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"Then, while he bound the ribbands on my brow,
"He talk'd of captains kind, and gen❜rals good;
Said, a whole nation would my fame avow,
"And BOUNTY call'd the purchase of my blood,
"Yet I refus'd that BOUNTY, I disdain'd

"TO SELL my service in a RIGHTEOUS CAUSE; "And fuch to my dull fenfe it was explain'd, "The caufe of Monarchs, Juftice, and the Laws. "The rattling drums beat loud, the fifes began, "My King and Country seem'd to ask my aid; "Thro' ev'ry vein the thrilling ardour ran,

"I left my humble cot, my village maid. "O hapless day! torn from my Lucy's charms, "I thence was hurried to a scene of ftrife; "To painful marches and the din of arms,

;

"The wreck of reason, and the waste of life. "In loathfome vessels now with crowds confin'd, "Now led with hosts to slaughter in the field; "Now backward driven, like leaves before the wind, "Too weak to ftand, and yet afham'd to yield. "Till oft repeated victories inspir'd, "With tenfold fury the indignant foe "Who ruthless ftill advanc'd, as we retir'd, "And laid our boafted, proudeft honours low. "Thro' frozen defarts then compell'd to fly, "Our braveft legions moulder'd faft away; "Thousands of wounds and ficknefs left to die, "While hov'ring ravens mark'd them for their prey. "Ah! fure remorfe THEIR favage hearts must rend, "Whose selfish, defp'rate frenzy could decree, "That in one mafs of murder MAN fhould blend, "Who fent the SLAVES to fight against the FREE.

"Unequal conteft!-at fair Freedom's call,
"The lowlieft hind glows with celestial fire;
"SHE rules, directs, pervades, and conquers all,
"And ARMIES at her facred glance expire.

"Then be this warfare of the world accurs'd-
"The fon now weeps not on the father's bier;
"But grey-hair'd Age, for Nature is revers'd,
"Drops o'er his children's grave an icy tear."
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Thus having fpoke,-by varying paffions toft,
He reach'd the threshold of his Parent's fhed,
Who knew not of his fate, yet mourn'd him loft
AMIDST THE NUMBER OF THE UNNAM'D DEAD.
rayed soil-on Lool and amurk and
Soon as they heard his well-remember'd voice,
A ray of rapture chas'd habitual care;
"Our Henry lives, we may again rejoice,"
And Lucy fweetly blush'd, for fhe was there

BUT WHEN HE ENTER'D IN SUCH HORRID GUISE,
His mother shriek'd, and dropp'd upon the floor;
His father look'd to Heav'n with ftreaming eyes,
And Lucy funk, alas! to rife no more.

O may this tale, which agony must close,

Give deep contrition to the SELF-CALL'D GREAT; And fhew THE POOR how hard the lot of thofe, Who fhed their blood for MINISTERS OF STATE!

[graphic]

ANON.

To the memory of Mr Burgh, a learned School-mafter, and the ingenious and laborious author of Political Difqui fitions, and the Dignity of Human Nature.

BY CAPTAIN THOMPSON.

ENEATH this fod, conceal'd from mortal eyes,

B The dignity of human nature lies

What is this dignity, the fophifts fean?

"The nobleft work of God-an honeft man."

Instructions to a Porter.

YOU! to whofe care I've now confign'd

My houfe's entrance, caution use,
While you discharge your trust, and mind
Whom you admit, and whom refuse.

Let no fierce paffions enter here,
Paffions the raging breaft that storm,
Nor fcornful pride, nor fervile fear,
Nor hate, nor envy's pallid form.

Should av'rice call-you'll let her know
Of heap'd up riches I've no ftore,
And that the has no right to go
Where Plutus has not been before.

Lo! on a vifit hither bent

High-plum'd ambition stalks about;
But fhould he enter, fweet content
Will give me warning-fhut him out.

Perhaps the Mufe may pass this way,
And tho' full oft I've bent the knee,
And long invok'd her magic sway,
Smit with the love of harmony;

Alone tho' fhe might please-yet still
I know fhe'll with ambition come;
With luft of fame my heart fhe'll fill,
She'll break my rest-I'm not at home.

There is a rafcal, old and hideous,
Who oft (and fometimes not in vain)
Clofe at my gate has watch'd affiduous,
In hopes he might admittance gain

His name is care-if he should call,

Quick out of doors with vigour throw him,

And tell the mifcreant once for all,
I know him not, I ne'er will know him.

Perhaps then Bacchus, foe to care,
May think he'll fure my favour win ;
His promises of joy are fair,

But falfe-you must not let him in.

But welcome that sweet power! on whom
The young defires attendant move;
Still flufh'd with beauty's vernal bloom,
Parent of bliss, the Queen of Love.

O! you will know her, fhe has stole
The luftre of my Delia's eye;
Admit her, hail her-for my foul
Breathes double life when the is nigh.

If then ftern wisdom at my gate

Should knock, with all her formal train,
Tell her I'm bufy-fhe may wait,

Or, if the chooses-call again.

BEDINGFIELD.

Charity. (The Slave Trade.j

HAVN and accommodate a world;
EAV'N speed the canvafs gallantly unfurl'd,

To give the pole the produce of the fun,
And knit th' unfocial climates into one :-
Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave,
Impel the fleet whofe errand is to fave,
To fuccour wafted regions, and replace
The smile of opulence in forrow's face..
Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen,
Impede the bark that ploughs the deep ferene,

Charg'd with a freight tranfcending in its worth,
The gems of India, nature's rarest birth,
That flies like Gabriel on his Lord's commands,
An herald of God's love, to pagan lands.-
But ah! what with can profper, or what pray'r,
For merchants rich in cargoes of despair,
Who drive a loathfome traffic, gauge, and span,
And buy the muscles and the bones of man?
The tender ties of father, hufband, friend,
All bonds of nature in that moment end;
And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
A ftroke as fatal as the fcythe of death.
The fable warrior, frantic with regret
Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Lofes in tears the far-receding fhore,

But not the thought that they must part no more;
Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow,
What has he left that he can yet forego?
Yes, to deep sadness fullenly refign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind,
Puts off his gen'rous nature, and, to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
Oh most degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate !
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find fubmiffion more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd
T' improve the fortitude that bears the load,
To teach the wand'rer, as his woes encreafe,
The path of wisdom, all whofe paths are peace.
But flav'ry!-Virtue dreads it as her grave,
Patience itself is meannefs in a flave:
Or if the will and fovereignty of God
Bid fuffer it awhile, and kiss the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And snap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That has a heart and life in it-be free;

Dd

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