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May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore.
True, we have lost an empire-let it pass.
True, we may thank the perfidy of France
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious fhrew.
And let that pass—’twas but a trick of state.
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace, the injuries of war,
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace.
And shamed as we have been, to th' very beard
Brayed and defied, and in our own sea proved
Too weak for those decisive blows, that once
Insured us mast'ry there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence, we justly boast
At least superior jockeyship, and claim
The honors of the turf as all our own.
Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek,
And show the shame ye might conceal at home,
In foreign eyes !be grooms, and win the plate,
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!

'Tis gen'rous to communicate your skill
To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd,
And under such preceptors, who can fail?

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There is a pleasure in poetic pains
Which only poets know. The shifts and turns,
Th’expedients and inventions multiform
To which the mind resorts, in chaçe of terms
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win-
T'arrest the fleeting images that fill
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast,
And force them sit, 'till he has pencil'd off
A faithful likeness of the forms he views ;
Then to dispose his copies with such art
That each may find its most propitious light,
And shine by situation, hardly less,
Than by the labor and the skill it cost,
Are occupations of the poet's mind
So pleasing, and that steal away the thought
With such address, from themes of fad import,

That

That lost in his own musings, happy man!
He feels th' anxieties of life, denied
Their wonted entertainment, all retire.
Such joys has he that fings. But ah! not such,
Or feldom such, the hearers of his song.,
Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps
Aware of nothing arduous in a talk
They never undertook, they little note
His dangers or escapes, and haply find
There least amusement where he found the most,
But is amusement all ? studious of song,
And yet ambitious not to sing in vain,
I would not trifle merely, though the world
Be loudest in their praise who do no more.
Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay

?
It may correct a foible, may chastise
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,
Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch ;
But where are its sublimer trophies found ?
What vice has it fubdued? whose heart reclaim'd

Ву

By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform?
Alas! Leviathan is not so tamed.

Laugh'd at, he laughs again ; and stricken hard,
Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.

The pulpit therefore (and I name it, fill’d With solemn awe, that bids me well beware With what intent I touch that holy thing) The pulpit (when the fat’rist has at last, Strutting and vap’ring in an empty school, Spent all his force and made no proselyte) I say the pulpit (in the sober ufe Of its legitimate peculiar pow'rs) Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand, The most important and effectual guard, Support and ornament of virtue's cause. There stands the messenger of truth. There stands The legate of the skies. His theme divine, His office facred, his credentials, clear,

Ву

By him, the violated law speaks out
Its thunders, and by him, in strains as fweet
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
He stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart,
And arm'd himself in panoply complete
Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms
Bright as his own, and trains by ev'ry rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,
The sacramental host of God's elect.
Are all such teachers ? would to heav'n all were !
But hark--the Doctor's voice--fast wedg'd betwečn
Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report
He hails the clergy; and defying shame,
Announces to the world his own and theirs.
He teaches those to read, whom schools dismiss'd,
And colleges untaught; sells accent, tone,

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