PSOcty TR ay. 157 
Again thy prowefs fhall be fhewn; again 
Our crowded fails fhall fhade the burthen’d main ; 
Thy wonted field of honour, where the brave 
Reap fame’s rich harveft on the rolling wave. 
Shall Sweno’s lovely form be given the prey 
To ravenous wolves? wilt thou deny the lay 
To Sweno’s praife ? the rites fepulchral paid, 
Then think of vengeance to atone his fhade.’” 
‘The king reluétant yields: his glaring eyes 
He backward turns, whilft in his bofom rife 
Confli€ting paffions : oft he checks his courfe, 
And grafps his fword, and longs its wonted force 
Once more to prove: at length to fate refign’d, 
He flies—the ftorm of battle roars behind. 
Extra from a COMPLIMENTARY EpistLe fo James Bruce, of. the 
Abyffinian Traveller. By Perer Pinpar, ef. 
2 : 
SWEET is the tale, however ftrange its air, 
That bids the public eye affonied fare ! 
Sweet is the tale, howe’er uncouth its fhape, 
That makes the world’s wide mouth with wonder gape? 
Behold our infancies in tales delight, 
That bolt like hedgehog quills the hair upright. 
Of ghofts how pleas’d is every child to hear! 
‘To fuch is Jack the Giant-killer dear! 
Dread moniters, iffuing from the flame or flood, 
Charm, tho’ with horror cloth’d they chill the bleod! 
What makes a tale fo fleepy, languid, dull? 
Things as they happen’d—not of marvel full. 
What gives a zeft, and keeps alive attention? 
A tale that wears the vifage of invention: 
A tale of lions, fpectres, fhipwreck, thunder ; 
A wonder, or firlt coufin to a wonder. 
Myfterious conduct! yet ’tis Nature’s plan 
To fow with wonder’s feeds the foul of man, 
That.ev’ry where in {weet profufion rife, 
And fprout luxuriant through the mouth and eyes ! 
What to the vafy deep Sir JosErH gave, 
As of the world, the {port of wind and wave? 
What bade the knight, amid thofe fcenes remote, 
Sleep with Queen Oborea“in the boat? 
What, uncontounded, leap to Newton’s chair? 
What, but to make a world with wonder ftare ? 
What bids a Kine on Wimbledon, Blackheath,,. 
So oft rejoice the regiments of death; 
While Britain’, mightier bulwark flighted lies, 
And vainly groaning for its Cefar fighs? 
, What, 
