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226 ANNUAL REGISTER  

Who can unmov'd the warm description read,
Where the wing'd shaft repels the bounding steed;
Where the torn spoils of the rapacious war,
With shocking pomp adorn the victor's car!
When, from some hostile arm dismiss'd, the reed
On the mark'd foe directs its thirsty speed,
Such strength, such action, strikes our eager fight,
We view and shudder at its fatal flight;
We hear the straiten'd yew recoiling start,
And see through air glide swift the whizzing dart;
When higher themes a bolder strain demand 
Life waits the poet's animating hand:
There where majestic, to the sanguin'd field 
Stern Ajax stalks behind his seven-fold shield;
Or where in polish'd arms severely bright,
Pelides dreadful issues to the fight:
With martial ardor breathes each kindling page,
The direful havock, and unbounded rage.
The clash of arms tumultuous from afar,
And all that sires the hero's soul to war.
  Bold Pindar next, with matchless force and fire, 
Divinely carelss, wak'd the sounding lyre,
Unbound by rules, he urg'd each vig'rous lay,
And gave his mighty genius room to play:
The Grecian games employ his daring strings,
In numbers rapid as the race he sings.
Mark, muse, the conscious shade, and vocal grove,
Where Sappho tun'd her melting voice to love,
While echo each harmonious strain return'd,
And with the soft complaining Lesbian mourn'd.
  With roses crown'd, on flowers supinely laid,
Anacreon next the sprightly lyre essay'd;
In light fantastic measures beat the ground,
Or dealt the mirth-inspiring juice around.
No care, no thought, the careless trifler knew,
But mark'd with bliss each moment as it flew.
  Behold the foil, where smooth Clitumnus glides,
And rolls, through smiling fields, his ductile tides;
Where swoln Eridanus in state proceeds,
And tardy Mincio wanders through the meads;
Where breathing flow'rs ambrosial sweets distill.
And the soft air with balmy fragrance fill.
Oh, Italy! tho' joyful plenty reigns,
And nature laughs amid thy bloomy plains;
Tho' all thy shades poetic warmth inspire,
Tune the rapt soul, and fan the sacred fire,
Those plains and shades shall reach the appointed date, 
And all their fading honours yield to fate:
7  Thy

For the YEAR 1772. 227

Thy wide renown and ever blooming fame, 
Stand on the basis of a nobler claim.
In thee his harp immortal Virgil strung,
Of shepherds, flocks, and might heroes sung.
  See Horace, shaded by the lyrick wreath,
Where every Grace and all the muses breathe;
Where courtly ease adorns each happy line,
And Pindar's fire, and Sappho's softness join.
Politely wise, with calm, well-govern'd rage,
He lash'd the reigning follies of the age;
With wit, not spleen, indulgently severe,
To reach the heart, he charm'd the list'ning ear;
When smoother themes each milder note employ,
Smooth as the same-presaging doves* that spread 
Prophetic wreaths around his infant head.
Ye num'rous bards unsung, (whose various lays
A genius equal to your own should praise)
Forgive the muse, who feels an inbred flame,
Resistless to exalt her country's fame:
A foreign clime she leaves, and turns her eyes 
Where her own Britain's fav'rite tow'rs arise,
Where Thames rolls deep his plenteous tides around,
His banks with thick ascending turrets crown'd.
  Britannia, Hail! o'er whose luxuritant plains
For thy free natives wave the rip'ninh grains;
'Twas sacred Liberty's celestial smile,
First lur'd the muses to thy gen'rous isle:
'Twas Liberty bestow'd the pow'r to sing,
And bade the verse-rewarding laurel spring.
  Here Chaucer first his comic verse display'd,
And merry tales in homely guise convey'd:
Unpolish'd beauties grace the artless song,
Tho' rude the diction, yet the sense was strong.
To smoother strains chastising tuneless prose,
In plain magnificence great Spenser rose:
In forms distinct, in each creating line,
The virtues, vices, and the passions shine;
Subservient nature aids the poet's rage,
And with herself inspires each nervous page.
  Exalted Shakespeare, with a boundless mind,
Rang'd far and wide, a genius unconfin'd,
The passions sway'd, and captive led the heart,
Without the critic's rule, or aid of art:
So some fair clime, by smiling Phoebus blest, 
And with a thousand charms by nature drest,

*Horace, book iii. Ode 5.
Q 2   Where