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Scent the new fragrance of the breathing rose,
And quaff the pendent vintage as it grows.
Proud of the yoke, and pliant to the rod,
Why yet does Asia dread a monarch's nod,
While European freedom still withstands
Th'encroaching tide that drowns her lessening
And sees far off with an indignant groan
Her native plains, and empires once her own?
Can opener skies and suns of fiercer flame
O’erpower the fire that animates our frame;
As lamps, that shed at eve a cheerful ray,
Fade and expire beneath the eye of day?
Need we the influence of the Northern star
To string our nerves and steel our hearts to war?
And, where the face of Nature laughs around,
Must sick’ning Virtue fly the tainted ground?
Unmanly thought! what seasons can controul,
What fancied zone can circumscribe the soul, - Who, conscious of the source from whence she
By Reason's light, on Resolution's wings,
Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes
O'er Lybia's deserts and throʻZembla's snows?
She bids each slumb’ring energy awake,
Another touch, another temper take,
Suspends the inferior laws that rule our clay :
The stubborn elements confess her sway;
Their little wants, their low desires, refine,
And raise the mortal to a height divine.
Not but the human fabric from the birth
Imbibes a flavour of its parent earth.
As various tracks enforce a various toil,
The manners speak the idiom of their soil.
An iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain,
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain :
For where unwearied sinews must be found
With side-long plough to quell the fiinty ground,
To turn the torrent's swift descending flood,
To brave the savage rushing from the wood,
What wonder, if, to patient valour train'd,
They guard with spirit what by strength they
And while their rocky rampart round they see,
The rough abode of want and liberty,
(As lawless force from confidence will grow)
Insult the plenty of the vales below?
What wonder, in the sultry climes, that spread
Where Nile redundant o'er his summer-bed
From his broad bosom life and verdure flings,
And broods o'er Ægypt with his wat’ry wings,
If with advent’rous oar and ready sail The dusky people drive before the gale ; Or on frail floats to neighb'ring cities ride, That rise and glitter o'er the ambient tide
* * * * * * * * *
THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST.
IN vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,
And redd’ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire : These ears, alas! for other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require: My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine:
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men : The fields to all their wonted tribute bear:
To warm their little loves the birds complain : I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain,
 Only Son of Lord Chancellor West, of Ireland.
[This Lady, the Wife of Dr. Clarke, Physician at
Epsom, died April 27, 1757 ; and is buried in the Church of Beckenham, Kent.]
LO! where this silent marble weeps,
A Friend, a Wife, a Mother sleeps :
A Heart, within whose sacred cell
The peaceful Virtues lov’d to dwell.
Affection warm, and Faith sincere,
And soft Humanity were there.
In agony, in death resign'd,
She felt the Wound she left behind.
Her infant Image here below
Sits smiling on a Father's woe :
Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A Pang, to secret sorrow dear;
A Sigh ; an unavailing Tear;
Till Time shall ev'ry grief remove,
With Life, with Memory, and with Love.