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Thus the great 7ULUS ceas'd to Live,

Thro' vanquish'd Worlds his Eagles bore; Tlus clos’d his Famc, when Fate cou'd give,

And his bright Sword command no more.

With Smiles he views the glittring Blade,

In that great Moment fond to Die; BV ben ROME beheld her Hero's Shade

But mount the fairer up the Sky.

What pensiye Muse, now THOU art fled,

Shall o'er * Pharsalia's Warriors niourti, Whose Voice lament the Pious Dead,

And kindly weep o'er POMPEI's Urn?

Whose soft relenting Verse shall twell

Each Roman Heart with conscious Woe ; Her Genius fled, ROME's Sorrow tell,

And CÆSAR dying o'er his Foe?

Round his great Rival's awful Head

He views a Glory still survive; 4 Sighing that Fame and Virtue dead

He cou'd not own, or scorn'd alive!

* Tbe Excellent Transation of Lucan by Mr. Rowe.

+ Cæsar is reported by the Poet to bave wept, men Pom Pey's Head was brougbt to bim in Ægypto


Nor mingling with the God-like Hoft,
Who at Pbilippi greatly fell ;

Each Roman thanks thy pious Ghoft,

That sung his Arms, and Fate fo well.

The Fields of Death once more to stain,

What future Hero will refuse?
Or Dying, dread One Moment's Pain,

To Live for ever in thy Muse?

But far, o ! far before the rest,

Great CATO does his Arm extend ? And in his Smiles his Love confest,

Adores thy Shade, and calls THEE Friend.

Well pleas’d, with every Grace adorn'd,

So like his own, a-mind to see !
And the great Homage which He scorn'd
TO CÆSAR's Sword, He pays to THEE.

New Transport does his Breast dilate,

Within his Soul new Passions rise ; To view Rome's Wounds, and POMPET's Fate; So kindly wept by ENGLIH Eyes.

While taught by Tbee, Britannia's Isle

His Hero's Fall relenting views;
He seems beneath his Wounds to smile,
And CÆSAR's self at lalt subdues.


Africk's rich Desarts in thy Strains,

Ennoble with the Patriot's Doom; Excel the flow'ry Latain Plains,

And LIBIA triumphs oyer ROME.

Wore grateful Sons to moan the Brave,

Despairing in thy Mufe are seen; Hiding each faithful Warrior's Grave

With friendly Tears, and blooming Green.

In Words like thine, had they a Choice

Once more aboye their Fate to try, Thus, with their last expiring Voice,

Wou'd each lament his Rome, and Die.

Surprize or Joy alike to yield,

Thy various artful Muse was made; To dress the Warrior for the Field,

Or paint the Lover in his Shade.

Now in the


Chace of Fame,
With some brave Chief you upward Ay;
Now fink, and teach some Virgin Name

In refrer Numbers how to Die !

Those Forms, which to our wondring Mind

Thy Fancy paints, new Glories wear : While Love and Friendship seem more kind,

And Beauty's fell appears more Fair.

Such Such Force, fair Virtue does impart,

By Thee presented to our View ;
It moves and melts each stubborn Heart,

Her Brightnefs cannot quite fubdue.

While drest in Angels purest Light,

Her smiling Image does appear Pleasing, as Beauty to the Sight,

Or Mufick to the ravith'd Ear..

Wou'd she once inore her Skies forsáke,

What other Features cou'd she chuse? What fairer Form the Goddess take

To bless Mankind, than from thy Muse?


Transported then with fond Surprize,

The lovely Guest we thou’d'adore; And wonder how our partial Eyes

Refus'd to own such Grace before!

Till viewing those deceiving Charms

Each Breast subdue, we all agree, That Power which thus our Soul difarms,

Was not her own, but lent by Thee,

Greatness no more, with all her Train,

The Virtuous Mind Mall now begile ;. By I bee instructed to disdain,

When Glory calls, the Syren's Smilea

C 3.

No more * Renown and fpecious Fame,

Shall strive Ambition's Rage to hide Nor Honour be a treach'rous Name,

To Shade the Tyrant's guilty Pride.

The Brave and Generous Breast to awe,

The Honest Upright Heart to gain ; The Coward's Hand his Sword thall drew,

The Courtier's Smiles be try'd in vain.

Against that Dread thy Scenes unfold,

To arm our Breasts in yáin we try; Soon as the Tragick Tale is told,

We Melt, We Languill, and We Dye.

The Soul a while her Ground maintains,

Each Death resolving co deride; But when the Captive tells her Painsy

That Softness owns, Dae Atroys to hide...

To view her Rage direct the Dart,

Wakes in our Breaft a kind Surprize ; Speaking the Frailty of our Heart,

By the soft Streams that fill our Eyeso

* See Monf. Bruyere's Charaders or Manners of the Age, publisis from the French by Mr. Rowe.


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