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When the British warrior-queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,
Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Ev'ry burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief.
" Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, "Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.
“Rome shall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
“ Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
“ Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.
" Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land, Arm’d with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.
Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines,
peace upon her sloping sides matur'd.
Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass,
Yet time at lengih (what will not time achieve ?)
Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honor draws,
Fast by the stream, that bounds your just domain And tells you where ye have a right to reign, A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, Studious of peace, their neighbors', and their own Ill-fated race! how deeply must they rue Their only crime, vicinity to you! The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, Through the ripe harvest lies their destin'd road; At every step beneath their feet they tread The life of multitudes, a nation's bread! Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress Before them, and behind a wilderness. Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son, Attend to finish what the sword begun; And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn And Folly pays, resound at your return. A calm succeeds—but Plenty, with her train Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again, And years of pining indigence must show What scourges are the gods that rule below.
Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees,
Rebuilds the tow'rs, that smok'd upon the plain,
Increasing commerce and reviving art
And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more,
THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANN BODHAM.
What are ye, monarchs, laurel’d heroes, say, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd
That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, No crested warrior dips his plume in blood; That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid ; Where Pow'r secures what Industry has won; Thy inoming bounties ere I left my home, Where to succeed is not to be undone;
The biscuit, or confectionary plum; A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain,
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Ne'er roughend by those cataracts and breaks,
All this still legible in mem'ry's page,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Could Time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flow'rs, “Grieve not, my child, chase all thy sears away!" The violet, the pink, and jessamine, The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
I prick'd them into paper with a pin, (Blest be the art that can immorialize,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
Wouldst sofily speak, and stroke my head, and smile;) To quench it,) here shines on me still the same. Could those few pleasant days again appear, Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? () welcome guest, though unexpected here! I would not trust my heart—the dear delight Who bidd'st me honor with an artless song, Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I mighi. Affectionate, a mother lost so long.
But no—what here we call our life is such, I will obey, not willingly alone,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much, But gladly, as the precept were her own:
That I should ill requite thee to constrain And, while that face renews my filial grief, Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
(The storins all weather'd and the ocean cross'd) A momentary dream that thou art she.
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ?
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? While airs impregnated with incense play Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss; Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss- So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes.
" Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,"* I heard the bell tolld on thy burial day,
And thy lov'd consort on the dang’rous tide I saw the hearse, that bore thee slow away, Of life long since has anchord by thy side. And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
Always from port withheld, always distress'd— But was it such ?-It was.-Where thou art gone, Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, And day by day some current's thwarting force The parting word shall pass my lips no more! Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course. Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern, Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he! oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth And, disappointed still, was sull deceiv'd.
From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the Earth ; By expectation ev'ry day beguild,
But higher far my proud pretensions riseDupe of 10-morrow even from a child.
The son of parents pass'd into the skies. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went And now, farewell—Time unrevok'd has run Till, all my stock of infant-sorrow spent,
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. I learn'd at last submission to my lot,
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
And, while the wings of Fancy still are frce, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his thestThyself remov’d, thy pow'r to soothe me left.
But will sincerity susfice ?
And must be made the basis;
All shining in their places.
A fretful temper will divide
By ceaseless sharp corrosion; A temper passionate and fierce May suddenly your joys disperse
At one immense explosion.
Wuat virtue, or what mental grace, But men unqualified and base
Will boast it their possession ? Profusion apes the noble part Of liberality of heart,
And dullness, of discretion. If every polish'd gem we find Illuminating heart or mind,
Provoke to imitation ;
Or rather constellation.
A real and a sound one;
And dream that he had found one.
In vain the talkative unite
The secret just committed,
And by themselves outwitted.
How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
If envy chance to creep in;
But not a friend worth keeping.
As envy pines at good possess'd,
On good, that seems approaching; And, if success his steps attend, Discerns a rival in a friend,
And hates him for encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name, Unless belied by common fame,
Are sadly prone to quarrel, To deem the wit a friend displays A tax upon their own just praise,
And pluck each other's laurel.
Candid, and generous, and just,
An error soon corrected-
Is most to be suspected ?
And taken trash for treasure,
A mere Utopian pleasure.
Nor is it wise complaining,
We sought without attaining.
Or mean self-love erected; Nor such as may awhile subsist, Between the sot and sensualist,
For vicious ends connected. Who seek a friend should come dispos'd, T' exhibit in full bloom disclos'd
The graces and the beauties,
And constantly supported :
Our own as much distorted.
A man renown'd for repartee
With friendship's finest feeling; Will thrust a dagger at your breast, And say he wounded you in jest,
By way of balm for healing.
The trumpet of contention;
And rush into dissension.
A friendship, that in frequent fits
The sparks of disputation,
The thought of conflagration.
Some fickle creatures boast a soul
Their humor yet so various-
'Their love is so precarious
The great and small but rarely meet
Plebeians must surrender,
Obscurity with splendor.
As similarity of mind,
First fixes our attention ;
Must save it from declension.
Some are so placid and serene,
They slcep secure from waking; And are indeed a bog, that bears Your unparticipated cares,
Unmov'd and without quaking.
Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Without an effervescence,
A friendly coalescence.
Religion should extinguish strise,
But friends that chance to differ
No combatants are stiffer.
Some act upon this prudent plan,
Safe policy, but hateful-
Unpleasant and ungrateful.
No subterfuge or pleading
A spy on my proceeding.
Of evils yet unmention'da
To be at least expedient,
A principal ingredient.
Though some have turn'd and turn'd i
Have not, it seems, discern'd it.
To mortify and grieve me,
Or may my friend deceive me.
To prove at last my main intent
No cutting and contriving
With still less hope of thriving.
Sometimes the fault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made known,
By trespass or omission; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect long hid from sight,
And even from suspicion.
Then judge yourself and prove your man As circumspectly as you can,
And, having made election, Beware no negligence of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures,
Enfeeble his affection.
Chat secrets are a sacred trust,
That constancy befits them,
And all the world admits them.
studiis florens ignobilis oti.
Virg. Georg v. iv.
But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone,
To finish a fine buildingThe palace were but half complete, If he could possibly forget
The carving and the gilding.
HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar
The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
How he esteems your merit,
To pardon or to bear it.
Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, At such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
“ These are thy glorious works, thou source of good
Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrought.
I may resemble thee, and call thee mine."
The recompense that arts or arms can yield,
The bar, the senate, or the tented field, True wisdom will attend his feeble call,
Compard with this sublimest life below,
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show?
On Earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us .
Fretful unless diverted and beguild,
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires, Invet'rate habits choke th' unfruitful heart,
But as a scale, by which the soul ascends Their fibres penetrate its tend'rest part,
From mighty means to more important ends, And, draining its nutritious pow'rs to feed
Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed. Mounts from inferior beings up to God,
Happy, if full of days—but happier far, And sees, by no fallacious light or dim, If, ere we yet discern life's ev'ning-star,
Earth made for man, and man himself for him.
Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce
Or scorn'd where business never intervenes.
But 'tis not easy, with a mind like ours, 'The signature and stamp of power divine, Conscious of weakness in its noblest pow'rs, Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,
And in a world, where, other ills apart, Where unassisted sight no beauty sees,
The roving eye misleads the careless heart, The shapely limb and lubricated joint,
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray Within the small dimensions of a point,
Wherever freakish fancy points the way;
To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still,
Our conduct with the laws engraven there ;
To measure all that passes in the breast,
A soul serene, and equally retir'd
From objects too much dreaded or desir'd, Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command Safe from the clamors of perverse dispute, From urns, that never fail, through ev'ry land; At least are friendly to the great pursuit. These like a deluge with impetuous force,
Op’ning the map of God's extensive plan, Those winding modestly a silent course;
We find a little isle this life of man; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails ; Circling around and limiting his years. The Sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The busy race examine and explore The crescent Moon, the diadem of night;
Each creek and cavern of the dang'rous shore, Stars countless, each in his appointed place, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space
Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shell: