ENGLISHED. ON ST. ARDALIO, Who, from a Stage-Player, became a Christian, and suffered Martyrdom. ARDALIO jeers, and in his comic strains Heaven heard, and straight around the smoking throne The kindling lightning in thick flashes shone, Mercy stood near, and, with a smiling brow, Calm'd the loud thunder: "There's no need of you; "Grace shall descend, and the weak man subdue." Grace leaves the skies, and he the stage forsakes, He bows his head down to the martyring axe, And as he bows, this gentle farewell speaks: "So goes the comedy of life away; "Vain earth, adieu; Heaven will applaud to-day; "Strike, courteous tyrant, and conclude the play." A LATIN EPIGRAM. When the Protestant church at Montpelier was demolished by the French king's order, the Protestants laid the stones up in their burying place, whereon a Jesuit made a Latin Epigram ENGLISHED THUS: A HUG'NOT church, once at Montpelier built, THE ANSWER, BY A FRENCH PROTESTANT. ENGLISHED THUS: A CHRISTIAN church once at Montpelier stood, Tears down the walls, a victim to his rage. TWO HAPPY RIVALS, DEVOTION AND THE MUSE. WILD as the lightning, various as the moon, Here she glows like burning noon In fiercest flames, and here she plays Anon she rides upon the storm, Are my thoughts and wishes free, And know no number nor degree? Such is the muse: lo! she disdains The links and chains, Measures and rules of vulgar strains, And o'er the laws of harmony, a sovereign queen she reigns. If she roves By streams or groves, Tuning her pleasures or her pains, While thunders roar From shore to shore, My soul sits fast upon her wings, And sweeps the crimson surge, or scours the purple plain. Still I attend her as she flies, Round the broad globe, and all beneath the skies. But when from the meridian star Long streaks of glory shine, The muse ascends her heavenly car, [divine. And climbs the steepy path, and means the throne Then she leaves my fluttering mind, Clogg'd with clay and unrefin'd, Virtue lags, with heavy wheel; As the winged numbers fly, And faint devotion panting lies Half way the ethereal hill. O why is piety so weak, And yet the muse so strong? When shall these hateful fetters break, Inward a glowing heat I feel, A spark of heavenly day; But earthly vapours damp my zeal, And mortal passion charms my soul astray. And call me high To mingle with the choirs of glory and of bliss. Awakes the song, and guides the way; Trace out new regions in the world of light, I'm in a dream, and fancy reigns; Behold Religion on her throne, In awful state descending down, And her dominions, vast and bright, within my spacious view. She smiles, and with a courteous hand She beckons me away; I feel mine airy powers loose from the cumbrous clay, |