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URORA, now, fair daughter of the dawn,
Sprinkled with rofy light the dewy lawn;
When Jove conven'd the fenate of the skies,
Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arife.
The fire of gods his awful filence broke:
The heav'ns, attentive, trembled as he spoke.
"Celestial states! immortal gods! give ear:
Hear our decree; and rev'rence what ye hear:
The fix'd decree, which not all heav'n can move :
Thou, Fate! fulfil it; and ye, Pow'rs! approve.-
What god fhall enter yon forbidden field?
Who yields affiftance, or but wills to yield,
Back to the fkies, with fhame, he shall be driv'n,
Gafh'd with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heav'n :
Or, from our facred hill, with fury thrown
Deep, in the dark Tartarean gulph fhall groan;
With burning chains fix'd to the brazen floors,
And lock'd by hell's inexorable doors;
As deep beneath th' infernal center hurl'd,
As from that center to th' etherial world..
Let each, fubmiffive, dread those dire abodes,
Nor tempt the vengeance of the God of gods.
League all your forces, then, ye pow'rs above:
Your ftrength unite, against the might of Jove.
Let down our golden everlasting chain,

Whofe ftrong embrace holds heav'n, and earth, and main.
Strive, all, of mortal and immortal birth,

To drag by this the thund'rer down to earth.



Ye ftrive in vain. If I but ftretch this hand,
I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land.
I fix the chain to great Olympus' height,.
And the vast world hangs trembling in my fight.
For fuch I reign unbounded, and above;
And fuch are men, and gods, compar'd to Jove."





most remote:



And inacceffible by fhepherds trod,
In a deed cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring fwains.
Auftere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the fhepherd's alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd
With reverence and pity. Mild he spake.
And, entering on difcourfe, fuch stories told,
As made me oft revifit his fad cell.
For he had been a foldier in his youth;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against th' ufurping infidel display'd

The bleffed cross, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire
His fpeech ftruck from me, the old man would fhake
His years away, and at his young encounters.


Then, having fhewn his wounds, he'd fit him down,
And, all the live-long day, difcourfe of war.
To help my fancy, in the finooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hofts ;
Defcrib'd the motions, and explain'd the ufe,
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line,
The fquare, the crefcent, and the phalanx firm:
For, all that Saracen or Chriftian knew
Of war's vaft art, was to this hermit known.




YOUNG Celadon,

Y And his Amelia, were a matchlefs pair; With equal virtue form'd, and equal grace; The fame, diftinguish'd by their fex alone: Hers, the mild luftre of the blooming morn; And his, the radiance of the rifen day.



THEY lov'd. But fuch their guilelefs paffion, was, As, in the dawn of time, inform'd the heart Of innocence, and undiffembling truth. 'Twas friendship, heighten'd by the mutual wish: Th' enchanting hope, and fympathetic glow, Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all To love, each was to each a dearer felf; Supremely happy, in th' awaken'd power Of giving joy. Alone, amid the fhades, Still, in harmonious intercourfe, they liv'd The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart; Or figh'd, and look'd, unutterable things.

So pafs'd their life; a clear united stream, By care unruffled; till, in evil hour, The tempeft caught them on the tender walk, Heedlefs how far, and where its mazes ftray'd, While, with each other bleft, creative love Still bade eternal Eden fmile around. Heavy with instant fate, her bofom heav'd Unwonted fighs; and, ftealing oft a look Tow'rds the big gloom, on Celadon her eye Fell tearful, wetting her diforder'd cheek. In vain, affuring love, and confidence In heaven, reprefs'd her fear; it grew, and fhook Her frame near diffolution. He perceiv'd Th' unequal conflict; and, as angels look On dying faints, his eyes compaffion shed, With love illumin'd high. "Fear not," he said, "Sweet innocence! thou ftranger to offence, "And inward ftorm! He, who yon skies involves "In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee "With kind regard. O'er thee, the secret shaft, "That wastes at midnight, or th' undreaded hour "Of noon, flies harmless: and that very voice, "Which thunders terror through the guilty heart, "With tongues of feraphs, whispers peace to thine. ""Tis fafety to be near thee, fure, and thus "To clafp perfection !"-From his void embrace, (Mysterious heaven!) that moment to the ground, A blacken'd corfe, was ftruck the beauteous maid. But who can paint the lover, as he stood, Pierc'd by fevere amazement; hating life; Speechlefs; and fix'd in all the death of woe!

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T the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is ftill,
And mortals the fweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought, but the torrent is heard on the hill;
And nought, but the nightingale's fong, in the grove:
'Twas then, by the cave of the mountain afar,
A hermit his fong of the night thus began;
No more with himself, or with nature, at war,
He thought as a fage, while he felt as a man.

"Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe, 66 Why thus, lonely Philomel, flow thy fad ftrain? "For fpring fhall return, and a lover bestow, "And thy bofom no trace of misfortune retain. "Yet, if pity infpire thee, ah! cease not thy lay; "Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn "O! foothe him, whofe pleasures, like thine, pafs away "Full quickly they pafs-but they never return.

"Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
"The moon, half extinguish'd, her crefcent displays:
"But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high
"She fhone, and the planets were loft in her blaze.
"Roll on, thou fair orb! and, with gladness, pursue
"The path that conducts thee to fplendor again—
"But man's faded glory no change shall renew:
"Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain.

"Tis night; and the landscape is lovely no more.


1 mourn; but, ye woodlands! I mourn not for you: "For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, "Perfum❜d with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.


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