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From the Rev. Thomas Warton's Address to the

present Queen on her Marriage. LO! this the land, whence Milton's Muse of fire High soar'd to steal from Heaven a Seraph's lyre ; . And told the golden ties of wedded love In facred Eden's amarantine grove.

From the description of night in the same Author's

Pleasures of Melancholy.
NOR then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My senses lead through flowery paths of joy;
But let the facred Genius of the night .
Such mystick visions fend, as Spenser saw,
When through bewildering Fancy's magick maze,
To the fell house of Bufyrane, he led
The unshaken Britomart; or Miltox knew,
When in abftracted thought he first conceiv'd
All Heaven in tumult, and the Seraphim
Came towering, arm'd in adamant and gold.

APART, and on a facred hill retir’d,
Beyond all mortal inspiration fir’d,
The mighty Milton fits :—An hoft around
Of listening Angels guard the holy ground;
Amaz’d they fee a human form aspire
To grasp with daring hand a Seraph's lyre,
Inly irradiate with celestial beams,
Attempt those high, thofe foul-lubduing themes,

(Which humbler denizens of Heaven decline,)
And celebrate, with fanctity divine,
The starry field from warring Angels won,
And God triumphant in his Victor Son.
Nor less the wonder, and the sweet delight,
His milder scenes and softer notes excite,
When, at his bidding, Eden's blooming grove
Breathes the rich sweets of Innocence and Love.
With such pure joy as our Forefather knew
When Raphael, heavenly guest, first met his view,
And our glad Sire, within his blissful bower,
Drank the pure converse of the ætherial Power,
Round the blest Bard his raptur'd audience throng,
And feel their souls imparadis'd in fong.

llayley's Effay on Epick Poetry, Epift. iii.


AGES elaps d ere Homer's lamp appear’d,
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard :
To carry Nature lengths unknown before,
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
Thus Genius rose and set at order'd tiines,
And thot a day-spring into diftant climes,
Ennobling every region that he chose;
He funk in Greece, in Italy he rose;
And, tedious years of Gothick darkness país'd,
Emerg'd all splendour in our ille at last.
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,
Then tho far off their shining plumes again.

CowPER’s Table Talk."

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From the fame Author's Task, B. iii.

- Philosophy, baptiz’d
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes indeed; and, viewing all she sees
As meant to indicate a God to man,

Learning has borne such fruit in other days
On all her branches : Piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike fage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine,
Milton, whose genius had angelick wings,
And fed on manna. And such thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais’d,

For fanctity of manners undefild.

AND Thou, with age oppress’d, beset with wrongs, And “fallen on evil days and evil tongues, 5. In darkness and with dangers compass’d round, What stars of joy thy night of anguish crown’d? What breath of vernal airs, or found of rill, Or haunt by Siloa's brook, or Sion's hill, Or light of Cherubim, the empyreal throne, The effulgent car, and inexpressive One? Alas, not thine the foretaste of thy praise; A dull oblivion wrapt thy mighty lays,

A while thy glory funk, in dread repose;

Then, with fresh vigour, like a giant rose, · And strode sublime, and pass’d, with generous rage, The feeble minions of a puny age.

From the Poetical Works of William

Preston, Esq. Dublin, 1793.

SEE! where the British Homer leads

The Epick choir of modern days;
Blind as the Grecian bard, he speeds

To realms unknown to Pagan lays
He fings no mortal war :-his strains
Describe no hero's amorous pains;

He chaunts the birth-day of the world,
The conflict of Angelick Powers,

The joys of Eden's peaceful bowers,
When fled the Infernal Host, to thundering Chaos hurld.
Yet, as this deathless song he breath’d,

He bath'd it with Affliction's tear; And to Pofterity bequeath'd

The cherishi'd hope to Nature dear. No grateful praise his labours cheer'd, No beam beneficent appear’d

To penetrate the chilling gloom ;Ah! what avails that Britain now With sculptur'd laurel deck his brow, And hangs the votive verse on his unconscious tomb!

From Poems and Plays by Mrs. West, 1799.

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