Would he repose him, at her feet reclined;
While o'er his lips her lovely forehead bow'd,
Won by his grateful cloquence, which soothed
With sweet variety the tedious march,
Beguiling time. He too would then forget
His pains awhile, in raptures vain entranced,
Delusion all, and fleeting rays of joy,
Soon overcast by more intense despair;
Like wint❜ry clouds, which, op'ning for a time,
Tinge their black folds with gleams of scatter'd
Then, swiftly closing, on the brow of morn [light,
Condense their horrors, and in thickest gloom
The ruddy beauty veil. They now approach
The tower of Belus. Hyperanthes leads
Through Babylon an army to chastise
The crime of Egypt. Teribazus here

Parts from his princess, marches bright in steel
Beneath his patron's banner, gathers palms
On conquer'd Nile. To Susa he returns,
To Ariana's residence, and bears
Deep in his heart the immedicable wound.
But unreveal'd and silent was his pain;
Nor yet in solitary shades he roam'd,

Nor shunn'd resort: but o'er his sorrows cast
A sickly dawn of gladness, and in smiles
Conceal'd his anguish; while the secret flame
Raged in his bosom, and its peace consumed:
His soul still brooding o'er these mournful
thoughts.

The day arrived, when Xerxes first advanced
His arms from Susa's gates. The Persian dames,
So were accustom'd all the eastern fair,
In sumptuous cars accompanied his march,
A beauteous train, by Ariana graced.
Her Teribazus follows, on her wheels
Attends and pines. Such woes oppress the youth,
Oppress, but not enervate. From the van
He in this second conflict had withstood
The threat'ning frown of adamantine Mars,
He singly, while his bravest friends recoil'd.
His manly temples no tiara bound.
The slender lance of Asia he disdain'd,
And her light target. Eminent he tower'd
In Grecian arms, the wonder of his foes;
Among the Ionians were his strenuous limbs
Train'd in the gymnic school. A fulgent casque
Inclosed his head. Before his face and chest
Down to the knees an ample shield was spread.
A pond'rous spear he shook. The well-aim'd point
Sent two Phliasians to the realms of death
With four Tegaans, whose indignant chief,
Brave Hegesander, vengeance breathed in vain,
With streaming wounds repulsed. Thus far un-
inatch'd,

His arm prevail'd; when Hyperanthes call'd
From fight his fainting legions. Now each band
Their languid courage reinforced by rest.
Meantime with Teribazus thus conferr'd [youth,
The applauding prince. Thou much-deserving
Had twenty warriors in the dang`rous van
Like thee maintain'd the onset, Greece had wept
Her prostrate ranks. The wearied fight awhile
I now relax, till Abradates strong,
Orontes and Mazæus are advanced.

Then to the conflict will I give no pause.
If not by prowess, yet by endless toil
Successive numbers shall exhaust the foe.
He said. Immersed in sadness, scarce replied,
But to himself complain'd the am'rous youth.
Still do I languish, mourning o'er the fame
My arm acquires. Tormented heart! thou seat
Of constant sorrow, what deceitful smiles
Yet canst thou borrow from unreal hope
To flatter life? at Ariana's feet

What if with supplicating knees I bow,
Implore her pity, and reveal my love.
Wretch! canst thou climb to yon effulgent orb,
And share the splendours which irradiate heaven?
Dost thou aspire to that exalted maid,
Great Xerxes' sister, rivalling the claim
Of Asia's proudest potentates and kings?
Unless within her bosom I inspired

A passion fervent as my own, nay more,
Such, as dispelling every virgin fear,
Might, unrestrain'd, disclose its fond desire,
My love is hopeless; and her willing hand,
Should she bestow it, draws from Asia's lord
On both perdition. By despair benumb'd,
His limbs their action lose. A wish for death
O'ercasts and chills his soul. When sudden cries
From Ariamnes rouse his drooping powers.
Alike in manners, they of equal age
Were friends, and partners in the glorious toil
Of war. Together they victorious chased
The bleeding sons of Nile, when Egypt's pride
Before the sword of Hyperanthes fell.
That loved companion Teribazus views
By all abandon'd, in his gore outstretch'd,
The victor's spoil. His languid spirit starts;
He rushes ardent from the Persian line;
The wounded warrior in his strong embrace
He bears away. By indignation stung,
Fierce from the Grecians Diophantus sends
A loud defiance. Teribazus leaves
His rescued friend. His massy shield he rears;
High-brandishing his formidable spear.
He turns intrepid on the approaching foe.
Amazement follows. On he strides, and shakes
The plumed honours of his shining crest.
The ill-fated Greek awaits the unequal fight,
Pierced in the throat, with sounding arms he falls.
Through every file the Mantineans mourn.
Long on the slain the victor fix'd his sight
With these reflections. By thy splendid arms
Thou art a Greek of no ignoble rank.
From thy ill fortune I perhaps derive
A more conspicuous lustre-What if heaven
Should add new victims, such as thou, to grace
My undeserving hand? who knows, but she
Might smile upon my trophies. Oh! vain thought!
I see the pride of Asia's monarch swell
With vengeance fatal to her beauteous head.
Disperse, ye phantom hopes. Too long, torn
heart,

Hast thou with grief contended. Lo! I plant
My foot this moment on the verge of death,
By fame invited, by despair impell'd
To pass the irremeable bound. No more
Shall Teribazus backward turn his step,

But here conclude his doom. Then cease to heave, Thou troubled bosom, every thought be calm Now at the approach of everlasting peace.

He ended; when a mighty foe drew nigh, Not less than Dithyrambus. Ere they join'd, The Persian warrior to the Greek began:

Art thou the unconquerable chief, who mow'd Our battle down? That eagle on thy shield Too well proclaims thee. To attempt thy force I rashly purposed. That my single arm [know Thou deign'st to meet, accept my thanks, and The thought of conquest less employs my soul, Than admiration of thy glorious deeds, And that by thee I cannot fall disgraced.

He ceased. These words the Thespian youth return'd:

[mark'd

Of all the praises from thy gen'rous mouth,
The only portion my desert may claim,
Is this my bold adventure to confront
Thee, yet unmatch'd. What Grecian hath not
Thy flaming steel? from Asia's boundless camp
Not one hath equall'd thy victorious might.
But whence thy armour of the Grecian form?
Whence thy tall spear, thy helmet? Whence the
weight

Of that strong shield? Unlike thy eastern friends,
Oh if thou be'st some fugitive, who, lost
To liberty and virtue, art become
A tyrant's vile stipendiary, that arm,
That valour thus triumphant I deplore,
Which after all their efforts and success
Deserve no honour from the gods, or men.
Here Teribazus in a sigh rejoin'd:
I am to Greece a stranger, am a wretch
To thee unknown, who courts this hour to die,
Yet not ignobly, but in death to raise
My name from darkness, while I end my woes.
The Grecian then: I view thee, and I mourn.
A dignity, which virtue only bears,
Firm resolution, seated on thy brow,
Though grief hath dimm'd thy drooping eye, de-
My veneration: and whatever be
[mand
The malice of thy fortune, what the cares,
Infesting thus thy quiet, they create
Within my breast the pity of a friend.
Why then, constraining my reluctant hand
To act against thee, will thy might support
The unjust ambition of malignant kings,
The foes to virtue, liberty, and peace?
Yet free from rage or enmity I lift
My adverse weapon. Victory I ask.
Thy life may fate for happier days reserve.

This said, their beaming lances they protend,

Of hostile hate, or fury both devoid,
As on the Isthmian, or Olympic sands
For fame alone contending. Either host,
Poised on their arms, in silent wonder gaze.
The fight commences. Soon the Grecian spear,
Which all the day in constant battle worn,
Unnumber'd shields and corselets had transfix'd,
Against the Persian buckler, shiv'ring, breaks,
Its master's hand disarming. Then began
The sense of honour, and the dread of shame
To swell in Dithyrambus. Undismay'd,
He grappled with his foe, and instant seized

His threat'ning spear, before the uplifted arm
Could execute the meditated wound.
The weapon burst between their struggling grasp.
Their hold they loosen, bare their shining swords.
With equal swiftness to defend or charge,
Each active youth advances and recedes.
On every side they traverse. Now direct,
Obliquely now the wheeling blades descend.
Still is the conflict dubious; when the Greek,
Dissembling, points his falchion to the ground,
His arm depressing, as o'ercome by toil:
While with his buckler cautious he repels
The blows, repeated by his active foe.
Greece trembles for her hero. Joy pervades
The ranks of Asia. Hyperanthes strides
Before the line, preparing to receive

At last,

His friend triumphant: while the wary Greek,
Calm and defensive, bears the assault.
As by the incautious fury of his strokes,
The Persian swung his covering shield aside,
The fatal moment Dithyrambus seized.
Light darting forward with his feet outstretch'd,
Between the unguarded ribs he plunged his steel.
Affection, grief, and terror, wing the speed
Of Hyperanthes. From his bleeding foe
The Greek retires, not distant, and awaits
The Persian prince. But he with watery cheeks
In speechless anguish clasps his dying friend;
From whose cold lip, with interrupted phrase,
These accents break: Oh dearest, best of men!
Ten thousand thoughts of gratitude and love
Are struggling in my heart-O'erpow'ring fate
Denies my voice the utterance-Oh my friend!
O Hyperanthes! Hear my tongue unfold
What, had I lived, thou never should'st have
known.

I loved thy sister. With despair I loved.
Soliciting this honourable doom,

Without regret in Persia's sight and thine

I fall. The inexorable hand of fate

Weighs down his eyelids, and the gloom of death
His fleeting light eternally o'ershades.
Him on Choaspes o'er the blooming verge
A frantic mother shall bewail; shall strew
Her silver tresses in the crystal wave:
While all the shores re-echo to the name
Of Teribazus lost.

THE SAME CONTINUED.

FROM BOOK IX.

IN sable vesture, spangled o'er with stars, The Night assumed her throne. Recall'd from war, Their toil, protracted long, the Greeks forget, Dissolved in silent slumber, all but those Who watch th' uncertain perils of the dark, A hundred warriors. Agis was their chief. High on the wall intent the hero sat. Fresh winds across the undulating bay From Asia's host the various din convey'd In one deep murmur, swelling on his ear. When by the sound of footsteps down the pass Alarm'd, he calls aloud. What feet are these Which beat the echoing pavement of the rock? Reply, nor tempt inevitable fate.

A voice replied. No enemies we come, But crave admittance in an humble tone.

The Spartan answers. Through the midnight shade

What purpose draws your wand'ring steps abroad?
To whom the stranger. We are friends to
Greece.

Through thy assistance we implore access
To Lacedemon's king. The cautious Greek
Still hesitates; when musically sweet
A tender voice his wond'ring ear allures.

O gen'rous warrior, listen to the pray'r
Of one distress'd, whom grief alone hath led
Through midnight shades to these victorious tents,
A wretched woman, innocent of fraud.

The chief, descending, through th' unfolded gates

Upheld a flaming torch. The light disclosed
One first in servile garments. Near his side
A woman graceful and majestic stood,
Not with an aspect, rivalling the pow'r
Of fatal Helen, or th' ensnaring charms
Of love's soft queen, by such as far surpass'd
Whate'er the lily, blending with the rose,
Spreads on the cheek of beauty soon to fade;
Such as express'd a mind by wisdom ruled,
By sweetness temper'd; virtue's purest light
Illumining the countenance divine:

Yet could not soften rig'rous fate, nor charm
Malignant fortune to revere the good;
Which oft with anguish rends a spotless heart,
And oft associates wisdom with despair.
In courteous phrase began the chief humane.
Exalted fair, whose form adorns the night,
Forbear to blame the vigilance of war.
My slow compliance, to the rigid laws
Of Mars impute. In me no longer pause
Shall from the presence of our king withhold
This thy apparent dignity and worth.
Here ending, he conducts her.
Of his loved brother, from his couch arose
Leonidas. In wonder he survey'd
Th' illustrious virgin, whom his presence awed.
Her eye submissive to the ground declined
In veneration of the godlike man.

At the call

His mien, his voice, her anxious dread dispel,
Benevolent and hospitable thus.

Thy looks, fair stranger, amiable and great,
A mind delineate, which from all commands
Supreme regard. Relate, thou noble dame,
By what relentless destiny compell'd,
Thy tender feet the paths of darkness tread;
Rehearse th' afflictions whence thy virtue mourns.
On her wan cheek a sudden blush arose
Like day, first dawning on the twilight pale;
When, wrapt in grief, these words a passage found.
If to be most unhappy, and to know
That hope is irrecoverably fled;
If to be great and wretched may deserve
Commiseration from the brave; behold,
Thou glorious leader of unconquer'd bands,
Behold, descended from Darius' loins,
The afflicted Ariana; and my pray'r
Accept with pity, nor my tears disdain.
First, that I loved the best of human race,

Heroic, wise, adorn'd by every art,

Of shame unconscious doth my heart reveal.
This day, in Grecian arms conspicuous clad,
He fought, he fell. A passion, long conceal'd,
For me, alas! within my brother's arms,
His dying breath resigning, he disclosed.
Oh! I will stay my sorrows! will forbid
My eyes to stream before thee, and my breast,
O'erwhelm'd by anguish, will from sighs restrain!
For why should thy humanity be grieved
At my distress? why learn from me to mourn
The lot of mortals doom'd to pain and woe.
Hear then, O king, and grant my sole request,
To seek his body in the heaps of slain.

Thus to the hero sued the royal maid,
Resembling Ceres in majestic woe,
When supplicating Jove, from Stygian gloom,
And Pluto's black embraces, to redeem
Her loved and lost Proserpina. A while
On Ariana fixing stedfast eyes,
These tender thoughts Leonidas recall'd.

Such are thy sorrows, oh for ever dear,
Who now at Lacedæmon dost deplore
My everlasting absence. Then aside
He turn'd and sigh'd. Recov'ring, he address'd
His brother. Most beneficent of men,
Attend, assist this princess. Night retires
Before the purple-winged morn. A band
Is call'd. The well-remember'd spot they find,
Where Teribazus from his dying hand
Dropt in their sight his formidable sword.
Soon from beneath a pile of Asian dead
They draw the hero, by his armour known.
Then, Ariana, what transcending pangs
Were thine! what horrors! In thy tender breast
Love still was mightiest. On the bosom cold
Of Teribazus, grief-distracted maid, [hue
Thy beauteous limbs were thrown. Thy snowy
The clotted gore disfigured. On his wounds
Loose flow'd thy hair; and, bubbling from thy eyes,
Impetuous sorrow laved th' empurpled clay.

Then, with no trembling hand, no change of look,

She drew a poniard, which her garment veil'd;
And instant sheathing in her heart the blade,
On her slain lover silent sunk in death.
The unexpected stroke prevents the care
Of Agis, pierced by horror and distress,
Like one,
who, standing on a stormy beach,
Beholds a found'ring vessel, by the deep
At once engulf'd; his pity feels and mourns,
Deprived of pow'r to save: so Agis view'd
The prostrate pair. He dropp'd a tear, and thus

Oh! much lamented! Heavy on your heads
Hath evil fall'n, which o'er your pale remains
Commands this sorrow from a stranger's eye.
Illustrious ruins! May the grave impart
That peace which life denied! and now receive
This pious office from a hand unknown.

He spake, unclasping from his shoulders broad His ample robe. He strew'd the waving folds O'er each wan visage; turning then address'd The slave, in mute dejection standing near.

Thou, who, attendant on this hapless fair,

Hast view'd this dreadful spectacle, return.
These bleeding relics bear to Persia's king,
Thou with four captives, whom I free from bonds.

FROM BOOK XII.

Song of the Priestess of the Muses to the chosen Band after their Return from the Inroad into the Persian Camp, on the Night before the Battle of Thermopyla.

BACK to the pass in gentle march he leads Th' embattled warriors. They, behind the shrubs, Where Medon sent such numbers to the shades, In ambush lie. The tempest is o'erblown. Soft breezes only from the Malian wave

O'er each grim face, besmear'd with smoke and gore,

O'er their [heads

Their cool refreshment breathe. The healing gale,
A crystal rill near Eta's verdant feet,
Dispel the languor from their harass'd nerves,
Fresh braced by strength returning.
Lo! in full blaze of majesty appears
Melissa, bearing in her hand divine
Th' eternal guardian of illustrious deeds,
The sweet Phoebean lyre. Her graceful train
Of white-robed virgins, seated on a range
Half down the cliff, o'ershadowing the Greeks,
All with concordant strings, and accents clear,
A torrent pour of melody, and swell

A high, triumphal, solemn dirge of praise,
Anticipating fame. Of endless joys

In bless'd Elysium was the song. Go, meet
Lycurgus, Solon, and Zaleucus sage,
Let them salute the children of their laws.
Meet Homer, Orpheus and th' Ascræan bard,
Who with a spirit, by ambrosial food
Refined, and more exalted, shall contend
Your splendid fate to warble through the bow'rs
Of amaranth and myrtle ever young,
Like your renown. Your ashes we will cull.
In yonder fane deposited, your urns,
Dear to the Muses, shall our lays inspire.
Whatever off'ring, genius, science, art
Can dedicate to virtue, shall be yours,
The gifts of all the Muses, to transmit
You on th' enliven'd canvas, marble, brass,
In wisdom's volume, in the poet's song,
In every tongue, through every age and clime,
You of this earth the brightest flow'rs, not cropt,
Transplanted only to immortal bloom

Of praise with men, of happiness with gods.

ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.

ON THE TAKING OF PORTO-BELLO FROM THE SPANIARDS BY ADMIRAL VERNON.* Nov. 22, 1739.

As near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently swelling flood,

At midnight with streamers flying,

Our triumphant navy rode;

[The case of Hosier, which is here so pathetically represented, was briefly this. In April 1726 that commander was sent with a strong fleet into the Spanish West Indies, to block up the galleons in the ports of that country, or, should they presume to come out, to seize and carry them into England; he accordingly arrived at the Bastimentoes near Porto-Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to attack the Spaniards, with whom it was probably not our interest to go to war, he conti

There while Vernon sat, all-glorious From the Spaniards' late defeat; And his crews, with shouts victorious, Drank success to England's fleet:

On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;
Then each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd,
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding sheets they wore,
And with looks by sorrow clouded,
Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre,
When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands were seen to muster,
Rising from their wat❜ry grave:
O'er the glimm'ring wave he hied him,
Where the Burford† rear'd her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.

"Heed, oh heed, our fatal story,
I am Hosier's injured ghost,
You, who now have purchased glory
At this place where I was lost;
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears, When you think on our undoing,

You will mix your joy with tears.

"See these mournful spectres, sweeping Ghastly o'er this hated wave,

Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping;

These were English captains brave:
Mark those numbers pale and horrid,
Those were once my sailors bold,
Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead,
While his dismal tale is told.

"I, by twenty sail attended,

Did the Spanish town affright: Nothing then its wealth defended

But my orders not to fight: Oh! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast them with disdain, And obey'd my heart's warm motion,

To have quell'd the pride of Spain.

"For resistance I could fear none,
But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Hast achieved with six alone.
Then the Bastimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.

nued long inactive on that station, to his own great regret. He afterward removed to Carthagena, and remained cruis ing in these seas till far the greater part of his men pe rished deplorably by the diseases of that unhealthy climate. This brave man seeing his best officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destruc tion, and himself made the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a broken heart-PERCY.] [† Admiral Vernon's ship.]

THE BLACKBIRD.

A MACARONI FABLE.

In concert with the curfew bell,

An Owl was chanting vespers in his cell;
Upon the outside of the wall,

A blackbird, famous in that age,
From a bow-window in the hall,
Hung dangling in a wicker cage;
Instead of psalmody and prayers,

Like those good children of St. Francis,
He secularized all his airs,

And took delight in wanton fancies.

Whilst the bell toll'd, and the Owl chanted,
Every thing was calm and still;

All nature seem'd rapt and enchanted.
Except the querulous, unthankful rill;
Unawed by this imposing scene,

Our Blackbird the enchantment broke;
Flourish'd a sprightly air between,
And whistled the Black Joke.
This lively unexpected motion
Set nature in a gayer light;

Quite overturn'd the monks' devotion,
-And scatter'd all the gloom of night.
I have been taught in early youth,
By an expert metaphysician,
That ridicůle's the test of truth,
And only match for superstition,
Imposing rogues, with looks demure,
At Rome keep all the world in awe;
Wit is profane, learning impure,
And reasoning against the law.
Between two tapers and a book,
Upon a dresser clean and neat,
Behold a sacerdotal cook,
Cooking a dish of heavenly meat!