A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd
O'r golden sands, but sands of purer gold,
With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flow'rs,
With airs awaken'd under rosy bow'rs.
Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er

The sun's abode on India's utmost shore.

}

While 1, the splendour, and the mingled shade Of fruitful vines, with wonder fixt survey'd, At once, with looks, that beam'd celestial grace, The seer of Winton stood before my face. His snowy vesture's hem descending low His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow New-fallen shone the mitre on his brow. Where'er he trod a tremulous sweet sound Of gladness shook the flow'ry scene around: Attendant angels clap their starry wings, The trumpet shakes the sky, all æther rings, Each chaunts his welcome, folds him to his breast, And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest : "Ascend, my son! thy father's kingdom share! My son henceforth be free'd from ev'ry care!"

So spake the voice, and at its tender close With psaltry's sound th' angelic band arose. Then night retir'd, and chas'd by dawning day The visionary bliss pass'd all away.

I mourn'd my banish'd sleep, with fond concern; Frequent to me may dreams like this return!

ELEGY IV.

TO HIS TUTOR

THOMAS YOUNG,

CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT HAMBURG.

Written in the Author's 18th year.

HENCE my epistle-skim the deep-fly o'er
Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore !
Haste-lest a friend should grieve for thy delay-
And the Gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way
I will myself invoke the king, who binds,
In his Sicanian echoing vault, the winds,
With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng
Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along.
But rather, to insure thy happier haste,
Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou may'st;
Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore
Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore.
The sands, that line the German coast, descried,
To opulent Hamburga turn aside!

So call'd, if legendary fame be true,

From Hama, whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slew!

There lives, deep-learn'd and primitively just,
A faithful steward of his Christian trust,
My friend, and favorite inmate of my heart,
That now is forc'd to want its better part!
What mountains now, and seas, alas! how wide!
From me this other dearer self divide,
Dear, as the sage renown'd for moral truth
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth !
Dear, as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son,
His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won!
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine
In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine.
First led by him thro' sweet Aonian shade
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'd ;
And favor'd by the muse, whom I implor'd
Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd
But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd
To Aries, has new ting'd his fleece with gold,
And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay,
And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away,
Since last delighted on his looks I hung,
Or my ear drank the musick of his tongue :

Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed;

Aware thyself, that there is urgent need!

Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see

Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee.
Or turning, page by page, with studious look,
Some bulky father, or God's holy book.

Or minist'ring (which is his weightiest care)
To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare.
Give him, whatever his employment be,
Such gratulation, as he claims from me!

And, with a down-cast eye, and carriage meek,
Addressing him, forget not thus to speak!

"If, compass'd round with arms thou canst attend
To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend.
Long due, and late, I left the English shore;
But make me welcome for that cause the more!
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer,
The slow epistle came, tho' late, sincere.
But wherefore this? why palliate I the deed,
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead?
Self chang'd, and self-condemn'd, his proper part
He feels neglected, with an aching heart;
But thou forgive-delinquents, who confess,
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less;
From timid foes the lion turns away,
Nor yawns upon, or rends a crouching prey,
Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare,
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer;
And heav'n's dread thunderbolt arrested stands
By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands.

Long had he wish'd to write, but was with-held,
And, writes at last, by love alone compell'd.

For fame, too often true, when she alarms,
Reports thy neighbouring-fields a scene of arms;
Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd,
And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepar❜d.
Enyo wastes thy country wide around,
And saturates with blood the tainted ground;
Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more,
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore.
The ever verdant olive fades and dies ;
And peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies,
Flies from that earth which justice long had left,
And leaves the world of its last guard bereft.

Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown; Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand The aid denied thee in thy native land. Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore! Leav'st thou to foreign care the worthies, given By providence, to guide thy steps to heav'n? His ministers, commission'd to proclaim Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name! Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, In Stygian night to lie for ever dead! So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd An exil'd fugitive from shade to shade,