To him
you muft your fickly state refer;
Your charter claims him as your Vifiter.
Your wounds he'll clofe, and fov'reignly reftore
Your science to the height it had before.

Then Naffau's health fhall be your glorious aim,
His life should be as lasting as his fame.
Some princes claims from devaftations spring,
He condefcends, in pity, to be king:

And when, amidst his olives plac'd, he stands,
And governs more by candour than commands,.
Ev'n then not less a hero he appears,

Than when a Laurel diadem he wears.

Wou'd Phoebus, or his Gle, but inspire
Their facred veh'mence of poetic fire ;
To celebrate in fong that godlike pow'r;
Which did the lab'ring universe restore:
Fair Albion's cliffs would echo to the strain,
And praise the arm that conquer'd, to regain
The earth's repose, and empire o'er the main.
Still may th' immortal man his cares repeat,
To make his bleffings endless as they're great:
Whilft Malice and Ingratitude confefs

They've ftrove for ruin long, without fuccess.
When, late, Jove's eagle from the pyle fhall rife,.
To bear the victor to the boundless skies,

Awhile the God puts off paternal care,

Neglects the earth to give the Heav'ns a ftar.
Near thee, Alcides, fhall the hero fhine;
His rays resembling, as his labours, thine.
Had fome fam'd patriot, of the Latin blood,
Like Julius great, and like Octavius good,

}

ᄉ

But thus preferv'd the Latin liberties,

Afpiring columns foon had reach'd the skies:
Loud Io's the proud capitol had shook,
And all the statues of the gods had spoke.

No more the fage his raptures could pursue: He paus'd; and Celfus, with his guide, withdrew,

ECLOGUE

The following eclogues, written by Mr. Collins, are very pretty: the images, it must be owned, are not very local; for the paftoral fubject could not well admit of it. The defcription of Afiatic magnificence, and manners, is a fubject as yet unattempted amongst us, and, I believe, capable of furnishing a great variety of poetical imagery.

E Perfian maids, attend your poet's lays,

YE

And hear how fhepherds pafs their golden days. Not all are bleft, whom Fortune's hand fuftains With wealth, in courts, nor all that haunt the plains: Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell; 'Tis virtue makes the blifs, where'er we dwell.. Thus Selim fung, by facred Truth inspir'd; Nor praise, but fuch as Truth beftow'd, defir'd:

Wife

Wife in himself, his meaning fongs convey'd
Informing morals to the fhepherd maid;

Or taught the fwains that fureft blifs to find,
What groves nor ftreams bestow, a virtuous mind.
When, sweet, and blushing like a virgin bride,
The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride;
When wanton gales along the valleys play,
Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away;
By Tigris' wandering waves he fat, and fung
This ufeful leffon for the fair and young.

Ye Perfian dames, he faid, to you belong,
Well may they pleafe, the morals of my fong:
No fairer maids, I truft, than you are found,
'Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you, to your loves fupplies
Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes:
For you those flowers her fragrant hands beftow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not thefe, all-beauteous as they are,
The best kind bleffings Heaven can grant the fair!
Who truft alone in beauty's feeble ray,

Boaft but the worth Baffora's pearls display;
Drawn from the deep we own their furface bright,
But, dark within, they drink no luftrous light:
Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they boast,
By fenfe unaided, or to virtue loft.

Self-flattering sex! your hearts believe in vain
That love fhall blind, whence once he fires the fwain ;
Or hope a lover by your faults to win,

As fpots on ermin beautify the skin:

Who