SPEECH of the CHORUS in the fame Tragedy, to diffuade Medea from her purpose of putting her Children to death, and flying for protection to Athens.

HAGGARD queen! to Athens doft thou guide Thy glowing chariot, fteep'd in kindred gore; Or feek to hide thy damned parricide

Where Peace and Mercy dwell for evermore?

The land where Truth, pure, precious, and fublime, 5 Woos the deep filence of fequefter'd bowers,

And warriors, matchlefs fince the first of Time,

Rear their bright banners o'er unconquer'd towers!

Where joyous youth, to Mufic's mellow ftrain,

Twines in the dance with Nymphs for ever fair, While Spring eternal, on the lilied plain,

Waves amber radiance through the fields of air!

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The tuneful Nine, fo facred legends tell,

First wak'd their heavenly lyre thefe fcenes among;

Still in your greenwood bowers they love to dwell; 15 Still in your vales they fwell the choral fong!

For there the tuneful, chafte, Pierian fair,

The guardian nymphs of green Parnaffus, now Sprung from Harmonia, while her graceful hair

Wav'd in bright auburn o'er her polish'd brow!

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ANTISTROPHE I.

Where filent vales, and glades of green array,

The murm'ring wreaths of cool Cephifus lave, There, as the muse hath fung, at noon of day, The Queen of Beauty bow'd to taste the wave!

And bleft the ftream, and breath'd across the land, 25 The soft sweet gale that fans yon fummer bowers; And there the fifter Loves, a fmiling band,

Crown'd with the fragrant wreaths of rofy flowers!

"And go, (fhe cries) in yonder valleys rove,

With Beauty's torch the folemn fcenes illume;

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Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love,

Breathe on each cheek young Paffion's tender bloom!

Entwine, with myrtle chains, your soft controul,
To fway the hearts of Freedom's darling kind!
With glowing charms enrapture Wisdom's foul,
And mould to grace ethereal Virtue's mind."

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STROPHE II.

The land where Heaven's own hallow'd waters play,

Where Friendship binds the generous and the good, Say, fhall it hail thee from thy frantic way,

Unholy woman! with thy hands embrued

In thine own children's gore ?-oh! ere they bleed,

Let Nature's voice thy ruthlefs heart appal!

Paufe at the bold, irrevocable deed—

The mother ftrikes-the guiltlefs babes fhall fall !

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