TRANSLATION *

OF SOME GREEK LINES, INSERTED IN NO. I. OF "THE CLASSICAL JOURNAL," PAGE 143.

PAUSE traveller! If born 'neath English skies,

Pause, and behold where England's saviour lies!

Keen and resistless as th' electrick flash

His eloquence the proudest could abash;
While, soften'd by the honey of his tongue,
Charm'd by those lips on which persuasion hung,
Anger and Discord cool'd their frantick heat,
And couch'd submissive at their conqu❜ror's feet.
Foil'd by his counsels, deep as they were vast,
E'en Europe's guilty Tyrant shrunk aghast;

* In the original, the lines are supposed to be inscribed on the statue; in this translation, on the tomb of PITT.

While, stedfast bulwark of a tott'ring Throne,
Unsapp'd by force or art, PITT stood alone,

Like some proud tow'r by winds and storms unmov'd,
To guard the land which more than life he lov'd:
And, when his nod might instant wealth ensure,
(Stare, corrupt world, to find one Statesman pure)
He who commanded Nations, PITT,-died poor!

But, ye who lov'd him, cease the mournful strain, Nor more indulge a grief, alas so vain!

Be this the proudest trophy o'er his bier,

That they who most oppos'd his bold career

Now gild that radiance which they sought to dim,

And in their words, their actions, copy Him.

TO MERCY.

No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As Mercy does.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

MILD heav'n-born Goddess, hail! whose pow'rful sway

E'en stoicks own, and savages obey;

Swell'd by mad rage, by deadly hate inspir'd,

By malice clouded, or by vengeance fir'd,

Thy tender pleadings tame the furious soul;
And hold the angry passions in controul:
And as the Prophet's pow'r, to Israel shewn,
Drew gushing streams from Horeb's rock of stone,

Alike with sacred and resistless force

Thou too canst ope compassion's dried up source;
Command the long forgotten tear to start,

And force a channel through the flintiest heart.

View the bold Warrior in th' embattled plain, View him unmov'd amid the piles of slain; Stern honour leads him, and his country's call, For these he vows to conquer or to fall;

Behold where, lion-like, he fights his way

Through marshall'd ranks, 'till vict'ry crowns the day! Then mark the richest trophy of his fame,

The brightest ray which gilds a Soldier's name;

That hand, which grasp'd in fight the vengeful blade,

The battle o'er, behold stretch'd out to aid;
Those whom but now he gloried to oppose,
Vanquish'd, he counts no longer as his foes;

But proves by manly sympathy and care

A Soldier's noblest virtue is-to spare;
That, prompt when Honour, Courage, Duty call,
He yet can mingle Mercy with them all.

In justice firm, experienc'd in the laws, Behold the Judge revolve the culprit's cause; Anxious meanwhile some brighter tint t'explore, To gild the picture guilt has shadow'd o'er : And e'en at last, when no auspicious ray Appears, one gleam of sunshine to convey, When public good forbids the lenient hand, And Pity droops at Duty's stern command, E'en then, when Justice claims the doom severe, He gives to Mercy, all he may, a tear!

Hence willing thousands own his upright sway,

Bless while they bleed, and while they groan obey;