rosy-finger'd Pray'r, combining hold A sure dominion in thy purpos'd mind, Unconquer'd by affliction."-I receive The mandate as from Heav'n itself.-Expand Thyself, my soul, and let them enter in.

Come, smiling angel, Patience, from thy seat;
Whether the widow's cot, or hermit's cell,
By fasting strong, and potent from distress;
Or midnight-student's taper-glimmering roof,
Unwearied with revolving tedious tomes,
O come, thou panacea of the mind!
The manna of the soul! to every taste
Grateful alike: the universal balm
To sickness, pain, and misery below.

She comes! she comes! she dissipates the gloom;
My eyes she opens, and new scenes unfolds
(Like Moses' bush, tho' burning, not consum'd)
Scenes full of splendour, miracle, and God.
Behold, my soul, the martyr-army, who
With holy blood the violence of fire
Quench'd, and with ling'ring constancy fatigu'd
The persecuting flame: or nobly stopp'd
The lion's mouth, and triumph'd in his jaws.
Hark, how the virgin white-rob'd-tender train
Chant hallelujahs to the rack; as dear
And pleasing to the ear of God, as hymns
Of angels on the resurrection-morn,
When all the host of Heaven Hosanna sing!
Yet further; lift thy eyes upon the cross,

A bleeding Saviour view, a dying God!
Earth trembles, rend the rocks, creation groans:

The Sun, asham'd, extinguishes the day:
All Nature suffers with her suffering Lord.
Amidst this war of elements, serene,

And as the sun-shine brow of Patience, calm,
He dies without a groan, and smiles in death.
Shall martyrs, virgins, nay, thy Saviour bleed
To teach thee patience; and yet bleed in vain?
Forbid it, Reason; and forbid it, Heav'n.
No; suffer: and, in suffering, rejoice.
Patience endureth all, and hopeth all.

Hope is her daughter then. Let Hope distill
Her cordial spirit, as Hybla-honey sweet,
And healing as the drops of Gilead-balm.
Cease to repine, as those who have no hope;
Nor let despair approach thy darkest hour.
Despair! that triple-death! th' imperial plague!
Th' exterminating angel of th' accurst,
And sole disease of which the damn'd are sick,
Kindling a fever hotter than their Hell-
O pluck me from Despair, white-handed Hope!
O interpose thy spear and silver shield
Betwixt my bosom and the fiend! detrude
This impious monster to primeval Hell;
To its own dark domain: but light my soul,
Imp'd with thy glittering wings, to scenes of joy,
To health and life, for health and life are thine:
And fire imagination with the skies.

But whence this confidence of hope! In thee,
And in thy blood, my Jesus! (Bow, O Earth!
Heav'n bends beneath the name, and all its sons,
The Hierarchy! drop low the prostrate knee,
And sink, in humble wise, upon the stars.)
Yes, on thy blood and name my hope depends.
My hope? nay, worlds on worlds depend on thee;
Live in thy death, from thy sepulchre rise.
Thy influential vigour reinspires

This feeble frame; dispells the shade of death;
And bids me throw myself on God in prayer.

A Christian soul is God's beloved house;
And pray'r the incense which perfumes the soul:
Let armies then of supplications rise,
Besiege the golden gates of Heav'n, and force,
With holy violence, a blessing down
In living streams. If Hezekiah's pray'r
The Sun arrested in his prone career,
And bade the shadow ten degrees return
On Ahaz-dial, whirling back the day:
Pour out thyself, my soul! with fervent zeal,
With over-flowing ardour, and with faith
Unwav'ring. To assist me, and to swell
My fainting spirits to sublime desires,
Wou'd Taylor2 from his starry throne descend,
How fear wou'd brighten! by his sacred aid,
To live were happiness, and gain to die.-
No: let him still adorn his starry throne,
Well-merited by labours so divine:
For, lo! the man of God, and friend of man,
Theron, the purest breast, and warmest heart,
Flies on the wings of charity and love
To join me in the saving-task, and raise
My weaker pow'rs with his abundant zeal;
Pure, sweet, and glowing as the incens'd fires,
Of, Solomon, thy golden-altar, fann'd
By wings of cherubims into a flame;
Till on the skies the aromatic gale
In pyramids of fragrance softly stole,
A grateful offering to the throne of Grace.
Still, tho' I feel these succours from the skies,

2 Bishop Jeremy Taylor,

In operation mighty! still remain
Inferior aids behind: terrestrial stores
Medicinal: the instruments of God.
For God created the physician! God
Himself on Earth, our great physician! spread
O'er sick and weak, shadowing, his healing wings:
Each miracle a cure!-Before Disease,
Offspring of Sin, infested human-kind,
In Paradise, the vegetable seeds

Sprung from their Maker's hand, invigorate-strong
With medicine. He foresaw our future ills;
Foreseeing, he provided ample cure;
Fossils, and simples: Solomon, thy theme,
Nature's historian; wisest of the wise!
Tho' Paradise be lost, the tree of life

In med'cine blooms; then pluck its healing fruits,
And with thanksgiving eat; and, eating, live.
Ev'n pagan wisdom bade her sons adore,
As one, the god of physic and the day,
Fountain of vegetation and of life,
Apollo, ever blooming, ever young,
And from his art immortal! Thus, of yore,
The prime of human race from Heav'n deduc'd
The bright original of physic's pow'r:
And, nor unjustly, deem'd that he who sav'd
Millions from death, himself should never die.

An instrument of various pipes and tubes,
Veins, arteries, and sinews, organiz'd,
Man, when in healthy tune, harmonious wakes
The breath of melody, in vocal praise,
Delighting Earth and Heav'n! discordant, oft,
As accident, or time, or fate prevail,
This human-organ scarce the bellows heaves
Of vital-respiration; or in pain,
With 'pauses sad: what art divine shall tune
To order and refit this shatter'd frame?
What finger's touch into a voice again?
Or music re-inspire? Who, but the race
Of Pean? who but physic's saving sons?
A Ratcliff, Frewin, Metcalf or a Friend?-
But something yet, beyond the kindly skill
Of Paan's sons, disease, like mine, demands;
Nepenthe to the soul, as well as life.

O for a mother's watchful tenderness,
And father's venerable care!-But they,
In life immortal, gather endless joys,
Reward of charity, of innocence,

Of pleasing manners, and a life unblam'd!
The tears of poverty and friendship oft
Their modest tombs bedew, where Eden's flood,
(Ituna 'clep'd by bards of old renown,
Purpled with Saxon and with British blood)
Laves the sweet vale, that first my prattling muse
Provok'd to numbers, broken as the ruins

Of Roman towers which deck its lofty banks,
And shine more beauteous by decay.-But hark!
What music glads my ear? 'Tis Theron's voice,
Theron a father, mother; both, a friend!-
Pain flies before his animating touch:
The gentle pressure of his cordial hand,
A burning mountain from my bosom heaves!
What wonders, sacred Friendship, flow from thee!
One period from a friend enlivens more,
Than all Hippocrates and Galen's tomes,
Than all the med'cines they unfold.
Myself renew'd! not only health, but youth,
Rolls the brisk tide, and sparkles at my heart:
As the live-atoms of Campanian wines
Dance in the virgin crystal, and o'erlook
With glorifying foam the nectar'd brim;

1 feel

Smiling, and lending smiles to social wit,
The jocund hearth, and hospitable board.

Friendship is a religion, from the first

The second-best: it points, like that, to Heav'n,
And almost antidates, on Earth, its bliss.
But Vice and Folly never Friendship knew;
Whilst Wisdom grows by Friendship still more
wise.

Her fetters, are a strong defence; her chains,
A robe of glory; Ophir gold, her bands;
And he who wears them, wears a crown of joy.
Friendship's the steel, which struck emits the
sparks

Of candour, peace, benevolence, and zeal;
Spreading their glowing seeds-a holy fire
Where honour beams on honour, truth on truth;
Bright as the eyes of angels and as pure.
An altar whence two gentle-loving hearts
Mount to the skies in one conspiring blaze
And spotless union. 'Tis the nectar-stream
Which feeds and elevates seraphic love-
Health is disease, life death, without a friend.

A horn, in which if he do once but blow, The noise thereof shall trouble men so sore, That all both stout and faint shall fly therefro, So strange a noise was never heard before. Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, translated by sir John Harrington, b. xv. st. 10. With this horn Astolpho affrighted the Amazons. See book xx. st. 60, &c. and even Rogero, Bradamant, &c. in dissolving the enchanted palace, b. xxii. st. 18, &c. Drives away the harpies from Senapo, b. xxxiii. st. 114, &c.

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NOTES AND ALLUSIONS.

Page 46. As once thy breathing harvest, Cadmus,

sprung.

Cadmus is reported by the poets to have slain a monstrous serpent in Boeotia, at the command of Minerva, and sowed its teeth in a field, which produced an host of armed soldiers; who, fight

ing, slew one another. See Ovid. Met. 1. iii. Suidas, Pausanias, &c. It is said, that he sowed serpents teeth, and that soldiers in armour sprung up from them; because, as Bochart observes, in the Phoenician language, to express men armed with brazen darts and spears of brass, they made use of words, which might be translated" armèd with the teeth of a serpent."

P. 46. Yet Fancy's mimic works, &c.

The following lines upon delirious dreams may appear very extravagant to a reader, who never experienced the disorders which sickness causes in the brain; but the author thinks that he has rather softened than exaggerated the real description, as he found them operate on his own imagination at that time.

P. 46. From Hiconian cliffs devolv'd, &c. Sir G. Wheeler, in his voyages, has given a very beautiful description of an hermitage on the borders of Mount Helicon, belonging to the convent of Saint Luke the hermit, not the evangelist, called Stiriotes, from his dwelling in those deserts. See Wheeler's Journey into Greece, fol. b. iv. p. 325.

P. 46. Warbled to Doric reeds, &c.

Those different instruments are designed to express the several parts of poetry, to which they were adapted, viz. pastoral, ode, heroic, &c.

P. 46. Hark, how the anvils, &c.

See Hom. Ilias, b. xviii. Virg. Æn. b. viii.
P. 46.
Astolpho's horn,

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SWIFT, too, thy tale is told: a sound, a name,
No more than Lucian, Butler, or Scarron.
Fantastic humour dropp'd the feeling sense,
Her empire less'ning by his fall. The shades
Of frolic Rabelais, and him of Spain,
Madrid's facetious glory, join his ghost;
Triumvirate of Laughter!-Mirth is mad;
The loudest languishing into a sigh:
And Laughter shakes itself into decay.

"Lord! what is man?" the prophet well might ask;

We all may ask, "Lord! what is mortal man?"
So changeable his being, with himself

Dissimilar; the rainbow of an hour!
A change of colours, transient through his life,
Brightens or languishes ;-then fades to air,
Ev'n ere an artful spider spins a line
Of metaphysic texture, man's thin thread
Of life is broken: how analogous
Their parallel of lines! slight, subtle, vain.
Man, in a little bour's contracted round
Perplexes reason: now to triumph swell'd,
To joyous exultations, to a blaze
Of ecstasy; and now depress'd, again,
And drooping into scenes of death and woe.

That sudden flow of spirits, bright and strong,
Which play'd in sprightly sallies round my heart;
Was it a gleam, forewarning me from Heav'n,
Of quick-approaching fate? As tapers mount
Expiring into wide-diffusive flame,

Give one broad glare, into the socket sink,
And sinking disappear.-It must be so!—
The soul, prophetic of its voyage, descry'd
The blissful shore, exulting on the wing,
In a glad flutter: then, o'erwhelm'd with joy,
She warn'd her old companion of her flight,
(The feeble tenement of mould'ring clay)
Who sadden'd at their parting.-Yes,-I feel
Thy leaden hand, O Death! it presses hard,
It weighs the faculties of motion down,
Inactive as the foot of a dull rock,

And drags me to thy dusty chains: the wheels
Of life are fast'ned to the grave, nor whirl,
Longer, the fiery chariot on.
The war,

The struggle for eternity begins.
Eternity! illimitable, vast,

Incomprehensible! for Heav'n and Hell,
Within her universal womb, profound,

Are center'd.-Sleep or death are on my heart:
Swims heavily my brain:-My senses reel.

What scenes disclose themselves! What fields
of joy!

What rivers of delight! What golden bow'rs!
Sweetly oppress'd with beatific views,

I hear angelic-instruments, I see
Primeval ardours, and essential forms;
The sons of light, but of created light,
All energy, the diligence of God!

Might I but join thein! Lend your glitt'ring wings,
Waft me, O quickly waft me to yon crown,
Bright with the flaming roses of the zone
Sidereal gracious, they, beck'ning, smile,
They smile me to the skies! Hope leads the way
Mounting I spring to seize!-What fury shakes
Her fiery sword, and intercepts the stars?
Ha! Amartia? Conscience, Conscience sends
Her griesly form, to blast me at my end.
Behold! she points to burning rocks, to waves
Sulphureous, molten lead, and boiling gulphs,
Tempestuous with everlasting fire.-
"Tis horrible!-O save me from myself!—
O save me, Jesu!-Ha! a burst of light
Blends me with the empyreum's azure tide,
While Faith, triumphant, swells the trump of God,
And shouting, "Where's thy victory, O Grave?
And where, Ŏ Death, thy sting?" I see her spread
Her saving banner o'er my soul (the cross!)
And call it to its peers. Thick crowds of day,
Immaculate, involve me in their streams,
And bathe my spirit, whiten'd for the sky.
While on this isthmus of my fate I lie,
Jutting into eternity's wide sea,
And leaning on this habitable globe,
The verge of either world! dubious of life,
Dubious, alike, of death; to Mercy thus,
Inspirited with supplicating zeal,

My guardian-angel rais'd his potent pray'r.
(For angels minister to man, intent
On offices of gentleness and love.)

"Hear, Mercy! sweetest daughter of the skies, Thou loveliest image of thy father's face,

Thou blessed fount, whence grace and goodness flow,

Auspicious, hear! extend thy helping arm,
With pitying readiness, with willing aid,

VOL. XV.

O lift thy servant from the vale of death,
Now groveling in the dust, into the fields
Of comfort, and the pastures green of health.
Hear, Mercy, sweetest daughter of the skies
If e'er thy servant to the poor his soul
Drew out, and taught the fatherless to sing;
If e'er by pity warm'd, and not by pride,
He cloth'd the naked, and the hungry fed;
If e'er distress, and misery, forlorn,
Deceiv'd his cheek, and stole his untaught tear,
An humble drop of thy celestial dew!
Hear, Mercy, sweetest daughter of the skies.

"Sprung from the bosom of eternal bliss,
Thy goodness reaches farther than the grave;
And near the gates of Hell extends thy sway,
Omnipotent! All, save the cursed crew
Infernal, and the black-rebellious host
Of Lucifer, within thy sweet domain
Feed on ambrosia, and may hope the stars.
Hear, Mercy, sweetest daughter of the skies.
By the, the great physician from the bed
Of darkness call'd the sick, the blind, the lame;
He burst the grave's relentless bars by thee,
And spoke the dead to life and bloom again.
His miracles, thy work; their glory, thine:
Then, O thou dearest attribute of God!
Thy saving health to this thy servant lend!
Hear, Mercy, sweetest daughter of the skies!"

Inclin'd upon a dewy-skirted cloud Purpled with light, and dropping fatness down, Plenty and bliss on man, with looks as mild As ev'ning suns (when flow'ry-footed May Leads on the jocund Hours, when Love himself Flutters in green) effusing heart-felt joy Abundant, Mercy shone with sober grace, And majesty at once with sweetness mix'd Ineffable. A rainbow o'er her head, The covenant of God, betok'ning peace 'Twixt Heav'n and Earth, its florid arch display'd, High-bended by th' Almighty's glorious hand; The languish of the dove upon her eyes In placid radiance melted, from the throne Of Grace infus'd and fed with light: her smiles Expansive cheer'd the undetermin'd tracks Of all creation, from th' ethereal cope, August with moving fires, down to the shades Infernal, and the reign of darkness drear. Ev'n men refine to angels from her gaze, Gracious, invigorating, full of Heav'n!

This daughter of the Lamb, to fervent pray'rs And intercession, opes her ready ear, Compassionate; and to Hygeia thus:

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'Hygeia, hie thee to the well of life; There dip thy fingers; touch bis head and breast; Three drops into his mouth infuse, unseen, Save by the eye of Faith: he yonder lies→→ Descend, and take the ev'ning's western wing."

She said. Hygeia bow'd; and bowing, fill'd The circumambient air with od'rous streams, Pure essence of ambrosia! Not the breath Of Lebanon, from ce-lar alleys blown, Of Lebanon, with aromatic gales Luxuriant, spikenard, aloes, myrrh and balm; Nor the wise eastern monarch's garden vy'd In fragrance, when his fair Circassian spouse, Enamour'd, call'd upon the south to fan Its beds of spices, and her bosom cool, Panting with languishment and love-sick fires. Forth from th' eternal throne the wll of life, Pouring its crystal, laves the streets of God,

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