Page:The Annual Register 1758.djvu/437

 POETRY. A'23

When from my tortur'd heart the fliafc I drew.

Sighs, lUuggling after fighs, convulfive flole ; For oh 1 'twas hard thy empire to lubdue ;

The linnet, fluttering on the bird-lime fpravs.
 * Twas hard ih' impetuous paflion to controul.

Thus leave? his csptiv'd feathers, and is free: But foon his little wings new plum'd difplays.

And flies with caution by the fatal tree. So much of freedom and of eafe I boaft ;

Millaken Nice thinks I Hill adc-e : But do not thofe declaim on hardftiips moft.

Who moft have felt them, and who feel no more ? The warrior thus defcribes th' embattled plain ;

Thus bares his fears, thus fights his perils o'er : Thus the freed flave o'erjoy'd points out the chain,

Which late he dragg'd on Afric's hollile (here, I fpeak cf freedom, 'lii the theme I love, ,

Nor care if Nice credit what I fay ; I fpeak, nor curious afk, if (he approve.

Or, whea fne names me. if (he's grave or gay. Thus part a fickle fair, and lover true;

Let thofe, who lofe the moft, the mod regret ! A heart fo faithful thou can'il ne'er fubdue ;

It is not hard to find a new cocjuet.

The Indian Philosopher.

I.

WHY ftiould our joys transform to pain ? Why gentle Hymen's filken chain A plague of iron prove ? Good Gods ! 'tis ftrange the chain that binds iViillions of hands, fhould leave their minds At fuch a loofe from love !

2.

In vain I fought the wond'rous caufe, Search'd the wide fields of nature's laws.

And urg'd the fchools in vain ; Till deep in thought, within my breaft My foul retir'd, and Slumber dreft

A bright inftruclive fcene.

O'er the wide land, and crofs the tide. On Fancy's airy wing I ride ;

Sweet rapture of the mind ! Till on the banks of Ganges' flood. In a tall antient grove I ftood.

For facred ufe defign'd.

£64 4. Hard