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Nor second He.+, that rode sublime
Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy,
The secrets of th’ Abyss to spy.
He pass’d the flaming bounds of Place and

Time :
The living Throne ll, the fapphire blaze;
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw ; but blafted with excefs of light,
Clos'd his eyes in endless night.
Behold, where Dryden's lefs presumptuous

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

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+ Milton. # "---flammantia moenia mundi.” Lucret.

| For the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels. And above the firmament, that was over their heads, was the likness of a throne, as the appearance of a fapphire ftone. This was the appearance of the glo. ху of the Lord, Ezekiel 1. 20, 26, 28.

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Two Coursers of æthereal race +
With necks in thunder cloath'd I, and long-

resounding pace.

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Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe ll, and words that

But ah ! 'tis heard no more ---

+ Meant to express the stately march and founding energy of Dryden's rhymes. | Haft thou cloathed his neck with thunder?

Job. | Words that weep, and tears that speak,

Cowley Ś We have had in our language no other odes of the fublime kind, than that of Dryden on St Cecilia's day; for Cowley (who had his merit) yet wanted judgment, flite, and barmony, for

such a task. That of Pope is not unworthy of so great a man; Mr Mafon indeed, of late days, bas touched the true chords, and with a masterly hand, in some of his choruses, ---above all in the last of Carattacks ;

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Oh! Lyre divine, what daring spirit
Wakes thee now? tho' he inherit



“ Hark! heard you not yon footstep dread, That shook the earth with thund'ring tread ? 'Twas Death---In haste The warrior paft ; High tower'd his helmed head : I mark'd his mail, I mark'd his shield, I spy'd the sparkling of his spear, I saw his giant arm the faulcheon wield; Wide wav'd the bickering blade, and fir'd the air.

" On me (he cried) my Britons ! wait.
To lead you to the fields of fate
I come. Yon'car,
That cleaves the air,
Descends to throne my state :
I mount your champion and your

My proud fteed neighs beneath the thong;
Hark! to my wheels of brass, that rattle

loud ! Hark! to my clarion Thrill, that brays the woods


I. 3.
Fear not now the fever's fire,
Fear not now the death-bed groan,
Pangs that torture, pains that tire,


with feeble moan ;

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle beart,

These domestic terrors wait
Hourly at my palace gate;
And when o'er flothful realms my rod I

wave, These on the tyrant king and coward dave Rush with vindictive rage, and drag them to

their grave.


But you, my fons ! at this high hour
Shall Thare the fulness of my power :
From all

your bows,
In levell’d rows,
My own dread shafts shall show'r.
Go then to conquert, gladly go,
Deal forth my dole of destiny;
With all my fury dash the trembling foe
Down to those darksome dens, where Rome's

pale spectres ly.

+ Pindar compares himself to that bird, and his enemies to ravens that croak and clamour in vain below, while it pursues its flight, regarde less of their noise.

Sailing with fupreme dominion
Thro’the azure deep of air ;
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray
With orient hues, unborrowed of the fun :,
Yet shall he mount, and keep his diftant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate.
Beneath the Good how far --but far above

the Great.


II. Where creeps the Ninefold stream profound Her black inexorable round; And on the bank To willows dank The shiv'ring ghous are bound. Twelve thoufand crescents all shall swell To full-orb'd pride, and all decline, Ere they again in life's gay mansions dwell. Not such the meed that crowns the sons of

Freedom's line.

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