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With all that mends the head and heart, Enligtening truth, adorning art.

Thus mufing in the folemn shade; At once the founding breeze was laid: And Nature, by the unknown law, Shook deep with reverential awe. Dumb filence grew upon the hour; A browner night involv'd the bower: When iffuing from the inmoft wood, Appear'd fair Freedom's GENIUS good. O Freedom! fovereign boon of Heaven; Great Charter, with our being given; For which the patriot, and the fage, Have plan'd, have bled thro' every age! High privilege of human race, Beyond a mortal monarch's grace: Who could not give, who cannot claim, What but from God immediate came!

*

THE

EAGLE

AND

ROBIN RED-BREAST.

A FABLE. *

BY MR. ARCHIBALD SCOTT.

HE Prince of all the feather'd kind,

THE

That with spread wings out-flies the wind,

And tow'rs far out of human fight

To view the shining orb of light:
This Royal Bird, tho' brave and great,
And armed strong for ftern debate,
No tyrant is, but condescends

Oft-times to treat inferior friends.

One day at his command did flock

To his high palace on a rock,

The courtiers of ilk various fize

That fwiftly fwim in chrystal skies ;

* Written before the

year

1600,

1

Thither the valiant Tarfels doup,
And here rapacious Corbies croup,
With greedy Gleads and fly Gormahs,
And dinfom Pyes, and chattering Dawes ;
Proud Peacocks, and a hundred mae,
Brufh'd up their pens that folemn day,
Bow'd firft fubmiffive to my Lord,
Then took their places at his board.

Meantime while feasting on a fawn,
And drinking blood from Lamies drawn,
A tuneful ROBIN trig and young,
Hard-by upon a burr-tree fung.
He fang the EAGLE's royal line,
His piercing eye, and right divine
To fway out-owre the feather'd thrang,
Who dread his martial bill and fang:
His flight fublime, and eild renew'd,
His mind with clemency endow'd;
In fofter notes he fang his love,
More high, his bearing bolts for Jove.

The Monarch Bird with blithenefs heard

The chaunting little filvan Bard,

Call'd up a Buzzard, who was then
His favourite, and chamberlain.
Swith to my treasury, quoth he,
And to yon canty ROBIN gie
As muckle of our current gear
As may maintain him thro' the year;

We can well fpar't, and it's his due;
He bade, and forth the Judas flew,
Straight to the branch where ROBIN fung,
And with a wicked lying tongue,

Said, ah! ye fing fo dull and rough,
Ye've deaf'd our lugs more than enough,
His Majefty has a nice ear,

And no more of your ftuff can bear;
Poke up your pipes, be no more fcen
At court, I warn you, as a frien.

He spake, while ROBIN's fwelling breast, And drooping wings his grief expreft;

The tears ran hopping down his cheek,
Great grew his heart, he could not speak,
No for the tinfel of reward :

But that his notes met no regard,
Strait to the fhaw he fpread his wing,
Refolv'd again no more to fing,
Where princely bounty is fuppreft
By fuch with whom They are oppreft;
Who cannot bear (becaufe they want it)
That ought fhould be to merit granted,

O DE

ΤΟ

FANCY.

BY THE REV. MR. JOSEPH WARTON.

Parent of each lovely mufe,

Thy spirit o'er my foul diffufe!
O'er all my artless fongs prefide,
My footsteps to thy temple guide!
To offer at thy turf-built shrine,
In golden cups no coftly wine;
No murder'd fatling of the flock,
But flowers and honey from the rock.
O nymph with loofely-flowing hair,
With bufkin'd leg, and bofom bare;
Thy waift with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd;
Waving in thy fnowy hand.
An all-commanding magic wand;
Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens blow
'Mid chearless Lapland's barren fnow;
Whofe rapid wings thy flight convey,
Thro' air, and over earth and fea :

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