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Furling the * jron fails with numbed hands,
Firm on the deck the great Adventurer ftands ;
Round glitt'ring mountains hears the billows rave,
And the + valt ruin thunder on the wave.
Appallid he hears !-but checks the rising figh,
And curos on his firm band a glist’ning eye.-
Not for himself the fighs unbidden break,
Amid the terrors of the icy wreck;
Not for himself farts the impassion'd tear,
Corgealing as it falls ;-oor pain, nor fear,
Nor Death's dread darts, impede the great design,
Till I Nature draws the circumscribing line.
Huge rocks of ice th' arrested ship embay,
And bar the gallant Wanderer's dangerous way.-
His eye regretful marks the Goddels turn

Th’afliduous prow from its relentless bourn, The following passage is embellished by imagery truly poetic, original, and just.

On a lone beach a || rock-built temple stands,
Stupendous pile! unwrought by mortal hands;
Sublime the ponderous turrets rise in air,
And the wide roof basaltic columns bear;
Thro' the long aisles the murm'ring tempests blown
And Ocean chides his dashing waves below.
From this fair fane, along the filver sands,
Two fifter-virgins wave their foowy hands ;
First gentle Flora-round her smiling brow
Leaves of new forms, and flow'ss uncultur'd glow;
Thin folds of ** vegetable filk, behind,
Shade her white neck, and wanton in the wind ;

Strange

Furling the iron fails.—“Our fails and rigging were so frozen, that they seemed plates of iron."

+ And the vas ruin.- The breaking of one of these immense mountains of ice, and the prodigious noise it made, is particularly described in Cook's second voyage to the South Pole.

I Till Nature, &c.-“ After running four leagues this course, with the ice on our starboard fide, we found ourselves quite embayed, the ice extending from north-north-east, round by the west and south, to eaft, in one compact body; the weather was tolerably clear, yet we could see no end to it."

ll A rock-built temple.—Onore part of this ifle there was a solitary rock, rifing on the coalt with arched cavities, like a majestic temple."

Firf gentle Flora.–Flora is the Goddess of modern Botany, and Fauna of modern Zoology: hence the pupils of Linnæus call their books Flora Anglica -- Fauna Danica, &c.- .“ The Flora of one of these islands contained thirty new plants."

** Vegetable folk.--In New Zealand is a fag of which the natives make their nets and cordage. The fibres of this vegetable are longer and stronger than our hemp and fax; and fome, manufactured in

London,

Strange sweets, where'er she turns, perfume the glades,
And fruits unnam'd adorn the bending Inades.
-Next Fauna treads, in youthful beauty's pride,
A playful Kangroo bounding by her side;
Around the Nymph her beauteous + Pois display
Their varied plumes, and trill the dulcet lay;
A Giant-bat, with leathern wings outspread,
Umbrella light, hangs quiv'ring o'er her head.
As o'er the cliff her graceful step the bends,
On glitt'ring wing her insect-train attends.
With diamond-eye her scaly tribes survey!

Their Goddess nymph, and gambol in the spray.' The allusion to the funeral ceremonies at Otaheite is introduced with great happiness and propriety :

• Gay Eden of the south, thy tribute pay,
And raise, in pomp of woe, thy Cook's || Morai !
Bid mild Omiah bring his choiceft ftores,
The juicy fruits, and the luxuriant flow'rs;
Bring the bright plumes, that drink the torrid ray,
And Arew each lavish spoil on Cook's Morai!

Come, Oberea, hapless fair-one! come,
With piercing hrieks bewail chy Hero's doom !-
She comes!-the gazes round with dire survey !
Oh! Ay the mourner on her frantic way.
See! see! the pointed ivory wounds that head,
Where late the Loves impurpled roses spread;
Now ftain'd with gore, her raven tresses flow,
In ruthless negligence of madd'ning woe;

London, is as white and glossy as fine filk. This valuable vegetable will probably grow in our climate.

* A playful Kangroo. The kangroo is an animal peculiar to those climates. It is perpetually jumping along on its hind legs, its fore legs being too short to be used in the manner of other quadrupeds.

+ Beauteous Pois." The poi-bird, common in those countries, has feathers of a fine mazarise blue, except those of the neck, which are of a beautiful filver grey; and two or three short white ones, which are in the pinion-joint of the wing. Under its throat hang two little cofts of curled white feathers, called its poies, which, being the Otaheitean word for ear-rings, occasioned our giving that name to the bird; which is not more remarkable for the beauty of its plumage, chan for the exquifite melody of its note.”

I Å Giant-bat. The bars which Captain Cook saw in some of these countries were of incredible dimensions, measuring three feet and an half in breadth, when their wings were extended.

|| Morai.— The Morai is a kind of funeral altar, which the people of Otaheite raise to the memory of their deceased friends. They bring to it a daily tribute of fruits, Aowers, and the plumage of birds. The chief mourner wanders around it in a state of apparent diftraction, fhrieking furiously, and Atriking at intervals a thark's tooth into her head. All people Ay her, as the aims at wounding not only herself, but others.

Loud

Loud she laments and long the Nymph shall stray

With wild unequal ftep round Cook's Morai!' The Poetess then adverts, with exquisite sensibility and art, to a connexion of a dearer and more interesting kind.

• But ah!-aloft on Albion's rocky steep,
That frowns incumbent o'er the boiling deep,
Solicitous, and sad, a softer form
Eyes the lone flood, and deprecates the storm.-
Il fated matron !—for, alas! in vain
Thy eager glances wander o'er the main !--
'Tis the vex'd billows, that insurgent rave,
Their white foam filvers yonder distant wave,
'Tis not his fails !--thy husband comes no more !
His bones now whiten an accursed shore!
Retire,--for bark! the sea-gull fhrieking foars,
The lurid atmosphere portentous low'rs;
Night's sullen fpirit groans in ev'ry gale,
And o'er the waters draws the darkling veil,
Sighs in thy hair, and chills thy throbbing breast
Go, wretched mourner !-weep thy griefs to reft!

Yet, tho' through life is loft each fond delight,
Tho' set thy earthly sun in dreary night,
Oh! raise thy thoughts to yonder farry plain,
And own thy sorrow felfish, weak, and vain ;
Since, while Britannia, to his virtues just,
Twines the bright wreath, and rears th' immortal bust;
While on each wind of heav'n his fame shall rise,
In endless incense to the smiling skies;
THE ATTENDANT Power, that bade his fails expand,
And waft her blesings to each barren land,
Now raptur'd bears him to th'immortal plains,
Where Mercy hails him with congenial trains;
Whese soars, on Joy's white plume, his spirit free,

And angels choir him, while he waits for Thee.' To this poem is subjoined an Ode to the Sun; a prize poem at Batheafton, which displays an imagination well stored with poetical ideas.

H

ART. X. An Epiftle to a friend, on the Death of your Thornton,

Esq. By the Author of " An Epistle to an eminent Painter.” 4to. 1s. Dodsey. 1780. OWEVER homely may be the verfe that laments over

the grave of departed friendship, it not only difarms the severity of criticism, but, if dictated by the genuine and unaffected feelings of the heart, it will be read with attention in some degree equal to the fincerity with which it is supposed to have been written. How exquisite, then, must be the pleasure that is afforded by a pocm like the present ! a poem as elegant as the principle which it proceeds from is amiable! How beautiful is the following apostrophe ! 2

« Pure

• Pure mind! whose meekness, in thy mortal days,
Parsuing virtue, fill retir'd from praise ;
Nor with'd chat friend thip should on marble give
That perfe&t image of thy worth to live,
Which 'twas thy aim alone to leave imprela
On the close tablet of her faithful breait.
If now her verse against thy with rebel,
And strive to blazon what the lov'd so well,
Forgive the tender thought, the moral song,
Which would thy virtues to the world prolong;
That, rescued from the grave's oblivious fhade,
Their useful lufre may be fill survey'd,
Dear to che pensive eye of fond regret,
As light ftill beaming from a fun that's set.
Oft to our giddy Muse thy voice has taught
The just ambition of poetic thought;
Bid her böld view to latest time extend,
And strive to make futurity her friend.
If any verse, her little art can frame,
May win the partial voice of diftant fame,
Be it the verse, whose fond ambition tries
To paint thy mind in truth's unfading dyes,
Tho'krm, yet tender, ardent, yet refin'd;
With Roman Atrength and Attic grace

combin'd.
What tho undeck'd with titles, power, and wealih,
Great were thy generous deeds, and done by stealth ;
For thy pure bounty from observance ftole,
Nor with'd applause, but from thy conscious soul.
Tho' thy plain tomb no sculptur'd form may thew,
No boastful witness of suspected woe;
Yet heavenly shapes, that thun the glare of day,
To that dear spot shall nightly visits pay:
Pale Science there shall o'er her votary Itrew
Her flow'rs, yet moist with sorrow's recent dew.
There Charity, compassion's lovely child,
In rustic notes pathetically wild,
With grateful bleflings bid thy name endure,
And mourn the patron of her village-poor.
E’en from the midnight shew with music gay,
The soul of Beauty to thy tomb shall stray,
In sweet distraction steal from present mirth,
To figh unnotic'd o'er the hallow'd earth,
Which hides those lips, that glow'd with tender fire,
And sung her praises to no common lyre :
But Friendship, wrapt in forrow's deepeft gloom,
Shall keep the longest vigils at thy tomb;
Her wounded breatt, disdainful of relief,
There claims a fond præ-eminence in grief.

Short was thy life, but ah! its thread how fine!
How

pure the texture of the finish'd line! What cho' thy opening manhood could not gain Those late rewards, maturer toils attain ;

Hope's

Hope's firmest promises 'twas thine to raise,
'I bat merit's brightest meed would grace thy lengthen's days;
For chine were Judgment's patient powers to draw
Entangled justice from the nets of law;
1 hine firm Integrity, whose language clear
Ne'er swell’d, with arrogance, or hook with fear.
Reason's mild power, unvex'd by mental strife,
Sway'd the calm current of thy useful life ;
Whose even course was in no season loft,
Nor rough with storms, nor fagnated by frost.
In scenes of public toil, or focial ease,
'Twas thine by firm fincerity to please ;
Sweet as the breath of spring thy converse flow'd,
As summer's noon-tide warmth ihy friendfhip glow'd,
O'er thy mild manners, by no art constrain’d,
A penfive, pleasing melancholy reigo'd,
Which won regard, and charm’d th'actcative eye,
Like the soft luftre of an evening fy:
Yer if perchance excited to defend
The injur'd merit of an absent friend,
That gentle spirit, rous'd to virtuous ire,
Indignant flash'd resentment's noble fire.

Tho'just observance in thy life may trace
A lovely model of each moral grace,
Thy lat of days the nobleft leflon taught :
Severe instruction, and too dearly bought!
Whose force from memory never can depart,
But while it mends, must agonise che heart.
Tho' thy shrunk nerves were destin'd to fultain
Th'increasing horrors of flow wafting pain ;
Those spirit-quenching pangs, whose base controal
Cloud the clear temper, and exhaust the rool;
Vet in that hour, when Death asserts his claim,
And his trong summons shakes the conscious frame;
When weaker minds, by frantic fear o'erthrown,
Shrink in wild borror from the dread Unknown,
Thy firmer foul, with Christian strength renew'd,
Nor loft in languor, nor by pain subdued,
(While thy cold grasp the hand of Friendship prelt,
And her vain aid in fault'ring accents blet)
With awe, but not as Superstition's Nave,
Survey'd the gathering shadows of the grave;
And to thy God, in death, devoutly paid

That calm obedience which thy life display'd. The melancholy yet manly enthusiasm with which the Writer suggests the employment of himself and the surviving friend to whom the epistle is addressed, is truly affecting.

ori let us loiter on his favourite hill,
Whose thades the sadly-pleasing thought inftill;
Recount his kindness, as we fondly rove,
And meet his fpirit in the lonely grove,
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