"When, borne by pow'rful fate, th' unerring spear "(For this for ever be that spear renown'd, "For this my latest hour with pleasure crown'd!) "Laid low your warrior-chief and level'd with the "slain?

"I saw him fall-I heard the groan

"That pierc'd your ranks with hollow moan;
"Mine the spear, and mine the hand

"That smote him from your murderous band, "Who on my country's bleeding plains from far "First planted deep the withering steps of war.

"Ye sons of Oglu! and ye Indian Maids!
"I led your hosts, I lov'd your soothing shades,
"But perish from my soul the idle strife
"Of glorious perils, or of wanton joys,
Begone, and with ye go your glittering train of toys!
"Ye flattering hopes! ye foolish fears!

"The warrior's praise! the virgin's tears!

"What colour'd once with joy, or sour'd the springs of "life!

"Though once, with fondest vow,

"I bless'd the sweets of Zeyra's peaceful grove,
"Yet what those sweets bestow,

"The sylvan chace, or gentler charms of Love
"I ask not now--and this dread hour disdains
"The song of Pleasure, and the flow'ry strains,
"The day of revelry, the easy night,

"And all the rapt'rous scenes of past delight;
"Lord of myself, I boast a better claim,

"Th' unconquerable soul that scorns the funeral flame. "Not a tear and not a sigh

"Shall weakly to my pangs reply,

"No coward wretch, no dastard foe

"But he who bore, unmov'd, your chains,
"With scorn derides your deadliest pains;
"And tho' denied that happier fate
"Triumphant fame, and martial state,
"Or, yet more glorious still, to lie
"With those that for their country die,
"No plaintive sorrows load the mind
"To fortune lost, to fate resign'd;
"And where my gallant spirit turns
"An equal share of ardour burns,
"The genuine glow that once could lead
"A warrior to the doubtful mead,
"Shall arm the soul with haughty pow'r,
"And lift it in the torturing hour.

"Tho' now I feel your searching pains "Fierce and more fierce convulse my lab'ring veins, "Tho' fall'n that hand (O bless the deed!) "That forc'd your Warrior-chief to bleed, "Still my true heart in equal motion leaps, "And my firm soul its wonted freedom keeps.

"Hail to the dawn that rises on my "All hail the coming day!

"I feel, I feel the fiery torrents roll

soul!

"That sweep my purple life away. "Ah now I come! prepare, ye spirits blest, "Your bow'rs of pleasure and your beds of rest! "Yet-ere the bow of life be quite unstrung,

"While the sounds tremble on my fault'ring tongue, Receive, ye chiefs! that 'round the pyre have stood, "Lavish of fate, and prodigal of blood,

""Tis all a dying warrior knows to give,

My last sad curse, ye warrior chiefs, receive!"

Stopp'd is the voice by Fate-and ah again
The shouts of Triumph echo from their train.
O mourn the youth that led our native band!
O rise, and curse with him the deadly hand!
For this, where'er your savage troops ye lead,
'Mid your own groves, or on the martial mead,
May Discord meet you on the haunted plain,
Point the lost maid, and shew the parent slain!
For this, whene'er ye tempt some fatal field
Whose happier sons the conquering sword shall wield,
May Rutren lead his vengeful host along,
And loose his furies on your bleeding throng.

SONG.

OH! let not suspense, with its fetters of ice,
The free-flowing current of pleasure enslave;

The winter of age will be here in a trice,

And death freeze us for good in the grave.

How long shall each touch with a tongue be inspir'd,
How long shall my eyes roll their language in vain,
With each eloquent pulse when will Jessy be fir'd,
And interpret what Jessy alone can explain!
But, because it may deepen the rose on her cheek,
Should my charmer the fond explanation decline;
Let me, sparing a trial so delicate, seek,

And, be told from her eyes what she gathers from
mine.

R. FENTON, ESQ.

THE GOLDEN AGE*,

་

A Poetical Epistle from Erasmus D

-n, M. D. to

Thomas Beddoes, M.D.

BY THE AUTHOR OF TWO HEROIC EPISTLES TO DR. PRIESTLEY.

The French, that most injured and most enlightened people upon earth, within these few years (since Despotism has been overawed by Liberty) have improved Science more than all other Nations put together. BEDDOES'S REASONS, &c. May we not, by regulating the vegetable functions, teach our Woods and Hedges to supply us with Butter and Tallow?

BEDDOES'S OBSERVATIONS ON CALCULUS, SCURVY, &c. p. 29.

BOAST of proud Shropshire, Oxford's lasting shame,
Whom none but coxcombs scorn, but fools defame,
Eternal war with dulness born to wage,

Thou Paracelsus of this wondrous age;
By sage M. D.'s and LL. D.'s approved,

+ By Great SOC.'s praised, by little soc.'s beloved,
BEDDOES, the philosophic chymist's guide,
The bigot's scourge, of democrats the pride,

*First published in 1794.

† Dr. Beddoes not only ranks among his intimate friends one or two Gentlemen of the University of Oxford, who at present can only be characterized as the little fellows of a little College, but likewise many illustrious Members of various Literary Societies, particularly the celebrated Dr. Priestley, whose splendid titles (even as modestly abridged by himself) are, LL. D. F. R. S. Ac. Imp. Petrop. R. Paris. Holm. Taurin. Aurel. Med. Paris. Harlem. Cantab. Americ. & Philad. Soc.

Accept this lay; and to thy brother, friend;
Or name more dear, a Sans Culotte attend,
While in Rhyme's Galligaskins I enclose
The broad posteriors of thy brawny prose,
And sing, brimful of thee in tuneful strain,
The blest return of Saturn's golden reign!

*

Oh had I, silly swain, the rage and fire
Of some, whom Frenchmen's bloody deeds inspire;
Could I, ascending on the wing of sound,
Pleas'd with the grand, the lofty, and profound,
Soar above mortal ken in rapturous glow,
Leaving poor pursy Sense to pant below;
Could I, for ever studious to refine,

Prank with my pearly phrase each pretty line,
Or like an empty bottle, deep immers'd,
Whence bubbles after bubbles bustling burst,
Amus'd to view my noisy nothings swell,
In the sweet vanity of thought excel;
Now rising o'er the bounds of vulgar rhyme,
Gracefully great and terribly sublime;
Trolling in full-toned melody along
With all the clattering clang of modern song;
I'd hail the progress of those blissful days,
When fair Philosophy's meridian rays

Shall brighten Nature's face, shall drive the moles
Of blinking Error to their secret holes,

Disperse the darkness of primæval night,

And bid a new Creation rise to light!

Proceed, great days! and bring, oh! bring to view

Things strange to tell! Incredible, but true!
Behold, behold, the Golden Age appears:

Skip, skip, ye Mountains! Forests lend your ears!

VOL. VI.

* Quo me rapis, tui plenum?
D d