Bacon; Newton.

Which form'd, and finish'd its stupendous plan,
Fame says the greatest ever form'd by man.
Great Bacon's* soul first led the daring way;
Then Newton's system call'd the world to day;
Hurl'd from his throne, the ruthless king of night,
Pierc'd his retreat and put his hosts to flight:

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refinement, therefore, may have been introduced into the works of the moderns, the spirit and invention of Homer have ever continued without a rival: for which reason I am far from pretending to assert that the poet of Persia is equal to that of Greece, but there is certainly a very great resemblance between the works of those extraordinary men. Both drew their images from Nature herself, without catching them only by reflection, and painting in the manner of the modern poets, the likeness of a likeness; and both possessed, in an eminent degree, that rich and creative invention which is the very soul of poetry."

* It is well known in the literary world, that the discoveries of Newton, excepting those which belong to pure ma thematics, were derived from those outlines drawn by the bold hand of Bacon. Newton has exhibited a perfect and accurate system, but he had the example and directions of Bacon. "It would nevertheless (says Dr. Gerard) be a question of very difficult solution, which of the two possessed the greatest genius; Newton's inquiries concerning bodies the most subtle or the most remote, seem to demand an acuteness and compass of invention, which we might pronounce adequate to all the investigations of Bacon, though his discoveries in mathematics, perfectly original, were not extant to give a sanction to the judgment."

Demosthenes; Cicero; Lord Chatham.

The world of matter and the boundless sky,
All Nature open'd to the sage's eye.

The soul oft needs excitements to impel
And rouse the Genius slumbering in her cell.
When mighty causes agitate the world
When states and kingdoms are on ruin hurl'd,
When Nature calls her elements to war,

And yokes destruction to her iron car; Rous'd Genius stands spectator of the sight, [flight. Arms all her powers and spreads her wings for O hear that voice* from Athens' falling walls 50 Which pleads, denounces, on his country calls, "Lo! Philip comes--lo! Philip's hosts draw near; "To arms, Athenians !--grasp the faithful spear--"Who from the field of death would basely fly? "Who would live slaves while they might bravely O hear that voice † by thirsty treason fir'd, [die?" By every patriotic thought inspir'd, Which shook the soul of coward Guilt with dread, Dispell'd the danger, struck the traitor dead.

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O hear that voice which for my native shore, Breath'd its bold accents and was heard no more. ‡

*Demosthenes. + Cicero.

The Earl of Chatham last appeared in the House of Lords, the 2d of April, 1778. He was then ill and debili

tated.

He spoke in favour of a motion of the Duke of

Influence of Love.

---Genius is rous'd to labour and excel

By those whom ages say have written well.
She hears the trump from every distant clime
Which sounds its honours till the death of Time,
She marks the eagle whose undazzled eye
Drinks the full splendour of the kindled sky.
When emulation calls the soul obeys,

Wakes all her powers and pours her fervent lays,
Shakes from her hold the drowsy sloth of years,
And all her zeal, and all her strength uprears→→→
Love often wakes the poet's soul of fire,
And bids bold youth to noble deeds aspire:
Others it leads with folded arms to rove,
Where Silence slumbers in the peaceful grove.
It bids the song in smoothest numbers flow
To lull dejection by its voice of woe.

Young Cymon* rous'd by Iphigenia's charm,
Felt the strong thunder nerve his clownish arm;
By daring deeds he won the lovely maid,
And bore her blushing to his native shade,

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Richmond, for an address to his majesty, to dismiss his ministers and make peace with America. At the close of his long speech he was overcome and was seized with a convulsive fit---of the effects of which he died on the 4th of April.

*See Dryden's admirable tale of Cymon and Iphigenia.

Story of Orlando and Anna.

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Where rolls the Forth his wild romantic flood, Amid the moor an humble dwelling stood; There liv'd an honest pair whose only joy, Dwelt in their child, a simple shepherd boy; With Fancy, kindled by the breath of Fame, They gave their son Orlando's sounding name. A modest blush, an honest heart he had, And every village neighbour bless'd the lad. Serenely o'er his head had eighteen years Flown, unembitter'd by remorseless tears. He lov'd his pipe, and when the vale was still, His strain came sweeten'd from the shady hill; Nature he lov'd in all her various forms, Her sleeping green, her mountain beat by storms, Her winding stream, her ever rolling waves, Her cooling shades, her deep and dismal caves. Thus smil'd his days-" but why the tale proHe saw fair Anna---Anna 'woke his song; Her lovely limbs a snowy vestment bound, A silken cincture clasp'd her form around; Hung careless on her back her dusky hair, And wav'd in ringlets to the sportive air. Her smile awaken'd every hope of love, Her modest mildness would that hope reprove: A pensive sorrow shaded o'er her face,

Admiring Nature gave her every grace.

F

[long?"

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Forlorn Situation of Orlando.

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Orlando lov'd---but all his vows were vain,
And all the sweetness of his mournful strain.
An happier shepherd from the banks of Tay,
Bow'd to her charms and bore the maid away.
Orlando mourns---his sun has set in night.
And fled each hope and every fond delight.
A sullen phrenzy dims his noble soul,
In gloomy silence his dark eye-balls roll;
At dead of night he wanders o'er the vale,
And bares his bosom to the chilling gale;
Among the rocks he leans, to hear the roar
Of billows chafing on the sounding shore.
Each sound which strikes the village boor with fear,
Is all the strain Orlando loves to hear.
One night when howl'd the loud and angry north,
Alone he wander'd on the banks of Forth;
Autumn had robb'd the foliage of the trees,
Their naked branches trembled to the breeze;
The birds no longer rais'd their lulling strains,
But coming winter chill'd and hush'd the plains.
Heedless he rov'd while deeper clouds o'erspread,

And wilder tempests beat upon his head:
His phrenzy grew amid the ruthless storm;
His Fancy saw his long-lost Anna's form:
Onward he rush'd--he held the form in view,
He call'd on Anna--Anna from him flew,

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