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Behold the Prophets, full of heavenly fire,
With wandering finger wake the trembling lyre ;
And hear the Martyrs tune, and all around
The church triumphant makes the region found.
With harps of gold, with bows of ever-green,
With robes of white, the pious throngs are seen ;
Exalted anthems all their hours employ ;
And all is music and excess of joy.
Charm'd with the light, I long to bear, a part ;
The pleasure flutters'at my ravish'd heart.
Sweet saints and angels of the heavenly choir,
If love has warm'd
with celestial fire, Allift my words, and, as they move along, With Hallelujahs crown the burthen'd song.
Father of all above, and all below! O great, and far beyond expression fo! No bounds thy knowledge, none thy power confine, For
power and knowledge in their source are thine ;; Around thee glory spreads her golden wing ; Şing, glittering angels, Hallelujahs fing.
Son of the Father, first-begotten Son! Ere the short measuring line of time begun, The world has seen thy works, and joy'd to see The bright effulgence manifest in thee. The world must own thy Love's unfathom’d spring ; Şing, glittering angels, Hallelujah fing. Proceeding Spirit, equally divine, In whom the Godhead's full perfections shine!
With various graces, comforts unexpress’d,
With holy transports you refine the breast;
And earth is heavenly where your gifts you bring,
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah sing.
But where's my rapture, where my wond'rous heat ?
What interruption makes my bliss retreat ?
This world's got in, the thoughts of t'other's crost,
And the gay pi&ture's in my fancy loft.
With what an eager zeal the conscious soul
Would claim its seat, and, foaring, pass the pole !
But our attempts these chains of earth restrain.
Deride our toil, and drag us down again.
So from the ground aspiring meteors go,
And, rank'd with planets, light the world below,
But their own bodies fink them in the sky,
When the warmth's gone that taught them how to fly,
THE FRIENDLY CONTEST.
WHILE Cam and Isis their fad tribute bring
"Of rival grief, to weep their pious kings
The bards of Isis half had been forgot,
Had not the sons of Cam in pity wrote ;
From their learn’d brothers they took off the curseg
And prov'd their verse not bad—by writing worse,
Leonidas's Addrefs to his Countrymen,
Remains unshaken. Rifing he displays
His godlike presence. Dignity and grace
Adorn his frame, and manly beauty, join'd
With strength Herculean. On his aspect shines
Sublimest virtue, and desire of fame,
Where justice gives the laurel; in her eye
The inextinguishable spark, which fires
The souls of patriots; while his brow supports
Undaunted valour, and contempt
of death. Serene he rose, and thus address’d the throng :
Why this astonishment on ev'ry face,
Ye men of Sparta ! Does the name of death
Create this fear and wonder ? O my friends;
Why do we labour thro' the arduous paths
Which lead to virtue? Fruitless were the toil,
Above the reach of human feet were plac'd
The distant fummit, if the fear of death
Could intercept our passage. But in vain
His blackest frowns and terrors he allumes,
To shake the firmness of the mind, which knows
That, wanting virtue, life is pain and woe;
That wanting liberty, ev’n virtue mourns,
And looks around for happiness in vain.
Then spcak, o Sparta, and demand my life ;
My heart exulting, answers to thy call,
And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame
The gods allow to many ; but to die
With equal luftre, is a blefling Heaven
Selects from all the choicest boons of fate,
And with a sparing hand on few bestows.
Leonidas Answer to the Persian Ambafador.
RETURN to Xerxes ; tell him on this rock
The Grecians, faithful to their post, await
His chosen myriads ; tell him, thou hast seen
How far the luft of empire is below.
A free-born mind : and tell him, to behold
A tyrant humbled, and by virtuous death
To feal my country's freedom, is a good
Surpaffing all his boafted pow'r can give.
Pathetic Farewell of Leonidas to his Wife and Family, I Sce, I feel thy angush, nor my soul
Has ever known the prevalence of love, E’er prov'd a father's fonduess, as this hour : Nor, when most ardent to assert my fame, Was once my heart insensible to thee.
How had it stain'd the honours of my name
To hesitate a moment, and suspend
My country's fate, to shameful life preferr'd
By my inglorious colleague left no choice,
But what in ́me were infamy to Thun,
Not virtue to accept! Then deem no more
That, of my love regardless, or thy tears,
I haite uncallid to death. The voice of fate,
The gods, my fame, my country, bid me bleed.
O thou dear mourner! wherefore streams afresh
That flood of woe ? Why heaves with sighs renew'd
That tender breast ? Leonidas must fall.
Alas! far heavier misery impends
O'er thee and these, if soften’d by thy tears
shamefully refuse to yield that breath,
Which justice, glory, liberty, and Heaven
Claim for my country, for my fons, and thee,
Think on my long unalter'd love. Restect
On my paternal fondness. Has my heart
E’er known a pause of love, or pious care ?
Now shall that care, that tenderness, be provid
Most warm and faithful. When thy husband dies
For Lacedæmon's safety, thou wilt share,
Thou and thy children, the diffusive good.
Should I, thus fingled from the rest of men,
Alone entrusted by th' immortal gods
With pow'r to save a people, should my
Desert that sacred cause, thce too I yield