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“ To these devouring flames, yet warn'd me not; “Or faintly warn'd me, and with languid tone, “ And cool harangue, denounc'd eternal fire, “ And wrath divine!"Atthe dread shocking thought My spirit shudders, all my inmost soul Trembles and shrinks. Sure, if the plaintive crics Of spirits reprobate can reach the ear Of their great Judge, they must be cries like these. But if the meanest of that happy choir, That with eternal symphonies surround The heavenly throne, can stand, and thus declare, * I owe it to his care that I am here, * Next to Almighty grace: his faithful hand,
Regardless of the frowns he might incur, “ Snatch'd me, reluctant, from approaching flames,
Ready to catch, and burn unquenchable. “ May richest grace reward his pious zeal “ With some bright mansion in this world of bliss!" Transporting thought! Then blessed be the hand That form'd my elenrental clay to man, And still supports me! 'Tis worth while to live, If I may live to purposes so grea Awake, my dormant zeal! for ever flame With gen'rous ardour for immortal souls; And may my head, and tongue, and heart, and all, Spend and be spent in service so divine !
WHERE proud Augusta, blest with long repose,
Thus, when in some fair human form we find The lusts all rampant, and the reason-blind, Griev'd we behold such beauty giv'nin vain, And nature's fairest work survey with pain,
Within the chambers which this dome contains,
ms, and just informs the listless frame.
Frolic and free, he laughs at fortune's pow'r,
Now ent'ring in, my Muse, thy theme pursue, And all the dome, and each apartment view.
Within this lonely lodge, in solemn port, A shiv'ring monarch keeps his awful court; And far and wide, as boundless thought cair stray, Extends a vast imaginary sway. Utopian princes bow before his throne, Lands unexisting his dominion own, And airy realms, and regions in the moon. The pride of dignity, the pomp of state, The darling glories of the envy'd great, Rise to his view, and in his fancy swell, And guards and courtiers crowd his empty cell. See how he walks majestic through the throng; (Behind he trails his tatter'd robes along) And cheaply blest, and innocently vain, Enjoys the dear delusion of his brain; In this small spot expatiates unconfin'd, Supreme of monarchs, first of human kind,
Such joyful. extasy as this possest, On some triumphal day, great Cæsar's breast; Great Cæsar, scarce beneath the gods ador'd, The world's proud victor, Rome's imperial lord,
With all his glories in their utmost height,
Poor Cloe--whom yon little cell contains, Of broken vows and faithless man complains; Her heaving bosom speaks her inward woe; Her tears in melancholy silence flow. Yet still her fond desires tumultuous rise, Melt her sad soul, and languish in her eyes, And form her wild ideas as they rove, To all the tender images of love; And still she soothes and feeds the fatt'ring pain, False as he is, still, still she loves her swain; :