Infancy, a Didactic Poem. Book VI

To thee, whom laudable Ambition fires, Surmounting every obstacle, to climb The height of science, rivalling the fame Of Arbuthnot, or Garth, or learned Mead: With whom in life's gay morn my heart inwove A bond of union, which no power but death Can e'er untwine: whose warm, whose liberal voice Hath oft approved my strains, in this perchance Too partial, yet humane, and in the song Contemplating the Friend: This verse, to thee, MILMAN! as worthier of thy classic ear, I now devote; nor would I on thy time Sacred to public good, or studious thought, Intrude the futile levities of wit, Or useless elegance, howe'er refined.

WITH prudence nursed, and by it's precepts formed, Thy Child, O Parent! haply will ascend Unhurt to manhood. Yet, events there are, Which not my lays can teach the means to shun, Nor thy assiduous caution can elude. For He is mortal, and to mortal ills Prone from his birth. Each violent Disease The human race invading, may be his: And some, confined, exert their baleful force On Infancy, and Childhood. What, thy care, What, rural scenes, what the pure lymph, and food Aptly supplied; what his own active powers Indulged, the frigid bath, and cleanliness, With regulation due of heat and cold, Can frustrate or prevent, and much they may, He will avoid. At least the shafts of Death Shall oft be blunted, Nature's vigorous arm Her shield protending, while her faithful aid Joins with thy ardent wishes. Is thy mind, Anxious, and fond, with this unsatisfied? And dost thou ask the latent plagues to view Skulking in ambush? know their different signs? Learn their Prognostics, fatal, or secure? And the resources which progressive Time Hath found, and liberal Practice can select?

WHAT wilt Thou gain, so taught? Augmented fears, Doubled anxiety. In every look If slightly changed, in every wanton cry, Or sudden start, thy love solicitous The feeds of dire disaster will perceive, And haste with needless remedies t' oppose A fancied mischief, till thy Infant feels Perhaps thus often treated, real pain. Say, that Disease were fixt, and that our page Lay full before thee fraught with justest rules; Could'st thou with timid mind, and throbbing heart, Presume t' apply them? Would'st thou not, immerst In hesitation, all attempts forego? If not, the tone, and bias of thy soul Mistaking, We for such as thee ne'er strung The lyre humane, nor e'er the lyre will string.

YET, much the welfare of thy Child We prize; And doubtless, even from his natal hour Beginning, could in graphic order paint Every distemper, each appropriate name Disclose, their diverse symptoms and their cure. And when th' instructive plan We first essay'd, Imagination's inconsiderate eye Colleagued with Youth, this finish'd work beheld. But Judgment, render'd stronger by the lapse Of twice seven years, rejects the green design. A theme inelegant, for verse unfit, Tedious, and long, and barren, and to Thee Of little profit, nay with danger stored.

A TASK like this, the Muse without regret Leaves to some Medicaster, who the quill, Dextrously wielding, aims at vulgar praise. We know the failure of Generic marks Employ'd on Species; near the bed of pain We know what nice distinction is required, What accurate serenity of thought, What sedulous attention, to collect Each circumstance minute; and from the traits Commingled and fictitious, to detach What suits peculiar natures, and the turns Of endless and immense Varieties.

WOULD then the Mother, would the wary Nurse, (If such there be) from so disturbed a fount, To them disturbed, it's muddy waters draw? And sport with human life? Not thus reproach'd Shall flow my numbers, which the hand of rash Or doating Ignorance shall ne'er supply With poison. Never will I stoop to win The Multitude's applause by deeds or words Which candour must despise. Nor e'en in song Reflections cast on others, that on me May light the praise of fools; tho plansible Each note appeared, and for the common good Intended solely: Much less with abuse Degrade the very Art I once profess'd. For conscious of the toil it's practice claims, Th' inquietude, the watchful nights, the days To thought intense devote, when jovial Mirth Holds it's nocturnal orgies, and the voice Of empty Vanity is heard at noon, Tho far beneath th' illustrious Great, I knew What form'd their sterling worth, and placed them high Above the selfish, mean, Empiric race.

SUCH were the Sages of th' Asclepian line; Thus, from the Coan, to th' incipient age Of Boerhaave, lived the Prime of every school: Thus Sydenham, over every school Supreme; Such Huxham lately ran his course of fame. While GLASS with evening brightness still adorns The western sky, and proves not yet extinct The true, the genuine Hippocratic beams. Patient t' observe, They unremitting, scann'd The book of Nature, while their souls enlarged Took in, and added to their proper store All past experience, methodized, and clear. How vain their labour! if a tract compiled By some assuming, specious shallow Scribe, Could teach th' inferior orders of Mankind With strict discernment thro the tangled maze Of it's progressive symptoms, to conduct Each dangerous Malady, it's cause unveil, And each adapted remedy prepare: Could these my strains embrace the various ails Infesting Childhood, to thine eyes display The various antidotes, and give that sound Unerring judgment, which alone acquired By use and contemplation, can insure The proper time of trial, can advise With confidence, and justify the deed.

YET, what We may, what nor the Muse forbids, Nor our own sense condemns, is freely thine.

IF from the Mother's bosom We remove Those false opinions which her gentle soul Unwittingly possess; if we describe The limits of her care, and when t' invoke Superior Wisdom's aid; if on her mind Some duties we impress; and tyrant fear, And more tyrannic superstition drive Far from her dwelling, not in vain We write: And many a fell disease o'ercome, her Sons, Her Daughters shall hereafter bless the day Which brought these well-meant numbers to her ear.

BECAUSE the Child, with reason unendow'd And power of speech, by words t' express his grief Nature permits not; some believe the source Of anguish and affliction is conceal'd From every eye, and deem assistance vain. Or to the Nurse, or vaunting Midwife trust, Who cases manifold and similar Have oft beheld, and never fail'd to cure: For Each her Nostrum boasts; if harmless this, And trifling, it were well, did not the wing Of Time speed fast th' irrevocable hour Of wisht redress. But frequently the drug They praise, the cordial drops are fraught with death, Hurrying convulsions on of direst kind; Or with narcotic venom strong imbued, Plunging their Patient in eternal sleep.

YET, Nature, in thy Child, tho not in words, Speaks plain to those who in her language verst Justly interpret. Are the different tones Of woe, unfaithful sounds? Can He, whose sight Hath traced the various muscles in their course, When irritated in the different limbs, Retracted, or extended, or supine, Fix no conclusions on the seat of pain? Is it of no avail to mark the breath, How drawn? the face? the motions of the eye? The salient pulse? th' eruptions on the skin? The skin itself, constricted, or relaxt? The mode of sleep? of watching? heat? and thirst? From which, and numerous traits beside, arranged, Combined, abstracted, and maturely weigh'd, Judgment it's practice forms? Are characters Like these, which ask the nice-decyphering soul, Intelligible to the Beldames Old Who wrapt in darkness, utter prophesies And lying oracles, which cheat the ear, Or follow'd, to destruction lead the way? Oh! may good Angels, kindling in thy breast The lamp of reason, guard thee from their snares! Blind Guides, assiduous to deceive the Blind.

TRUTHS partially adopted oft admit Ingressive Error. Children are presumed, As fresh from Nature's hand, with maladies Of simpler kind to labour, than the frame Of grosser Age. Say, this belief were true? A general rule? If simpler than they are Hence treated, still we cannot but decry Th' unsound opinion which for all alike One favourite mode of practice recommends. If just the notion, Aesculapius' Son Might as a vain intruder be dismiss'd, The Mother could supply his place unblamed. But, (nor with idle terrors do we seek To wound affection) from experience taught, We know what medicines, different in effect, And opposite, the varying symptoms claim. Antiphlogistics which the vital heat Increased, depress; and Cardiacs which excite; And Opiate Sedatives, in vulgar hands Pernicious as the deadly nightshade's juice. And Drastics harsh, which utmost skill alone, And wise discretion, when the moment calls, Should dare advise. Th' uncomprehensive Mind, Or prejudiced, or wishing to repose In inactivity, is likewise prone To simplify the causes, and accuse That which perhaps exists not, but which reigns As it conjectures, eminent o'er all.

THE wild delusions which this source affords, With silent scorn or pity hath the Muse Often attested. The luxuriant glands, In Infants stiled of disproportion'd size, And the too copious fluids they secern, Or tough and viscid, Some alone condemn. As if these glands by nature were ordain'd So large without design, or worse, to prove The cisterns of disease. Acidity Some only blame; and some, the sting severe Of acrimonious humours. These accuse The noisome worm, however hid from fight. Those, as exciting fever, reprobate Nought but the growing teeth. Repletion, Some. While Others dreadful fits survey within, Or e'en pretend to trace them in the smile Of downy sleep. Nor Women solely err. The Pedant has his whims; and He, the light Fantastic Form, who superficial skims The froth of science, yet would fain appear Most intimate in it's profoundest depths, Nor a phaenomenon beholds, to which, Like the first Man, intuitively wise, He cannot give a name. What strange conceits Have not Philosophers embraced? Intent The principles of Galen to defend? Or to deduce from chymic elements Recondite causes? Or the line apply And mathematic rule, to buildings raised On mere imaginary ground? Or search The moon, and aspects of the distant stars? While Some, from animated Beings, thick Diffused thro space, invisibly minute, Have every ill derived, tormenting Man.

LET All who will, enjoy their pleasing dreams, So human life be safe; and Theory Held in firm durance, never guide the pen When sickness needs assistance. But, of this Be sure, O Parent! to thy Children flow From numerous causes, which would tire thy ear, And pass the stated limits of our verse, Their diverse ails; tho not perhaps like Us Subject to putrid ferments, yet from them Not wholly free, nor from the power of cold, Of sultry heat, of humid air, and dry, And fell Contagion, whose resistless aim If placed within it's reach, no Wight can shun Of mortal mould, nor e'er escape the bane, Unless around her favourites Nature cast Impenetrable mail, no work of art.

SHALL then by fear impeded, None attempt To rescue Childhood from distress and pain, But those, by long and toilsome study taught, T' investigate the cause, the symptoms scan, And judge what they portend? Th' impartial heart Unmoved by sordid lucre, by the goad Of mean self-interest, wishes to the Race Of Infant Innocence, no worse a fate. But not to combat what the Muses Nine, And e'en the Delian God with all his power, Could never vanquish; and because the step Of Paeon's Votary is not always near; Attend our strains. When the weak head declines, And the eye droops; when now th' inconstant cheek Is red, now pale; when fretful, restless, hot; The stomach and intestines discomposed, And in their office changed; when the young springs Of life more quick or tardy seem to move Than Nature wills; We would not to thy Child Forbid thee (tho We dare not recommend, Nor can approve the deed, unless by fate Widely sequester'd from th' experienced eye, Reason's sole plea;) to give a portion due Of th' Indian root; or taught the quantity With nice exactness, which his Age may claim, Some useful Antimonial; or, that mild, Insipid, light, absorbent, by it's name Magnesia, better known, or join'd with this More strengthening Rhéum, from Siberian wilds, Or Turkey's regions brought. Here ends thy care. For now the transient obstacles o'ercome, Alacrity returns; or still He pines, Still his distemper gains increasing force. And if the cause should thus be deeply fixt, Thy efforts would be vain, perhaps unsafe, At least engend'ring danger by delay, And Danger often marches close by Death.

HERE let thy love, thy conscience take th' alarm; Love for thy Child, and terror at the guilt Of dire infanticide. Perhaps the worst Of ills impends; Convulsion lurks unseen; Fever already riots in his veins; Or suffocation threatens to destroy. Trust not Thyself; trust not the babbling Hag; Let Fondness all alive, and light'ning round, Detect Her, as Ithuriel's spear the toad, Couch'd at the ear of Eve, with poison fill'd.

YET shun despondence, cherish warmest hope, Seize fleet occasion ere it passes by, And call th' ingenious Leach, his happy skill Shall to it's pristine health thy Babe restore, If all-o'erruling Providence permit. If not, to th' indefatigable Mind Tho learning all it's mysteries hath reveal'd, Tho judgment clear, and long experience join Their potent aid, A WARREN will be foil'd, A HEBERDEN, or BAKER, cannot save. But Thou from every taint of guilt or blame Art free; thy duty is perform'd; tho poor That solace is, which counsels, Be resign'd, Fetter the strong sensations, rapid-wing'd; And glean content from rectitude of thought. Who thus can lose the Darling of the eye? The little lively Cherub, who e'en now Begins his voice to modulate, and lisp The half-form'd tale? Ah! wherefore was he given? So soon resumed, and snatch'd from cheerful day? That, Heaven best knows. Yet, if thou wilt, indulge Thy just emotions, give them ample scope; Recall each mimic gesture, every sound, Each look, when pleased, or wayward in his mood, He struck with inexpressive tenderness The soul parental. With thy struggling heart The Muse shall sympathise, shall add to thine Congenial notes sincere. But time shall heal The rankling wound, and soften by degrees, Nay, quite o'ercome reflection's sharpest pangs; Till Memory tracing to the fount of Grief Views it at length unruffled, and beholds Thro the calm lymph, Woe's once detested form, Affectionately pensive, yet serene.

THE Human Soul with fortitude can bear, Or with elastic energy expell, Or slowly certain, vanquish every ill, But dread remorse. The Self-accused descend Low in the scale, and abject, or they pine Afflicted, or amid the blaze of noon Perceive no change in the dark midnight gloom Which reigns within; Despair stands scouling by, And sullen Madness crouches for his prey.

OH! may thy Mind, whatever doom'd to feel, Whate'er of anguish, pain, or penury, Wounds of ingratitude, or slighted love, This worse than all, that famine, fire, or steel, This horrid Fiend avoiding, never shrink Beneath his weight, by conscious thought condemn'd. Nor, may Evadne's melancholy fate Be ever thine. What beauties could She boast! How fair, in virgin innocence! Her charms Pierced deep, for unaffected was the Maid, And justest education had improved, Not tortured Nature. Melody had chose Her voice for it's loved vehicle of sound. Tho mute, She spake, her eye had magic fire. Her shape, her gesture, every action beam'd Expressive elegance. Could the young heart Of Polydore resist her wondrous power? He strove not to resist, He heard, He saw, And all his melting soul was Her's alone. Nor did She view th' enamour'd Swain, or hear Scornful the tender vows He breathed; for his Was the smooth open front of candid truth, The modest cheek, the soft persuasive glance Of true affection, and the sigh sincere. The lawns, the meads beheld them, and the groves Of quivering alder, and the willows green Skirting the mazy brook, nor e'er beheld Happier and purer Mortals; nor e'er caught Amid their shades, or on their mossy banks, Notes more impassion'd from the Doric Muse, Than Polydore to his Evadne sung.

THUS fixt immutably, thus rivetted By strong attraction, not a Father's frown, (For his imagination had pourtray'd Evadne in the higher rank of pride, Of wealth, and pageantry;) not five long years Of absence could from either's heart erase The other's image. Yet again They met, Auspicious was the meeting; for the soul Of Age severe, now moved, resolved to bless The constant Youth, and to his arms resign The beauteous Maid. He bless'd the constant Youth; And to his arms the beauteous Maid resign'd. Fair shone the morn of their espousals, fair The coming morn, and promised to the eye Of raptured love, a train of prosperous days.

OH Happiness! how exquisite!—how brief! Affliction is the lot of Man below: And often, Misery, when the soul of joy Flushes with transport, breathes a sudden air Of chilling frost, the genial warmth destroys, And florid bloom. One eve Evadne sat Alone, in swift succession to her view Rose many a fairy prospect, but the light Which gilded them was Polydore's, the sun Was He, illuming, animating all The forms of her creation. Even then She felt his warm embrace, and press'd She thought His glowing cheek to her's; for him prepared, The table smiled; for him bright-beaming shone The rosy wine; the foot-steps of his steed She heard in every gale. But him, alas! The living Polydore she never saw. That Steed had proved unfaithful to his trust, With mad'ning swiftness t'ward the gate He flew, While far behind his breathless Master lay.

THE feelings of Evadne to describe Weak is the Muse, and nerveless are her strains. What can support her? Where exists the Power Which can detain her from the grave that holds Her Lord in death? What, but the Babe which smiles Unconscious of his loss, as on her breast, Her nurturing breast, He hangs? For him She lives. For him sustains the load of grief, and strives To tear the rooted anguish from her mind. He is the charm which reconciles her thoughts To the loath'd world? for Polydore in him She sees, in the dear pledge of amity: Stampt with his image, with his vital blood Inform'd, and breathing sweet his balmy breath.

HATH not Misfortune spent her deadly shafts? Ill-starr'd Evadne! In thy Child appear The symptoms of disease, and onward hastes Impetuous Fever. To a form like thine, A temper blameless, with emotions pure, Humane, and amiable, ah! why did Heaven Refuse staid Judgment, firmness to resist Error importunate, and strength to shun Credulity, which hears the Dotard's tale, And thinks it truth! Who taught thy Grandam hoar The secrets of an art, to which the Mind Of vigorous energy, and years of toil, Are scarcely equal? By what Demon urged Malicious, with what evil Spirit fill'd Of self-conceit and folly, dares She hope T' accomplish, what requires the searching eye Of Genius and the labour'd skill of deep And accurate attention? On thy Child She looks, then proves her wisdom. First, the teeth Are blamed, and charms are tried, and Nostrums given. Next, Fits internal, and her poisonous drugs She brews like Circe. Then the noxious Worm; And Anthelmintics various She procures, And oft repeats the drench. Each different cause She e'er has heard suggested, is accused, And every remedy She ever knew, Administer'd; while still, the last, her voice Solemnly slow, declares will banish pain, And with miraculous and sudden force Restore the suffering Babe; who lies meantime Opprest with double woe, by his disease, And that pernicious treatment, which from plain And simple, has converted it at length To mortal violence. Now, Nature yields Reluctantly o'ercome. Evadne sees The Victim of presumptuous Ignorance; Conviction flashes on her mind; She calls For aid, too late. He dies; and with him dies Her Polydore again. She raves, She tears Her flowing locks. Yet, passionate excess May waste itself, and Peace once more return. It might return, as when She felt the pangs Of absent love, as when her heart was torn, Losing it's dearer portion. But the sting Of sharp reflection, by Herself impell'd, What hand shall e'er extract? Her delicate, And feeling mind, imagination-struck, Shrinks from existence; while by day, by night, These sounds pervade her ear, "Thy Child is slain, And Thou wert an Accomplice." Horrid sounds! Inviting on his cloud, the dreary Shape Of melancholy Madness. Oh! what notes, What different notes, utters Evadne now, Enfrenzied, and forlorn, from those which erst Amid their shades, or on their mossy banks, The groves responsive heard, the joyous groves Of quivering alder, and the willows green Skirting the mazy brook, those Doric notes, Which Polydore to his Evadne sung.

TURN We from scenes like these, which o'er the soul Of weeping Sympathy diffuse a gloom, Yet, not unchasten'd by the milder ray Of self-acquitting thought, and firm intent To shun the latent rocks of deep distress, By pious caution guided; from our theme Not thus abstracted, it's preceptive notes Yet unrelinquishing, and sorrows mists Dispell'd, which o'er the breast of Innocence Flit like a cloud across the summer sky; To happier mansions, objects of delight, And joyful prospects, turn! to where thy Child Hath, by Inoculation, overcome The Plague Variolous! As Hercules The spotted Snakes defeating, transport flush'd Alcmena's glowing cheek, so over thine I see the kindled radiance. Whether born In Ethiopic wilds, or mid the sands Of parch'd Arabia, or where spread the shores Girding the Caspian; from his natal place, Pursuing Mahomet's wide-wasting arms, The Monster rush'd on Europe, pale dismay, Horror, and Death rapacious in his train. For many a Century, without controul, When ragid his fury, by pernicious skies Aroused, or propagated far and wide By fell Contagion, He destroy'd Mankind. The Cities groan'd; The Matron o'er her Babe In unavailing trance of anguish hung. The Lover offer'd up his fruitless vows, And wearied Heaven importunately fond, To save the Beauty which his soul adored. The Babe, the Mother's self, became his prey; The Youth, and Virgin, sunk into the tomb. If life were granted, beauty was effaced; Each decent feature, tumid, and enlarged, Roughen'd, or dented with unseemly scars.

MEDICINE was whelm'd with shame; the Roman page Was silent, nor the Grecian could afford An antidote for evils Grecia's Sons Had ne'er imagined. Rhazes wrote in vain; And even Sydenham's efforts had their bounds. For the cold lymph by Prejudice was shunn'd; And Sydenham, tho He oft by freer air Tamed the devouring heat, and shook the throne Of learned Ignorance, declaring war Against it's regimen, adverse to life, And compounds teeming with destructive fire, Alexipharmic poisons; could not change The rank malignant nature of the Pest: Which still, when favouring constitutions reign'd And in peculiar Habits, all his art Baffled, invincible; his art, beyond All Mortals else, and only not divine.

THE triumph was reserved for Female hands; Thine was the deed, accomplish'd MONTAGUE! What Physic ne'er conjectured, What described By Pylarini, by Timoni sketch'd, Seem'd to Philosophy an idle tale, Or curious only; She by patriot love Inspired, and England rising to her view Proved as a truth, and proved it on her Son. A manly Mind where reason dwelt supreme Was Her's the little terrors of her sex Despising, by maternal fondness sway'd, Yet bold, where confidence had stable grounds. How far superior to the turbann'd Race With whom She sojourn'd, scrupulous, and weak!

YET, this is She, whom Pope's illiberal verse Hath dared to censure with malicious spleen, And meanly-coward soul. Redoubled Bard! What hath thy satire, tho it often flow Happy, and poignant, with Horatian ease, What hath thy moral lay, tho pure, and just, And elegant, of profit e'er produced, Of high advantage to thy natal Land, Compared with her bequest? Thy numbers charm The listening ear, and with thy polisht stile Taste is enamour'd; She hath been the cause Of heart-felt joy to thousands, thousands live, And still shall live thro her; thy song can please None but the Sons of Britain; or the Few, Of nice, and studious leisure; She unlock'd The springs of satisfaction and delight, And with perennial comfort bless'd the World.

LET Me then urge this duty; nor to fear Or superstition yielding, let thy Child Encounter in his native shape the Fiend, And brave his violence. For, whither, say, To what sequester'd haunt canst Thou retreat, Where He will not pursue? How vain thy flight! How sure thy victory, if as Art direct And wise Experience, thou anticipate His threaten'd blow! So when the Patriarch's arm Was stretch'd to wound his Son, An Angel came, And saved the victim from impending death.

GENTLE; and almost harmless is the bane By Skill communicated, which regards The times and seasons, nor infects the Child, If to Dentition's wonted state arrived; For, ill the labouring frame can then endure An added stimulus. Nor yet before That period; lest to Epilepsy prone By the contagious vapour raised, He quit Sudden the precincts warm of light and life. This too the cold of winter bids Us shun, Potent the vessels to contract, increase Their tonic force, and in the system stir Fierce inflammation. And the summer heat; By which all putrid ferments are sublimed, And render'd doubly fatal. These extremes Avoided, in the temperate months alone Let every prudent Matron be resolved T' obey the call of duty, and of love. Unless the dread contagion, thickening round, Impell them to neglect each guarded rule, Yielding by force to peril's just alarm.

NEED We, in this our Aera, when mature, And vigorous, reason prospers, groundless fears Oppose by arguments? the groundless fears Of fondness, or religion? In thy mind No terror should, or can with justice dwell, But lest, as naturally seen, by Art Unmodified, uncheck'd, the stern Disease Should thy young Charge assault. If He escape, His lot is fortunate. Assaulted thus, Oft, from an Hundred only, many die. From many Hundreds, None, or one perchance, Of those inoculated. Why should thine Be the poor solitary One? If death Follow a treatment, which can soothe the Pest, And meliorate it's nature, could his life Be granted to thy fervent prayer, when arm'd, And with it's proper rage it took the field? This be thy source of comfort. Nor believe That Providence is tempted by the deed. From Providence flows reason to Mankind; And Reason teaches Us to fly from ill, And covet good. Th' invention, the success, Is the true warrant of approving Heaven. Who would not rather cross a shallow frith, When first the rising tide begins, than wait Hemm'd in a nook, till with impetuous force It sweep Him from his station? Who refuse By Franklin's pointed rod, to draw the stream Of lightning on their roofs, because the cloud Might harmless pass above? thus safe convey'd, In unterrific silence, to the ground.

THO rare th' Examples now, and scatter'd, mark Th' unhappy Beings, who from idle dread, Or weak maternal love, in Childhood's state This boon received not; and who sharing yet Th' hereditary feelings, want themselves Firmness of soul th' omission to supply. Mark, where they pine in solitude, oppresst By anxious thought; to whom Man's cheerful Race Affords no joy; the voice of Music breathes It's choral notes unheard; the stage displays The living manners, and th' assembly beams With sprightliness and elegance, in vain. The City, nay the Village bounds they fly, And shift from place to place, as from the pack Of clamorous Hounds and Men, in wild affright The trembling Hare. Oh! never may thy Sons, Thy Daughters, thus be cursed! in early life By thee from all these future horrors freed! The mirthful croud, with innocence of heart Joining well-pleased; the gay, the social hour Nor shunning, nor desiring, but awhile To soften care; or fit the soul for acts, By relaxation due, of nobler kind. Endow'd by Thee with comeliness, no trace Of this abhorr'd Distemper left behind, And all it's wonted ravages defied.

FOR MONTAGUE again the verse prepare, And bring th' harmonious strain! Why thro the realms Of Europe are not votive Statues placed Honouring their Benefactress? From the straits Of Gades, south, to where the towers ascend Of famed Petropolis? Or, crossing wide Th' Atlantic foam, why in the new-found World, Which more to Her, than it's Discoverer, owes, Appears no structure sacred to her praise? Yet, shall Imagination rear the dome, And fix th' expressive marble. Hither come, Ye Nymphs, and Swains, with flowery garlands deck'd Your polisht foreheads; on the shaven green Which fronts the Temple, ply your nimble feet, The jocund dance inweaving! Hither come, Ye Fauns and Dryads! Hither, glowing Love, And spotless Beauty! Youth, with radiant eye, And blooming Health! While underneath the beech Or oak, which waves it's consecrated shade, Humanity, and Wisdom, smiling view The festive Throng, mid whom the Graces play. And quitting their proud bowers, and lofty hill, The Muses utter notes divinely sweet, Such as of yore They sung, when Gratitude Tuned to the Friends and Patrons of mankind The genuine lyre, ennobled by it's theme.