Viewing page 264 of 285

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

218
Annual Register

So bright, my God, my crimson vices shine,
That only choice of punishment is thine.
Thy essence pure abhors my sinful state,
And ev'n thy clemency confirms my fate,
Be thy will done! let, let thy wrath descend,
While tears, like mine, from guilty eyes offend.
Dart thy red bolts, tho' in the dreadful stroke,
My soul shall bless the Being I provoke.
Yet where! O where, can e'vn thy thunders fall?
Christ's blood o'erspreads, and shields me from them all.

A Fragment of Milton, from the Italian.
When Milton, then a youth, was at Florence, he fell in love with a young Lady of great beauty and merit; and as she understood no English, he addressed the following verses to her native language, of which he was not then a perfect master.

When in your language, I unskill'd, address
The short-pac'd efforts of a trammell'd muse;
Soft Italy's fair critics round me press,
And my mistaking passion thus accuse:

Why to our Tongue's disgrace, does thy dumb love 
Strive in rough sounds, soft meanings to impart?
He must reflect his words, who speaks, to move:
And points his purpose at the Hearer's heart.

Then, Laughing, they repeat my languid lays-
Nymphs of thy native clime, perhaps they cry,
For whom thou hast a tongue - may feel thy praise:
But we must understand e'er we comply.

Do thou, my soul's soft hope! these triflers awe:
Tell them, 'tis nothing how, or what I writ;
Since Love, from silent looks, can language draw,
And scorns the lame impertinence of wit.

ODE for his MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, June 4, 1772.

From scenes of death, and deep distress,
(Where Britain shar'd her monarch's woe)
Which most the feeling mind oppress,
Yet best to bear the virtuous know,

Turn

219
For the year 1772.

Turn we our eyes - the cypress wreath,
No more the plaintive muse shall wear;
The blooming flowers which round her breathe,
Shall form the chaplet for her hair,
And the gay month, which claims her annual fire,
Shall raise to sprightlier notes the animated lyre.
The lark that mounts on morning wings
To meet the rising day,
Amidst the clouds exulting sings;
The dewy clouds, whence zephyr slings
The fragrance of the May.
The day which gave our Monarch birth,
Recals each nobelest theme of ages past;
Tells us, whate'er we ow'd to Nassau's worth,
The Brunswic race confirm'd, and bade it last.
Tells us with rapturous joy unblam'd,
And conscious gratitude to feel
Our laws, our liberties reclaim'd
From tyrant pride, and bigot zeal;
While each glad voice, that wakes the echoing air,
In one united with thus joins the general prayer:
'Till ocean quits his favourite isle,
'Till Thames thy watry train
No more shall bless it's pregnant soil,
May order, peace, and freedom, smile
Beneath a Brunswick's reign.

AGAINST LIFE. From the Greek of PROSIDIPPUS.

What tranquil road, unvex'd by strife,
Can mortals choose thro' human life?
Attend the courts, attend the bar - 
There discord reigns, and endless jar.
At home the weary wretches find
Severe disquietude of mind;
To till the fields gives toil and pain;
Eternal terrors sweep the main;
If rich, we fear to lose our store;
Need and distress await the poor.
Sad care the bands of Hymen give;
Friendless, forlorn, th'unmarried live;
Are children born? we anxious groan;
Childless, our lack of heirs we moan.
Wild, giddy schemes our youth engage;
Weakness and want depress old age.
Would Fate then with my wish comply,
I'd never live, or quickly die.

For