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And from their prison-house below arise,
With all these hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much compofed, nor should appear
For fuch a cause to feel the flightest fear.
Yourselves have seen,what time the thunders rolled
All night, we refting quiet in the fold.
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I could expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
The afs; for he, we know, has lately ftrayed,
And being loft perhaps, and wandering wide,
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide.
But ah! thofe dreadful yells what foul can hear,
That owns a carcafe, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them doubtlefs, brazen-clawed
And fanged with brass the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it therefore wifest and most fit,
That life to fave, we leap into the pit.

Him answered then his loving mate and true,
But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
How? leap into the pit our life to save?
To fave our life leap all into the grave?
For can we find it lefs? Contemplate first
The depth how awful! falling there, we burft:

Or fhould the brambles, interpofed, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small;
For with a race like theirs no chance I fee
Of peace or eafe to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whose it may,

And rufh thofe other founds, that seem by tongues
Of dæmons uttered, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but founds, and till the cause appear
We have at least commodious standing here.
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.

While thus fhe spake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at his heels
By panting dog, tired man, and spattered horse,
Thro' mere good fortune, took a different course.
The flock grew calm again, and I, the road
Following, that led me to my own abode,
Much wondered that the filly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty found
So fweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.

MORAL.

Beware of defperate steps. The darkest day,
Live till to-morrow, will have passed away.

BOADICE A.

AN ODE.

I.

WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,

II.

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke

Full of rage, and full of grief.

III.

Princefs! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,

'Tis because refentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

IV.

Rome shall perifh-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

V.

Rome, for empire far renowned,

Tramples on a thousand states;

Soon her pride fhall kiss the ground— Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

VI.

Other Romans fhall arife,

Heedlefs of a foldier's name;

Sounds, not arms fhall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.

VII.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forefts of our land,

Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.

VIII.

Regions Cæfar never knew

Thy pofterity fhall fway;

Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.

IX.

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

X.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow:
Rushed to battle, fought, and died;
Dying hurled them at the foe.

XI.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due;

Empire is on us bestowed,

Shame and ruin wait for you.

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