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I wept, to fee the vifionary man ;

And, whilft my trance continu'd, thus began.,

"O light of Trojans, and fupport of Troy ! "Thy father's champion, and thy country's joy! "O, long expected by thy friends! from whence "Art thou, fo late, return'd to our defence ? "Alas! what wounds are these? what new disgrace "Deforms the manly honours of thy face?"

THE spectre, groaning from his inmost breast, This warning in these mournful words, exprefs'd. "HASTE, goddess-born! Escape, by timely flight, "The flames and horrors of this fatal night. "The foes, already, have poffefs'd our wall ; "Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall. "Enough is paid to Priam's royal name,

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Enough to country, and to deathless fame.

If, by a mortal arm, my father's throne

Could have been fav'd-this arm the feat had done.
Troy, now, commends to thee her future state,

"And gives her gods companions of thy fate.
"Under their umbrage, hope for happier walls,
"And follow where thy various fortune calls."
He faid; and brought, from forth the facred choir,
The gods, and relics of th' inmortal fire.

Now, peals of fhouts came thund'ring from afar,
Cries, threats, and loud lament, and mingled war.
The noife approaches, though our palace ftood
Aloof from streets, embofom'd clofe with wood.
Louder, and louder ftill, I hear th' alarms
Of human cries diftin&t, and clashing arms.
With frenzy feized, I run to meet th' alarms,
Refolv'd on death, refolv'd to die in arms.
But, firft, to gather friends, with whom t' oppose,
If fortune favour'd, and repel the foes;


By courage rous'd, by love of country fir'd,
With fense of honour, and revenge, infpir'd.

PANTHEUS, Apollo's priest, a facred name, Had 'fcap'd the Grecian fwords, and pafs'd the flame, With relics loaded, to my doors he fled,

And, by the hand, his tender grandfon led."What hope, O Pantheus! whither can we run? "Where make a stand? or, what may yet be done?” Scarce had I fpoke, when Pantheus, with a groan,

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Troy-is no more !-Her glories, now, are gone. "The fatal day, th' appointed hour, is come, "When wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom "Transfers the Trojan ftate to Grecian hands: "Our city's wrapt in flames: the foe commands. "To fev'ral pofts, their parties they divide: "Some block the narrow streets; fome fcour the wide: "The bold, they kill; th' unwary, they furprize; "Who fights, meets death; and death finds him, who "Alies."




UT, now, the crackling flames appear on high,
And driving fparkles dance along the sky:
With dreadful rage, the rifing winds confpire,
And, near our palace, roll the flood of fire.
"Hafte, my dear father, here no longer wait,

But load my fhoulders with a willing freight :
"Whate'er befals, your life shall be my care;
"One death, or one deliverance, we will fhare:


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My hand fhall lead our little fon-and you,
My faithful confort, fhall our steps purfue."
Thus having faid, with trembling steps we stray,
Through every dark and every devious way.
1, who fo bold and dauntless just before,
The Grecian darts and fhocks of lances bore,
At every fhadow, now, am feized with fear;
Not for myself, but for the load I bear.





HIS is the place, the centre of the grove.


Here ftands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
How fweet, and folenin, is this midnight fcene t
The filver moon, unclouded, holds her way

Thro' fkies, where I could count each little far:
The fanning weft wind, fcarcely ftirs the leaves;
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed,
Impofes filence with a ftilly found.

In fuch a place as this, at fuch an hour,
If ancestry can be in qught believed,
Defcending spirits have convers'd with man,
And told the fecrets of the world unknown.

EVENTFUL day! how hast thou chang'd my state!
Once, on the cold and winter shaded fide
Of a bleak hill, mifchance had rooted me:
Tranfplanted, now, to the gay funny vale,

Like the green thorn of May, my fortune flowers.Ye glorious ftars! high heaven's refplendent hoft! To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,


Hear, and record, my foul's unalter'd wish!
Dead, or alive, let me but be renown'd!
May heav'n infpire fome fierce gigantic Dane,
To give a bold defiance to our host !

Before he speaks it out, I will accept :
Like Douglas, conquer; or, like Douglas, die.








FONOUR, and fhame, from no condition rife:
well your part; there all the honour lies.

Fortune, in men, has fome fmall difference made :

One flaunts in rags; one Autters in brocade :
The cobler apron'd, and the parfon gown'd;

The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.

"What differ more," you cry," than crown and cow!!" I'll tell you, friend !-a wife man and a fool.

You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,

Or, cobler-like, the parfon will be drunk,

Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow :
The reft is all but leather or prunella.

BOAST the pure blood of an illuftrious race,
In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece :
But, by your father's worth, if your's you rate,
Count me thofe only, who were good and great.
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood,

crept thro' fcoundrels ever fince the flood;
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own, your fathers have been fools fo long.


What can ennoble fots, or flaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Look next on greatness. Say, where greatness lies.
"Where, but among the heroes and the wife?"
Heroes are much the fame, the point's agreed,
From Macedonian's madman to the Swede:
The whole ftrange purpose of their lives, to find
Or make an enemy of all mankind !

Not one looks backward; onward ftill he goes:
Yet ne'er looks forward-further than his nose.
No lefs alike the politic and wife:

All fly flow things, with circumfpective eyes.
Men, in their loose unguarded hours, they take:
Not that themselves are wife, but others weak.
But, grant that thofe can conquer, thefe can cheat:
'Tis phrafe abfurd, to call a villain great.
Who wickedly is wife, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
Who, noble ends, by noble means, obtains ;
Or, failing, files in exile, or in chains;
Like good Aurelius, let him reign; or bleed,
Like Socrates; that man is great indeed.

WHAT'S fame a fancy'd life in others breath:
A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.
All fame is foreign, but of true defert ;

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart:
One felf-approving hour whole years out-weighs
Of stupid ftarers, and of loud huzzas:
And more true joy, Marcellus, exil❜d, feels,
Than Cæfar, with a fenate at his heels.

IN parts fuperior, what advantage lies?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wife?
'Tis but to know how little can be known;
To fee all other faults, and feel our own;


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