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Near to the dome a magick pair refide,

Prompt to deceive, and practis'd to confound; Here hoodwink'd Ignorance is feen to bide, Stretching in dark fome cave along the ground. No object e'er awakes his ftupid eyes,

Nor voice articulate arrefts his ears,

Save when beneath the moon pale fpectres rife,
And haunt his foul with visionary fears;
Or when hoarfe winds incavern'd murmur round,
And babbling echo wakes, and iterates the found.


Where boughs entwining form an artful fhade,
And in faint glimm'rings juft admit the light,
There Error fits in borrow'd white array'd,

And in Truth's form deceives the tranfient fight.
A thousand glories wait her op'ning day,

Her beaming luftre when fair Truth imparts:
Thus Error would pour forth a spurious ray,

And cheat the unpractis'd mind with mimick arts;
She cleaves with magick wand the liquid fkies,
Bids airy forms appear, and fcenes fantastick rife.


A porter deaf, decrepid, old, and blind,
Sits at the gate, and lifts a lib'ral bowl
With wine of wond'rous pow'r to lull the mind,
And check each vig'rous effort of the foul:
Who'er un'wares fhall ply his thirsty lip,
And drink in gulps the lufcious liquor down,

Shall hapless from the cup delufion fip,
And objects fee in features not their own.

Each way-worn traveller that hither came,

He lav'd with copious draughts, and Prejudice his name.

VI. Within


Within a various race are seen to wonne,
Props of her age, and pillars of her state,
Which erst were nurtur'd by the wither'd crone,
And born to Tyranny, her grifly mate:
The first appear'd in pomp of purple pride,
With triple crown erect, and throned high;
Two golden keys hang dangling by his fide,
To lock or ope the portals of the sky;
Crouching and proftrate there (ah! fight unmeet!)
The crowned head would bow, and lick his dusty feet.


With bended arm he on a book reclin'd,

Faft lock'd with iron clafps from vulgar eyes;
Heav'n's gracious gift to light the wand'ring mind,
To lift fall'n man, and guide him to the skies!
A man no more, a god he would be thought,
And 'mazed mortals blindly must obey;
With flight of hand he lying wonders wrought,

And near him loathsome heaps of reliques lay :
Strange legends would he read, and figments dire
Of Limbus' prifon'd fhades, and purgatory fire.


There meagre Penance fate, in fackcloth clad,
And to his breaft clofe hugg'd the viper, Sin;
Yet oft, with brandish'd whip would gaul, as mad,
With voluntary ftripes his fhrivell'd skin.
Counting large heaps of o'er-abounding good
Of faints that dy'd within the church's pale,
With gentler afpect there Indulgence ftood,

And to the needy culprit would retail;

There too, ftrange merchandize! he pardons fold,

And treason would abfolve, and murder purge with gold!

IX. With


With fhaven crown, in a fequefter'd cell,
A lazy lubbard there was feen to lay ;
No work had he, fave fome few beads to tell,
And indolently fnore the hours away.
The nameless joys that bless the nuptial bed,

The mystick rites of Hymen's hallow'd tye,
Impure he deems, and from them starts with dread,
As crimes of fouleft ftain, the deepest dye:
No focial hopes hath he, no focial fears,
But spends in lethargy devout the ling'ring years.


Gnashing his teeth in mood of furious ire,
Fierce Perfecution fate, and with strong breath
Wakes into living flame large heaps of fire,
And feafts on murders, maffacres, and death.
Near him was plac'd Procruftes' iron bed

To ftretch or mangle to a certain fize :

To fee their writhing pains each heart must bleed,
To hear their doleful fhrieks and piercing cries;
Yet he beholds them with unmoiften'd eye,
Their writhing pains his fport, their moans his melody.


A gradual light diffufing o'er the gloom,
And flow approaching with majestick pace,
A lovely maid appears in beauty's bloom,
With native charms and unaffected grace :
Her hand a clear reflecting mirrour shows,

In which all objects their true features wear;
And on her cheek a blush indignant glows

To see the horrid forc'ries practis'd there :
She fnatch'd the volume from the tyrant's rage,
Unlock'd it's iron clafps, and op'd the heav'nly page.

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My name is Truth, and you, each holy feer,
That all my steps with ardent gaze pursue,
Unveil,' fhe faid, the facred myft'ries here,
• Give the celestial boon to publick view.
Tho' blatant Obloquy, with lep'rous mouth,

• Shall blot your fame, and blaft the generous deed,
Yet in revolving years fome lib'ral youth


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• Shall crown your virtuous act with glory's meed Your names adorn'd in Gilpin's polish'd page • With each hiftorick grace, fhall fhine thro' ev'ry age!


With furious hate, tho' fierce relentless pow'r

• Exert of torment all her horrid skill;

Tho' your lives meet too foon the fatal hour,

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Scorching in flames, or writhing on the wheel;

Yet when the dragon + in the deep abyfs

• Shall lie, fast bound in adamantine chain,
Ye with the Lamb fhall rife to ceaseless blifs,

• First-fruits of death, and partners of his reign;
Then fhall repay the momentary tear,

The great fabbatick reft, the Millennary Year!'

* The Rev. Mr. William Gilpin, author of the Lives of Bernard Gilpin and Bishop Latimer, and of the Lives of Wickliffe and the principal of his followers.

† See Rev. chap. xx. and the learned and ingenious Bishop of Bristol's comment upon it, in the third volume of his Differtation on the Prophecies.




UNNOTTER's ruin'd pride, and falling towers,

DI fing, Walker and the fong is yours.

With you I wander'd o'er the mofs-grown domes;
Still o'er the scene with you my fancy roams;
Still the idea rifes to my view,

With gloomy grandeur, pleasure ever new!
The rolling main, the rock's ftupendous height,
A ftriking profpect! fwim before my fight.
In flowing verfe now be the fcene display'd,
Mufe, Fancy, Memory, I crave your aid!
High on a rock, projecting from the land,
The caftle ftood, and ftill it's ruins ftand;
Wide o'er the German main the profpect bent,
Steep is the path, and rugged the afcent;
And when with labour climb'd the narrow way,
Long founding-vaults receive you from the day.
There hung the huge port-cullis, there the bar,
Drawn on the iron-gate, defy'd the war.

Ah, great Dunnotter! once of strength the feat!
Once deem'd impregnable! thou yield'ft to Fate!
Nor rocks, nor fis, nor arms, thy gates defend ;
Thy pride is fallen, thy ancient glories end!
Up from the gate we climb the flipp'ry way,
Still falling turrets, mould'ring towers, furvey;
The walls and caves with various mofs o'ergrown,
And threat'ning nods on high the loofen'd ftone.
Slowly we mount, thro' broken arches creep,
And gain at last the fummit of the steep;

The Bev. Mr. Walker, minifter of the parish of Dunnotter.


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