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O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust, My wishes, lull'd with soft inglorious dreams,
The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and August 3. Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes :
No gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers, Through each 'Elysian vale and fairy grove,
No sound of honour hails their inblest ears; Through all the enchanted Paradise of Lore.
But dire reproaches from the friend betray'd, Misled by sickly Hope's deceitful flame,
The childless sire and violated maid ;

Averse to action, and renouncing fame.
But vengeful vows for guardian laws effac'd,

At last the visionary scenes decay,
From towns enslav'd and continents laid waste; My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day,
But long Posterity's united groan,

Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road
And the sad charge of horrours not their own, In which my heedless feet securely trod,
For ever through the trembling space resound, And strip the phantoms of their lying charms
And sink each impious forehead to the ground. That lur'd my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms.
Ye mighty foes of Liberty and Rest,

For silver streams and banks bespread with flowers, Give way, do homage to a mightier guest!

For mossy couches and harmonious bowers, Ye daring spirits of the Roman race,

Lo ! barren heaths appear, and pathless roods, See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface ! And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathom'd foods: -Awd at the name, fierce Appius 4 rising bends, For openness of heart, for tender smiles, And hardy Cinna from his throne attends :

Looks franght with love, and wrath disarming wiles, “ He comes,” they cry, "to whom the Pates assign'd Lo! sullen Spite, and perjur'd Lust of Gain, With surer arts to work what we designd,

And cruel Pride, and crueler Disdain. From year to year the stubboru herd to sway, Lo! cordial Faith to idiot airs refin'd, Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey; Now coolly civil, now transportiug kind. Till, own'd their guide, and trusted with their power, For graceful Ease, lo! Affectation walks ; He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour: And dull Half-sense, for Wit and Wisdom talks. Then, tir'd and yielding, led them to the chain, New to each hour what low delight succeeds, And quench'd the spirit we provok'd in vain." What precious furniture of hearts and beads!

But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands By nought their prudence, but by getting, known; Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands;

And all their courage in deceiving shown. Whose thunders the rebellious deep control,

See next what plagues attend the lover's state, And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, What frightful forms of Terrour, Scorn, and Hate! O turn this dreadful omen far away :

See burning Fury, Heaven and Earth defy ! On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay; See dumb Despair in icy fetters lie! Relume her sacred fire so near supprest,

See black Suspicion bend bis gloomy brow, And fix her shrine in every Roman breast :

The hideous image of himself to view ! Though bold Corruption boast around the land, And fond Belief, with all a lover's flame, " Let Virtue, if she can, my baits withstand !" Sinks in those arms that points bis head with shame! Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim, There wan Dejection, faultering as he goes, Gay with her trophies rais’d on Curio's shame; In shades and silence vainly seeks repose; Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth, Musing throuyh pathless wilds, consumes the day, Who know what conscience and a heart are worth. Then lost in darkness weeps the hours away. -O friend and father of the human mind,

Here the gay crowd of Luxury advance, Whose art for noblest ends our frame design'd! Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance ; If I, though fated to the studious shade

On every bead the rosy garland glows, Which party-strife nor anxious power invade, In every band the golden goblet flows. If I aspire in Public Virtue's cause,

The Syren views them with exulting eyes, To guide the Muses by sublimer laws,

And laughs at bashful Virtue as she flies. Do thou her own authority impart,

But see behind, where Scorn and Want appear, And give my numbers entrance to the heart. The grave remonstrance and the witty sneer. Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd flame, See fell Remorse in action, prompt to dart And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame; Her snaky poison through the conscious heart. Perhaps, by worthy thoughts of human kind, And Sloth to cancel, with oblivious shame, To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind; The fair memorial of recording Fame. Or dash Corruption in her proud career,

Are these delights that one would wish to gain? And teach her slaves that Vice was born to fear. Is this the Elysiun of a sober brain :

To wait for happiness in female smiles,
Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles,

With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave,
LOVE. AN ELEGY.

Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slare;

To feel, for trifles, a distracting train Too much my heart of Beauty's power hath known, of hopes and terrours equally in vain; Too long to Love hath Reason left her throne; This hour to tremble, and the next to glow, Too long my genius mourn’d his myrtle chain, Can pride, can sepse, can reason, stoop so low? And three rich years of youth consum'd in vain. When Virtue, at an easier price, displays

The sacred wreaths of honourable praise ; 3 Titles which have been generally ascribed to When Wisdom utters her divine decree, the most pernicious of men. Akenside.

To laugh at pompous Folly, and be free. 4 Appius Claudius the decemvir, and L. Cornelius I bid adieu, then, to these woful scenes ; Cinna, both attempted to establish a tyrannical I bid adieu to all the sex of queens; dominion in Rome, and both perish'd by the trea- Adieu to every suffering, simple soul, son. Akenside.

That lets a woman's will his ease control.

131

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC.
There laugh, ye witty; and rebuke, ye grave! Aspire with rapid wing? Her country's cause
For me, I scom to boast that I'm a slave.

Demands her efforts; at that sacred call
I bid the whining brotherhood be gone,

She summons all her ardour, throws aside
Joy to my heart! my wishes are my own! The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump
Farewell the female Heaven, the female Hell; She means to thunder in each British ear;
To the great God of Love a glad farewell.
a

And if one spark of honour or of fame,
Is this the triumph of thy awful name?

Disdain of insult, dread of infamy,
Are these the splendid hopes that urg'd thy aim, One thonght of public virtue yet survive,
When first my bosom own'd thy haughty sway?

She means to wake it, rouse the generous flame,
When tbus Minerva heard thee, boasting, say, With patriot zeal inspirit every breast,
“Go, martial maid, elsewhere thy arts employ,

And fire each British heart with British wrongs, Nor bope to shelter that devoted boy.

Alas, the vain attempt! what influence now
Go teach the solemn sons of Care and Age,

Can the Muse boast ? or what attention now
The pensive statesmen, and the midnight sage;

Is paid to fame or virtue? Where is now
The young with me must other lessons prove,

The British spirit, generous, warm, and brave,
Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love. So frequent wont from tyranny and woe
Behold his heart thy grave advice disdains, To free the suppliant nations ? Where, indeed!
Behold I bind him in eternal chains."

If that protection, once to strangers given,
Alas! great Love, how idle was the boast ! Be now withheld from sons ? Each nobler thought,
Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost; That warm'd our sires, is lost and buried now
Thy wilful rage has tir'd my suffering heart, In luxury and avarice. Baneful vice!
And passion, reason, forc'd thee to depart. How it upmans a nation ! Yet I'll try,
But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way?

I'll aim to shake this vile degenerate sloth;
Why Fainly search for some pretence to stay,

I'll dare to rouze Britannia's dreaming sons
When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke,

To fame, to virtue, and impart around
And countless victims bow them to the stroke? A generous feeling of compatriot woes.
Lo! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance,

Come then the various powers of forceful speech,
Warm with the gentle ardours of romance;

All that can move, awaken, fire, transport;
Each longs to assert thy cause with feats of arms, Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard!
And make the world confess Dulcinea's charms. The arouzing thunder of the patriot Greek!
Ten thousand girls, with Aowery chaplets crown'd, The soft persuasion of the Roman sage !
To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound; Come all! and raise me to an equal height,
Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her flame, A rapture worthy of my glorious cavse!
Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name.

Lest my best efforts failing should debase
Bat, if thy pride such easy honour scorn,

The sacred theme; for with no common wing
If cobler trophies must thy toil adorn,

The Muse attempts to soar. Yet what need these?
Behold yon Rowery antiquated maid

My country's fame, my free-born British heart,
Bright in the bloom of threescore years display'd; Shall be my best inspirers, raise my flight
Her shalt thou bind in thy delightful chains, High as the Thevan's pinion, and with more
And thrill with gentle pangs her wither'd veins,

Than Greek or Roman flame exalt my soul.
Hor frosty cheek with crimson blushes dye,

Oh! could I give the vast ideas birth
With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye.

Expressive of the thoughts that flame within,
Turn then thy labours to the servile crowd,

No more should lazy Luxury detain
Entice the wary, and control the proud ;

Our ardent youth; no more should Britain's sons Make the sad miser his best gains forego,

Sit tamely passive by, and careless hear The solemn statesman sigh to be a beau;

The prayers, sighs, groans (immortal infamy!) The bold coquette with fondest passion burn,

df fellow Britons, with oppression sunk, The bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn:

In bitterness of soul demanding aid, And that chief glory of thy power maintain, Calling on Britain, their dear native land, * To poise ambition in a female brain."

The land of Liberty; so greatly fam'd Be these thy triumphs. But no more presume

For just redress : the land so often dyed That my rebellious heart will yield thee room.

With her best blood, for that arouzing cause, kmw thy puny force, thy simple wiles;

The freedom of her sons; thosc sons that now, break triumphant through thy flimsy toils:

Far from the manly blessings of her sway, see thy dying lamp's last languid glow,

Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord. hy arrows blunted, and unbrac'd thy bow.

And dare they, dare the vanquish'd sons of Spain, feel diviner fires my breast infiame,

Enslave a Briton? Have they then forgot, o active science, and ingenuous fame:

So soon forgot, the great, the immortal day, esume the paths my earliest choice began,

When rescued Sicily with joy beheld nd lose, with pride, the lover in the man.

The swift-wing'd thunder of the British arm
Disperse their navies? when their coward bands
Fled, like the raven from the bird of Jove,

From swift impending vengeance fled in vain :
A BRITISH PHILIPPIC:

Are these our lords? And can Britannia see
OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS, AND

Her foes oft vanquish'd, thus defy her power,

Insult her standard, and enslave her sons,
THE PRESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.

And not arise to justice? Did our sires,
M.DCC.XXXVIII.

Unaw'd by chains, by exile, or by death, HENCE this unwonted transport in my breast ? Preserve inviolate her guardian rights, bay glow my thoughts, and whither would the Muse To Britons ever sacred that their sons

Might give them up to Spaniards ? - Turn your | His urn encircle, to the wondering world eyes,

His numerous triumphs blazon; while with ave, Turn ye degenerate, who with haughty boast With filial reverence, in his steps they tread, Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom, And, copying every virtue, every fame, That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought Transplant his glories into second life, Of joy or peace can enter; see the gates

And, with upsparing hand, make nations blest Harsh-creaking open; what an hideous void, By his example. Vast immense rewards! Dark as the vawning grave! while still as death For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind A frightful silence reigns : there on the ground Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold? Behold your brethren chain'd like beasts of prey : Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call There mark your numerous glories, there behold Of your poor injur'd countrymen? Ah! no. The look that speaks unutterable woe;

I see ye are not; every bosom glows The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye With native greatness, and in all its state With famine sunk, the deep heart-bursting groan The British spirit rises. Glorious change! Suppress’d in silence; view the loathsome food, Fame, Virtue, Freedom, welcome! Oh! forgive Refus’d by dogs, and oh! the stinging thought! The Muse, that ardent in her sacred cause View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs, Your glory question’d: she bebolds with joy; The deadly priest triumphant in their woes, She owns, she triumphs in her wish'd mistake. And thundering worse damnation on their souls: See! from her sea-beat throne in awful march While that pale form, in all the pangs of death, Britannia towers: upon her laurel crest Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all

The plumes majestic nod; behold she heares His native British spirit yet untam'd,

Her guardian shields, and terrible in arms Raises his bead, and with indignant frowns

For battle shakes her adamantine spear : Of great defiance, and superior scorn,

Loud at her foot the British lion roars, Looks up and dies.--Oh! I am all on fire! Frighting the nations ; haughty Spain full soon But let me spare the theme, lest future times Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth, Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain Your country's daring champions: tell your furry Durst otler Britain such outrageous wrong,

Tell them in thunders o'er their prostrate jand, Or Britain tamely bore it

You were not born for slaves : let all your deeds Descend, ye guardian heroes of the land !

Show that the sons of those immortal men,
Sconrges of Spain, descend ! Behold your sons, The stars of shining story, are not slow
See! how they run the same heroic race,

In virtue's path to emulate their sires,
How promp*, how ardent in their country's cause, To assert their country's rights, arenge her sens,
How greatly proud to assert their British blood, And hurl the bolts of justice on her foes.
And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame !
Ah! would to Hearen! ye did not rather see
How dead to virtue in the public cause !
How cold, how careless, how to glory deaf,

HYMN TO SCIENCE. They shame your laurels, and beli. their birth!

Come, ye great spirits, Ca'ndish, Raleigh, Blake! O vitæ Philosophia dux! O virtutis indagatrix, And ye of later name your country's pride,

expultrixque vitiorum.- Tu urbes peperisti; to

inventrix legum, tu magistra morum et disse Oh! come, disperse these lazy fumes of sloth, Teach British hearts with British fires to glow!

plinæ fuisti : Ad te confugimus, a te opem pa

timus. Cic. Tusc. Quæst. In wakening whispers rouze our ardent youth, Blazon the triumphs of your better days,

Science! thou fair effusive ray Paint all the glorious scenes of rightful war,

From the great source of mental day,
In all its splendours; to their swelling souls

Free, generous, and refin'd !
Say how ye bow'd the insulting Spaniards pride, Descend with all thy treasures fraught,
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their prostrate heads, Illumine each bewilder'd thought,
Say how ye broke their lives and fir'd their ports, And bless my labouring mind.
Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes,
Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve

But first with thy resistless light,
For Right and Britain: then display the joys Disperse those phantoms from my sight,
The patriot's soul exalting, while he views

Those mimic shades of thee;
Transported millions hail with loud acclaim

The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant, The guardian of their civil, sacred rights.

The visionary bigot's rant,
How greatly welcome to the virtuous man

The monk's philosophy.
Is death for others good! the radiant thoughts
That beam celestial on his passing soul,

O! let thy powerful charms impart
The unfading crowns awaiting him above,

The patient head, the candid heart,

Devoted to thy sway;
The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme,
Who in his actions with complacence views

Which no weak passions e'er mislead,

Which still with dauntless steps proceed
His own reticcted splendour: then descend,

Where reason points the way.
Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene;
Paint the just honours to his relics paid,

Give me to learn each secret cause;
Show grateful millions weeping o'er his grave; Let number's, figure's, motion's laws
While his fair fame in each progressive age

Reveal'd before me stand ; For ever brightens; and the wise and good

These to great Nature's scenes apply, Of every land in universal choir

And round the globe, and through the sky, With richest incense of undying praise

Disclose her working hand,

Next, to thy nobler search resign'd,

Through private life pursue thy course', The busy, restless, human mind

Trace every action to its source, Through every maze pursue;

And means and motives weigh: Detect perception where it lies,

Put tempers, passions, in the scale, Catch the ideas as they rise,

Mark what degrees in each prevail, And all their changes view.

Aud fix the doubtful sway.

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