Meantime, Ambition, on his rival's flight, Sole lord of man, attain'd his wish's height; Of all dependence on his subjects eas'd, He rag'd without a curb, and did whate'er he pleas'd; As some wild flame, driven on by furious winds, Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds; So rush'd the fiend destructive o'er the plain, Defac'd the labours of the industrious swain; Polluted every stream with human gore, And scatter'd plagues and death from shore to shore. Great Jove beheld it from the Olympian towers. Where sate assembled all the heavenly powers; Then with a nod that shook the empyrean throne, Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun : "You see, immortal inmates of the skies, How this vile wretch almighty power defies; His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt, Demand a torment equal to his guilt. Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly; There let him choose his sharpest, hottest dart, And with his former rival wound his heart. And thou, my son, (the god to Hermes said,) Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head; Dart through the yielding air with all thy force, And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course; There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave, Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave; Command her to secure the sacred bound, Where lives Content retir'd, and all around

Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night,
And screen the virgin from the tyrant's sight;
That the vain purpose of his life may try

Still to

He

explore, what still eludes his eye."

spoke;

loud praises shake the bright abode,

And all applaud the justice of the god.

THE POET: A RHAPSODY.21

Of all the various lots around the ball, Which fate to man distributes, absolute; Avert, ye gods! that of the Muse's son, Curs'd with dire poverty! poor hungry wretch! What shall he do for life? he cannot work With manual labour: shall those sacred hands, That brought the counsels of the gods to light; Shall that inspired tongue, which every Muse Has touch'd divine, to charm the sons of men; These hallow'd organs! these! be prostitute To the vile service of some fool in power, AT 1 his behests submissive to perform, Howe'er to him ingrateful? Oh! he scorns The ignoble thought; with generous disdain, Moe eligible deeming it to starve, Like his fam'd ancestors renown'd in verse, Than poorly bend to be another's slave,Than feed and fatten in obscurity.

These are his firm resolves, which fate, nor time,
Nor poverty can shake. Exalted high
In garret vile he lives; with remnants hung
Of tapestry. But oh! precarious state

Of this vain transient world! all-powerful time,
What dost thou not subdue? See what a chasm

Gapes wide, tremendous! see where Saul, enrag'd
High on his throne, encompass'd by his guards,
With levell'd spear, and arm extended, sits,
Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son,
Spoil'd of his nose!-around in tottering ranks,
On shelves pulverulent, majestic stands
His library; in ragged plight, and old;
Replete with many a load of criticism,
Elaborate products of the midnight toil

Of Belgian brains; snatch'd from the deadly hands
Of murderous grocer, or the careful wight,
Who vends the plant, that clads the happy shore
Of Indian Patomack; which citizens

In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot
Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose
Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate.
Elsewhere the dome is fill'd with various heaps
Of old domestic lumber: that huge chair
Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne;
Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread
With ink and pens, and scrolls replete with rhyme;
Chests, stools, old razors, fractur'd jars, half full
Of muddy Zythum, sour and spiritless;
Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils

Of various fashion, and of various use,
With friendly influence hide the sable floor.
This is the bard's museum, this the fane
To Phoebus sacred, and the Aonian maids:
But oh! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate
To him in such small measure should dispense
Her better gifts to him! whose generous soul
Could relish, with as fine an elegance,

The golden joys of grandeur and of wealth;
He who could tyrannize o'er menial slaves,
Or swell beneath a coronet of state,
Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien
Grand as the haughtiest Timon of them all.
But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny.

Here he must rest and brook the best he can,
To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit;
Immured amongst the ignoble, vulgar herd,
Of lowest intellect; whose stupid souls
But half inform their bodies; brains of lead
And tongues of thunder; whose insensate breasts
Ne'er felt the rapturous, soul-entrancing fire
Of the celestial Muse; whose savage ears
Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even the names
Of the Venusian bard, or critic sage

Full-fam'd of Stagyra; whose clamorous tongues
Stun the tormented ear with colloquy,
Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent;
Replete with boorish scandal; yet, alas!
This, this! he must endure, or muse alone,
Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme,

Or line imperfect-No! the door is free,
And calls him to evade their deafening clang,
By private ambulation; 'tis resolv'd:

Off from his waist he throws the tatter'd gown,
Beheld with indignation; and unloads
His pericranium of the weighty cap,

With sweat and grease discolour'd; then explores
The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb
Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free
Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare;
Then down his meagre visage waving flows
The shadowy peruke; crown'd with gummy hat
Clean brush'd; a cane supports him. Thus equipp'd
He sallies forth; swift traverses the streets,
And seeks the lonely walk. "Hail, sylvan scenes,
Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meandering brooks,
Admit me to your joys," in rapturous phrase,
Loud he exclaims; while with the inspiring Muse
His bosom labours; and all other thoughts,
Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself,
Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought,
Fancy presents before his ravish'd eyes
Distant posterity, upon his page

[sons

With transport dwelling; while bright learning's

That ages hence must tread this earthly ball,
Indignant, seem to curse the thankless age
That stary'd such merit. Meantime swallow'd up
In meditation deep, he wanders on,

Unweeting of his way. - But ah! he starts,
With sudden fright; his glaring eye-balls roll,