As light from gems assumes a brighter ray,
And, deck'd with orient hues, transcends the day!
Passion's wild break, and frown that awes the sense,
And ev'ry charm of gentler eloquence.

All perishable!-like the electric fire,

But strike the frame, and as they strike expire;
Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear;

It's fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air.

Where then, while sunk in cold decay he lies,
And pale eclipse for ever veils those eyes!
Where is the best memorial that ensures

Our Garrick's fame?- whose is the trust?-'tis yours.

And oh! by ev'ry charm his art essay'd,
To sooth your cares! by ev'ry grief allay'd!
By the hush'd wonder, which his accents drew,
By his last parting tear, repaid by you!

By all those thoughts, which many a distant night
Shall mark his memory with sad delight!
Still in your heart's dear record bear his name,
Cherish the keen regret that lifts his fame:
To you it is bequeath'd; assert the trust,
And to his worth-'tis all you can-be just..

What more is due from sanctifying time,
To cheerful wit, and many a favor'd ́rhyme,
O'er his grac'd tomb shall bloom a deathless wreath,
Whose blossom'd sweets shall deck the mask beneath
For these, when sculpture's votive toil shall rear
The due memorial of a loss so dear!

O loveliest mourner, gentle muse! be thine
The pleasing woe to guard the laurell'd shrine.
As fancy oft by superstition led

To roam the mansions of the sainted dead,
Has view'd, by shadowy eve's unfaithful gloom,
A weeping cherub on a martyr's tomb,

So thou sweet muse, hang o'er his sculptur'd bier,
With patient woe, that loves the ling'ring tear;
With thoughts that mourn, nor yet desire relief,
With meek regret, and fond enduring grief;

With looks that speak-he never shall return!
Chilling thy tender bosom, clasp his urn;
And with soft sighs disperse th' irrev'rend dust
Which time may strew upon his sacred bust.

XXVI. Cato's Speech on the Death of his Son.

THANKS to the gods, my boy has done his duty! Welcome, my son! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure

The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds.
-How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue!
Who would not be that youth? What pity is it
That we can die but once to serve our country?
Alas, my friends,

Why mourn you thus! let not a private loss
Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears:
The mistress of the world, the seat of empire,
The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods,
That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth,
And set the nations free, Rome is no more.
O liberty! O virtue! O my country!

Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu'd,

The sun's whole course, the day and year are Cæsar's;
For him the self-devoted Decii dy'd,

The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd;
Er'n Pompey fought for Cæsar. O my friends,
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,
The Roman empire fall'n! O curst ambition!
Fall'n into Cæsar's hands! Our great forefathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Farewell, my friends! if there be any of you
Who dare not trust the victor's clemency,
Know there are ships prepar'd by my command,
(Their sails already op'ning to the winds)
That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port.
Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you?
The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell!
If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
In happier climes, and on a safer shore,
Where Cæsar never shall approach us more.

There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd,
Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd,
Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot there,
Who made the welfare of mankind his care,
Tho' still by faction, vice, and fortune crost,
Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost.

XXVII. Panegyric to the PROTECTOR.

WHILE with a strong, and yet a gentle hand, You bridle faction, and our hearts command, Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, Make us unite, and make us conquer too: Let partial spirits still aloud complain, Think themselves injur'd that they cannot reign; And own no liberty, but where they may Without controul upon their fellows prey. Above the waves as Neptune shew'd his face To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race, So has your Highness, rais'd above the rest, Storms of ambition, tossing us, repress'd. Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, Restor'd by you, is made a glorious state; The seat of empire, where the Irish come, And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom. The seas our own: and now all nations greet, With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet: Your pow'r extends as far as winds can blow, Or swelling sails upon the globe may go. Heaven (that hath plac'd this island to give law, To balance Europe, and her states to awe) In this conjunction doth on Britain smile; The greatest Leader, and the greatest Isle! Whether this portion of the world were rent By the rude ocean from the continent, Or thus created; it was sure design'd To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Hither th' oppressed shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave, and succour, at your court;
And then your Highness, not for ours alone,
But for the world's Protector shall be known.
Fame, swifter than your wing'd navy, flies
Through ev'ry land that near the ocean lies;
Sounding your name, and telling dreadful news
To all that piracy and rapine use.

With such a Chief the meanest nation blest,
Might hope to lift her head above the rest;
What may be thought impossible to do
By us, embraced by the sea and you?

Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean, we
Whole forests send to reign upon the sea;
And ev'ry coast may trouble or relieve;
But none can visit us without your leave.
Angels and we have this prerogative,
That none can at our happy seats arrive;
While we descend at pleasure to invade
The bad with vengeance, and the good to aid.
Our little world, the image of the great,
Like that; amidst the boundless ocean set,.
Of her own growth hath all that nature craves;
And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves.
As Egypt does not on the clouds rely,
But to the Nile owes more than to the sky;
So what our earth, and what our heaven, denies,
Our ever-constant friend, the sea, supplies.

The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know,
Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow;
Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine;
And, without planting, drink of ev'ry vinc.
To dig for wealth we weary not our limbs;
Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims:
Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow;
We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.
Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;
Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds:

Rome, tho' her eagle through the world had flown,
Could never make this island all her own.

Here the third Edward, and the Black Prince too,
France-conqu'ring Henry, flourish'd; and now you;
For whom we stay'd, as did the Grecian state,
Till Alexander came to urge their fate.

When for more worlds the Macedonian cried,
He wist not Thetis in her lap did hide
Another yet; a world reserv'd for you
To make more great than that he did subdue.
He safely might old troops to battle lead,
Against th' unwarlike Persian and the Mede;
Whose hasty flight did, from a bloodless field,
More spoils than honour to the victor yield.
A race unconquer'd, by their clime made bold,
The Caledonians, arm'd with want and cold,
Have, by a fate indulgent to your fame,
Been from all ages kept for you to tame.
Whom the old Roman wall so ill confin'd,
With a new chain of garrisons you bind:
Here foreign gold no more shall make them come;
Our English iron holds them fast at home.

They, that henceforth must be content to know
No warmer region than their hills of snow,
May blame the sun; butmust extol your Grace,
Which in our senate hath allow'd them place.
Preferr'd by conquest, happily o'erthrown,
Falling they rise, to be with us made one:
So kind dictators made, when they came home,
Their vanquish'd foes free citizens of Rome.

Like favour find the Irish, with like fate,
Advanc'd to be a portion of our state;
While by your valour, and your bounteous mind,
Nations divided by the sea are join'd.

Holland to gain your friendship, is content
To be our out-guard on the continent:
She from her fellow-provinces would go,
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.