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Fair Liberty revives with all her joys,
And bids her envy'd walls fecurely rife.
And thou, great hallow'd dome, in ruin fpread,
Again fhalt lift fublime thy facred head.
But ah! with weeping eyes, the ancients view
A faint resemblance of the old in you.
No more th' effulgent glory of thy God
Speaks awful answers, from the mystic cloud:
No more thine altars blaze with fire divine,
And Heav'n has left thy folitary shrine.
Yet, in thy courts, hereafter, fhalt thou fee
Prefence immediate of the Deity,

The light himself reveal'd, the God confefs'd
in Thee.

And now, at length, the fatal term of years 'The world's defire have brought, and lo! the God appears.

The Heav'nly Babe the Virgin Mother bears,
And her fond looks confefs the parent's cares.
The pleafing burthen on her breast she lays,
Hangs o'er his charms, and with a fmile furveys.
The Infant smiles, to her fond bofom prest,
And wantons, fportive, on the mother's breast.
A radiant glory speaks him all Divine,
And in the Child the beams of Godhead shine.
But now alas! far other views difclofe

The blackest comprehensive scene of woes.

See where man's voluntary facrifice

Bows his meek head, and God eternal dies!
Fixt to the Crofs, his healing arms are bound,
While copious Mercy ftreams from ev'ry wound.
Mark the blood-drops that life exhaufting roll,
And the strong pang that rends the stubborn foul!
As all death's tortures, with fevere delay,
Exult, and riot in the noblest prey.

And can't thou, stupid man, those sorrows see,
Nor share the anguish which He bears for Thee?
Thy fin, for which his facred flesh is torn,
Points ev'ry nail, and sharpens ev'ry thorn;
Can't thou ?---while nature fmarts in ev'ry wound,
And each pang cleaves the fympathetic ground!
Lo! the black fun, his chariot backward driv'n,
Blots out the day, and perishes from Heav'n:
Earth, trembling from her entrails, bears a part,
And the rent rock upbraids man's stubborn heart.
The yawning grave reveals his gloomy reign,
And the cold clay-clad dead, ftart into life again.

And thou, O tomb, once more fhalt wide difplay,
Thy fatiate jaws, and give up all thy prey.
Thou, groaning earth shalt heave, absorpt in flame,
As the last pangs convulse thy lab'ring frame;
When the fame God unfhrouded thou shalt see,
Wrapt in full blaze of Power and Majesty,
Ride on the clouds; whilft, as his chariot flies,
The bright effufion streams thro' all the skies.

Then fhall the proud diffolving mountains glow,
And yielding rocks in fiery rivers flow:
The molten deluge round the globe shall roar,
And all man's arts and labour be no more.
Then shall the splendors of th' enliven❜d glass
Sink undistinguish'd in the burning mass.

And O! till earth, and feas, and Heav'n decay,
Ne'er that fair creation fade away;

may

May winds and ftorms thofe beauteous colours fpare,

Still may they bloom, as permanent as fair,
All the vain rage of wafting time repell,

And his Tribunal fee, whofe Croís they paint fo well.

A

FRAGMENT.

BY MR. MALLET.

FAIR

AIR morn ascends: fresh zephyrs breath Blows liberal o'er yon bloomy heath; Where, fown profufely, herb and flower, Of balmy smell, of healing power, Their fouls in fragrant dews exhale, And breathe fresh life in every gale. Here spreads a green expanse of plains, Where, fweetly-penfive, Silence reigns: And there, at utmost stretch of eye, A mountain fades into the fky; While winding round, diffus'd and deep, A river rolls with founding sweep. Of human art no traces near,

I feem alone with Nature here!

Here are thy walks, O facred HEALTH! The Monarch's blifs, the Beggar's wealth; The seasoning of all good below; The fovereign friend in joy or woe.

O Thou most courted, moft defpis'd,
And but in abfence duly priz'd!
Power of the foft and rofy face!
The vivid pulfe, the vermil grace,
The fpirits when they gayeft shine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine !
O fun of life! whofe heavenly ray
Lights up, and chears, our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The ftorm of fate, the cloud of years,
Till Nature with thy parting light,
Repofes late in Death's calm night:
Fled from the trophy'd roofs of state,
Abodes of fplendid pain, and hate;
Fled from the couch, where, in fweet fleep,
Hot Riot would his anguish steep,

But toffes thro' the midnight shade,

Of death, of life, alike afraid;
For ever fled to fhady cell,

Where Temperance, where the Muses dwell;
Thou oft art feen, at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn:
Or on the brow of mountain high,
In filence feafting ear and eye,

With fong and profpect, which abound

From birds, and woods and waters rouud.

But when the fun, with noon-tide ray, Flames forth intolerable day;

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