But o'er the diadem, by Freedom's flame
Illum'd, the banner of renown unfurl'd :
Thus to his Hiero decreed,
'Mongft the bold chieftains of the Pythian game,
The brighteft verdure of Caftalia's bay;
And gave an ampler meed
Of Pifan palms, than in the field of Fame
Were wont to crown the car's victorious speed:
And hail'd his fcepter'd champion's patriot zeal,
Who mix'd the monarch's with the people's weal;
From civil plans who claim'd applaufe,
And train'd obedient realms to Spartan laws.
And He, fweet mafter of the Doric oat,
Theocritus, forfook awhile
The graces of his paftoral ifle,
The lowing vale, the bleating cote,
The clusters on the funny steep,
And Pan's own umbrage, dark and deep,
The caverns hung with ivy-twine,
The cliffs that wav'd with oak and pine,
And Etna's hoar romantic pile :
And caught the bold Homeric note,
In ftately founds exalting high
The reign of bounteous Ptolemy:
Like the plenty-teeming tide
Of his own Nile's redundant flood,
O'er the cheer'd nations, far and wide,
Diffufing opulence, and public good:
While in the richly-warbled lays
Was blended Berenice's name,
Pattern fair of female fame,
Softening with domestic life
Imperial fplendour's dazzling rays,
The queen, the mother, and the wife!
To deck with honour due this feftal day,
O for a ftrain from thefe fublimer bards!
Who free to grant, yet fearless to refuse
Their awful fuffrage, with impartial aim
Invok'd the jealous panegyric Mufe;
Nor, but to genuine worth's feverer claim,
Their proud diftinction deign'd to pay,
Stern arbiters of glory's bright awards!
For peerless bards like these alone,
The bards of Greece, might best adorn,
With feemly song, the Monarch's natal morn;
Who, thron'd in the magnificence of peace,
Rivals their richest regal theme:
Who rules a people like their own,
In arms, in polith'd arts fupreme;
Who bids his Britain vie with Greece.
Verfes, fuppofed to be written by ALEXANDER SELKIRK, during his folitary abode in the land of Juan Fernandez.
From Poems, by W. CowPER, Efq.
IAM monarch of all I furveyi
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the fea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O folitude! where are the charms
That fages have feen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
II.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the fweet mufic of speech,
I ftart at the found of my own.
The beafts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference fee,
They are fo unacquainted with man,
Their tamenefs is fhocking to me.
III.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
Oh had I the wings of a dove,
How foon wou'd I tafte you again!
My forrows I then might affuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth.
Religion what treasure untold
Refides in that heav'nly word!
More precious than filver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the found of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard,
Ne'er figh'd at the found of a knell,
Or fmil'd when a fabbath appear'd.
V.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this defolate fhore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I fhall vifit no more.
My friends, do they now and then fend
A with or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to fee.
VI.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compar'd with the fpeed of its flight,
The tempeft itfelf lags behind,
And the fwift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I feem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
Report of an adjudged Cafe not to be found in any of the Books,
ETWEEN Nofe and Eyes a ftrange contest arose,
The fpectacles fet them unhappily wrong;
The point in difpute was, as all the world knows,
To which the faid fpectacles ought to belong.
So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
With a great deal of fkill, and a wig full of learning,
While chief baron Ear fat to balance the laws,
So fam'd for his talent in nicely difcerning.
In behalf of the Nofe, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he faid, will undoubtedly find
That the Nofe has had fpectacles always in wear.
Which amounts to poffeffion time out of mind.
IV.
Then holding the fpectacles up to the court-
Your lordship obferves they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, in short,
Defign'd to fit clofe to it, just like a faddle.
Again, would your lordship a moment, fuppofe
('Tis a cafe that has happen'd, and may be again)
That the vifage or countenance had not a Nofe,
Pray who wou'd or who cou'd wear spectacles then?
VI.
On the whole it appears, and my argument fhews
With a reas'ning the court will never condemn,
That the fpectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nofe was as plainly intended for them.
Then fhifting his fide, as a lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes;
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wife.
VIII.
So his lordship decreed, with a grave folemn tone,
Decifive and clear without one if or but—
That whenever the Nofe put his fpectacles on,
By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should be shut.
The following elegant Ode (from the Gentleman's Magazine) is faid to be the production of a Gentleman well known in the political World, who has long been defervedly admired for the happiest vein of wit and humour, and is not lefs diftinguished by his various and extenfive knowledge in almost every branch of literature and fcience.·
HILST you illumine Shakespeare's page,
And dare the future critic's rage,
Or on the paft refine,
Here many an eve I penfive fit,
No Burke pours out a ftream of wit,
No Bofwell joys o'er wine.
At Baia's Spring, of Roman fame,
I quaff the pure æthereal flame,
To fire my languid blood:
Life's gladfome days, alas! are o'er,
For health's phlogiston now no more
Pervades the ftagnant flood.
Studious at times, I ftrive to fcan
Hope's airy dream,-the end of man,
In fyftems wife or odd;
With Hume, I Fate and Death defy,
Or vifionary phantoms spy
With Plato and Monbodd.
By metaphyfic whims diftrefs'd,
Still fceptic thoughts disturb my breast,
And reafon's out of tune:
One ferious truth let none impeach,
'Tis all philofophy can teach,-
That man's an air-balloon.
He rides the sport of every blaft,
Now on the wave, or defert caft,
And by the eddy borne:-
Can boafted Reason fteer him right,
Or e'er restrain his rapid flight,
By Paffion's whirlwind torn?
His mounting fpirit, buoyant air,
But waft him 'midft dark clouds of care,
And life's tempeftuous trouble;
Ev'n though he fhine, in fplendid dyes,
And fport a while in Fortune's skies,
Soon burfts the empty bubble.
While through this pathless waste we stray,
Are there no flowers to cheer the way?
And must we still repine?
No;-Heaven, in pity to our woes,
The gently-foothing balm beftows
Of Mufic, Love, and Wine.
Then bid your Delia wake the lyre,
Attun'd to Love and foft Defire,
And fcorn Ambition's ftrife;
Around let brilliant Fancy play,
To colour with her magic ray
The dreary gloom of life.
Let Beauty speed her fondest kiss,
The prelude to more perfect bliss,
And sweet sensations dart;
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