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I56 Prayer by M. de Voltaire. British

two of which covered and the is therefore supposed to have bereft supported it. In this depofi- longed to the Danes before their turn was found a great quantity of conversion to Christianity, snd to coals, ashes, and bones of men; have been built for fame of their some burnt, others half burnt. It nobility.

/ PRAYER, By M. de Voltaire. TranfatrJfrom bis Traitc fur la Tolerance, lately publijhtd.

NOT unto men, but unto thee the God of all beings, of all worlds, and of all age?, do I address myself; if feeble creatures, lost in the immensity, and imperceptible to the rest, of the universe, may presume to ask of thee any thing: of Thee who hast given\all, of Thee whose decrees fire unchangeable, as they are eternal. Condescend to look in pity on the errors which are inseparable from our nature, and let them not be to us the ground of calamities. Thou hast not given us hearts to hate one another, nor hands to cut one another's throats: Grant that we may mutually alTist one another to support the burden ps a painful and transitory life: let not the little differences between the vestments that cover our feeble bodies, between our defective languages, between our ridiculous customs, between our many imperfect laws, between our many foolish opinions, between our several conditions, so unequal in our eyes, and so equal in thine; let not the many Jittle distinctions that denote the several classes of atoms called men, be signals of hatred and persecution: May those who light up wax-tapers at noon-day to celebrate Thee, bear with those who are content with the

light of the sun thou hast placed in the firmament. Let not those who, to tell us we must love thee, cover their robe with white linen, hold in detellation those who tell us the fame thing in a cloak of black woollen. May it be the fame to adore thee in a jargon formed fiom an ancient language, or in a jargon more modern. May those whose vesture is dyed with red or with purple, who rule over a small parcel of a small heap os the mud of this earth, and who possess some rounded bits of a certain metal, enjoy without pride what they Call grandeur and riches; and may others behold them without envy: for thou knowest that in these vanities there is nothing to be envied, nothing to be proud of. May all men remember that they are brethren; may they abhor the tyranny that is exercised over the mind, as they execrate the violence that takes by force the fruit of labour and ^peaceful industry. If the scourge of war be necessary, let us not hate, let us not devour, one another in the midst of peace; but let us employ our momentary existence in blessing, equally in a thousand different languages, from Siam to California, thy goodness, which has given us this momentary existence.

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Mag. t »J7 1

Remarkable Instance of the surprising Resolution os a Canadian Chief, Front a new Work lately publijhei. N Iroquois captain, of the can- whole village, no body daring to approach a man that was more than half burnt, and whose blood flowed from all parts of his body.

A false step which he made in striving to shun a fire-brand that was thrown at him, left him once more to the mercy of his butchers; and I need not tell you that they made him pay dear for the fright he had just before put them in. After they were tired with tormenting him, they threw him into the midst of a great fire, and left him there, thinking it impossible for him ever to rise up again. They were deceived; when they least thought of it, they saw him, armed with fire-brands, run towards the village, as if he would set it on fire. All the people were struck with terror, and no person had the courage to stop him: but as he came near the first cabin, a stick that was thrown between his legs, threw him down, and they fell upon him before he could rise: they directly cut off his hands and feet, and then rolled him upon some burning coals; and lastly, they threw him under the trunk of a tree that was burning. Then all the village came round him to enjoy the pleasure of seeing him burn. The blood which flowed fjoin him almost extinguished the fire, and they were no longer afraid of his efforts: but yet he made one more which astonished the boldest: he crawled out upon his elbows and knees with a threatening look, and a stoutness which drove away the nearest ; more indeed from astonishment than fear r for what harm could he do them in this maimed condition? Some time after a Huron took him at an advantage, and cut off his head.

Postica!

ton of Onneyouth, chose rather to expose himself to every thing, than to disgrace himself by a flight, which he judged of dangerous consequence to the young people that were under his command. He fought a long time like a man who was resolved to die with his arms in his hands: but the Hurons, who opposed him, were resolve'd to take him alive, and he was taken. They made him get upon a sort of a stage, where they began to burn him all over the body without any mercy, and he appeared at first as unconcerned as if he felt nothing. They knew not any longer in what part they could make him feel pain; when one of his executioners cut the skin of his head all round, and pulled it off with great violence. The pain made him dvop down senseless; they thought him dead, and all the people went away i a little time after he recovered from his swoon; and seeing no person near him, he takes a fire brand in both his hands, though they were all over flayed and burnt, recalls his executioners, and defies them to approach him. They were affrighted at his resolution, they sent forth horrid cries, and armed themselves, some with burning siire-brands, others with red-hot irons, and fell upon him all together. He received them bravely, and made them retreat. The fire with which y>t was surrounded, served him for an intrenchmenr, and he made another with the ladders that had been used to get upon the scaffold; and being thus fortified in his own fuMral-pile, now become the theatre of his valour, and armed with the wliniments of his punishment, he ♦u for some time the terror of a

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ODE tc a SINGING-BIRD,

By tbc late Mr. Richardson, cf Queen'i College, Oxon.

f\ Thou that glad'st my lonesome hours "With many a wildly-warbled song, When Melancholy round me low'rs, And drives her sullen storms along:

When tell Adveinry prepares To lead her delegated train, Pale sickness, want, remorse, and pain, With all her lostof carking <-:ires,— 'lie fiends ordain'd to tame the human sou),

Ani give the humbled heart to sympathy's controul,

II.

Sweet soother of my misery, say,

Why dost thou clap thy joyous wing? Why dost theu pour that artless lay? How canst thou, little prisoner, sing.»

Hast thou not cause to grieve
That man, unpltying man, has rent
Viom thee the boon which nature meant
Thou should'st, as well as he, receive f
The power to woo thy pat tner in (lie
grove,

To build where instinct points; where
chance directs, to rove.
HI.

Perchance, unconscious of thy fate,

And to the woes of bondage blind,
Thou never long'st to jcin thy mate.
Nor wifhest to be unconfin'd;

Then how relentless he.
And fit for every soul offence,
Who could bereave such innocence

Of life's hell blessing, liberty!
Who Iur'd thee, guileful, to his treach-
erous snare,.
To live a tuneful slave, and dissipate his care.
IV.

But why for thee this fond complaint?

Above thy master thou art blest: Art thou not free?—Yes; calm Content, With olive sceptre s*ays thy breast:

Then deign with me to livei The falcon of insatiate maw, With hooked bill and griping claw, Shall ne'er thy destiny contrive: And every tabby foe shall mew in vain, While pensively demu:e she hears thy melting stiain.

V.

Nor shall the fiend, fell Famine, dare

Thy wiry tenement assail j
These, these shall be my constant care,
The limpid fount, and temperate meal.

And when the blooming spring
In chequer'd livery r>bcs the fields,
The fairest flowerets Nature yields,

To thee officious will I bring j
A garland rich thy dwelingfoalientwine,
And flora's freshest gifts, tt.rice happy bird,
be thine.

VI.

From drear Oblivion's glnomy cave

The powerful muse shall wrest thynama,

And bid thee live beyond the gnave,-—
This meed she knows thy merits claim j

- She knows thy liberal heart
Is ever ready to dispense
The tide of bland benevolence,

And melody's soft aid impait;
Is ready still to prompt the magic lay,
Which hushes all our griefs, and chatmt our
pains away.

VII.

Eie while when brooding o'er my soul,
Frown'd the black demons of despair,

Did not thy voice their power controul,
And oft suppress the rising tear?

If Fortune should be kind,
If e'er with affluence I'm bUst,
I'll often seek some friend distress'd,

And when the weeping wretch I find,
Then, tuneful moralist, I'll copy thee,

And solace all his woes with social sympathy.

Mr. WOODWARD'S PaoLocua,

Sunken at bis Benefit, en Tuesday tbt loth inf. at Cyvcnt-Carden Tbiatre, to a new Farceh called False Concord.

■IITITH due respect and gratitude I bend, "And thank, for every savour, everyfriend;

For candour to each effort I have made; For smiles which every effort have o'erpaid; Such kind indulgence let me still obtain, And Spite shall aim her venom'd darts in> vain!

What spite ?—what darts?—methir.kseach

hearer cries: Hast met with evil tongues ?—or evil eyes

Hast Mag.

Peethal Essays for MARCH, 1764.

Hist thou been sascinared, man? confess,
What could provoke th' attack?—why,

as I guess, A little too much undeserv'd success! For ibis—in truth I know no other cause, Has Malice lurk'd to rob me of qpplause! Hence, the vile charge hat labour'd to obtrude

A charge as false as foul—Ingratitude I
fiiberma's sons th' imagin'd insult feel, S
And judge with toxtjl, tho* mistaken zeal!
This grateful heart could never feel the crime
Towront, in tbmghe, that hospitable clime;
A simple prologue, on myself a sneer,
Made up of whim and mirth, and spoke last
year,

lit Prodigal return'd, was all I h'offence— lints site, I think, from maliceasfrom fense!

Could such a random lhaft a wound intend » "I've shot my arrow o'er the house, and

hurt my friend." [engage "Something too much of this," new scenes My hopes and tears, and call them to the

stage i—

Thrown on the parish—pity to bespeak— A teipltfs foundling, tender yet and weal?, Mewling and puking, sought my humble door,

And on the rags its name a label bore: 1 took it up—view'd well its air and face, And lik'd it—for it feem'd of English race. Some mike and fashion in the brat you'll see, [free; Too tight for French—too muscular, too Tien let your wonted charity now shed A kind of cradle-blessing on his head; M'® ft bin on bit feet—and, stronger grown, "extyear, perhaps, you'll fee him run alent.

% a YOUNG LADY,

JKOOM of beauty, early flow'r

Of the blissful bridal bow'r; "w, thy parents pride and F»irest offspring of the fair, •only pledge of mutual love; AnR«l seeming from above, *sr« it not, thou day by day "Oft thy very sex betray,

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When again the lambkins play,
Pretty fportling full of May,
When the meadows next are seen,
Sweet enamel! white and greon,
And the year, in fresh attire,
Welcomes every gay desire;
Blooming on, shalt thou appear
More inviting than the year.
Fairer sight than orchard shews,
Which beside a river blows.
Yet, another spring I see,
And a brighter bloom in thee;
And another round of time,
Circling, still improves thy prime j
And, beneath the vernal skies,
Yet a verdure more shall rise;
Ere thy beauties, kinaling lljw.
In each finilh'd feature glow;
Ere, in smiles and in disdain,
Thou exert thy maiden reign,
Absolute to save, cr kill,
Fond beholders, at thy will.

Then, the taper-moulded wast*
With a span of ribbon brae'd,
And the swell of either breast,
And the wide high-vaulted cher>,
And the neck so white and round,
Little neck with brilliants bound,
And the store of charms that shin*
Above, in lineaments divine,
Crowded in a narrow space,
To compleat the desperate face;
These alluring pow'rs, and more,
S'lall enamour'd youths adore;
These and more, in courtly lays,
Many an aking heart shall praise.

Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men.
Who, in courtship greatly sped,
Wins the damsel to his bed,
Bears the virgin-prize away,
Counting life one nuptial day!
For, the dark-brown dusk of hair,
Shadowing thick thy forehead fair,
Down the Veiny temples growing,
O'er the sloping shoulders flowing j
And the smoothly-pencil'd brow,
Milt) to him in every vow;
And the fringed lid below,
Thin as thinnest blossoms blow;
And the hazely-lucid eye,
Whence heart-winning glances fly j
And that cheek of health, o'er spread
With soft-blended white and red;
And the witching smiles, that break
Round those lips, which sweetly speak;
And thy gentleness of mind,
fttntle, from a gentle kind 1

Thrf i$0 Pot!:ca! EsSAVs for

These endowments (heavenly dow'r!)
Brought him, in the promis'd hour,
Shall lor ever b.nd him to (hee,
Shall renew him Hill to woo thee.

Hymn H lit CREATOR.

y"*Reator of the earth and skies!

Sustainer of the whole!
Which way soe'er I turn mine eyes
Thy goodness strikes my foul.

Man in thy love thou didst create,
And breath: in him thy breath;

For him thy son quit heavenly state,
Thy second self saw death.

For him the seasons come and go,

As, Lord! thou dost decree j
For him the various winds do blow,

Let loose, O God! by thee.

For him with stores replete's the land,

And the extensive sea,
Who oft to thy all-bounteous hand

Neglects e'en thanks to pay.

But thou art good, and canst forgive

His numerous frailties |
And tho' he sins, to's wants you giro

Relief before he cries.

Perfection! teach me to receive,
With thanks and humbleness,
The daily blessings which you give>
'And words cannot express.

Thy goodness reach'd me when I lay

An hidden embryo;
Th* enjoyment of the present day

To that alone 1 owe.

Thou art the rock that will not fait,

On which alone I'll build;
Thy words o'er me shall still prevail,

Thy words which honey yield.

Almighty parent! as by thee

I have a pow'r of voice,
Thy praise a theme shall ever be

The foremost in my choice.

When with the morn thy beauties rises
The fight my soul shall move,

To praise the god who f lads the skies,
And beams on all his love.

When Sol at noon displays thy pow'r,

I'll tell the gliding stream,
The hill, the vale, the shady bow'r,

Thou warm'it his every beams

MARCH, 1764. Brldsfe

At eve, when thy benignity

And mildness best are found, Loud hallelujahs unto thee

The vales (hall echo round.

And when retired is the day,

And Philomel doth raise
Her voice, I'll join the varied lay,

Till night doth catch thy praise.

P. Alley,

ODE to MARCH.

T IKE Jason, arm'd in coat of mail,
*-* Who nobly won the golden fleece,
Thro' heavy storms of wind and hail,
March on a ram triumphant rides,
A warlike month I averse to peace •
No longer now the soldier bides
In huts hybernal—>-o'er the plain,
Embattled fee the dread campaign!

Or on the flood, if war preside,

See Britain's bloody pennant fly 1 Her's is the ocean, free, as wide,

Where-e'er the sons of commerce fat), Where-e'er her canvas pinions ply Her floating citadels prevail O'er all the force of Gaul and Spain, Whose fleets no more usurp the main.

Spring bids the frozen rivers flow,

Knocks off their rigid bolts of Ice, And melts hugeAppenines of snow;

By starts the flattering beams of noon The linnet, or the lark, entice To sing a momentary tune; But quick and sodden shifts the scene, And gales tempestuous Intervene.

Scarce does the primrose shew her head,

Tho' eldest daughter of the spring, Nor dares the cowslip leave her bed, Affrighted at the northern blast, Who blights each blossom with his win;/ While the dun æther's overcast r Of violence how short the sway! 'Tis but the pageant of a day.—<

«

The gods take care of us below,
Indulgent are their gifts to all,
With hands unsparing, they bestow.
Impartial, air and son and rain,
To bless this sublunary ball,

And mingle pleasure with our pain j
Content is ever in our power,
And passes by us every hour.

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