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cribe than any composition that I terest; as frequently changing his

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opinion, as situations required, experimentally finding, that in [show of] godliness there is great gain, and that, by a seeming observance well managed, Kingdoms might be obtained as well as Heaven. But what foundation have we for reliance on those professions ? when it is well known, that in the early part of his career, all religious establishments were by him abolished, and the teachers driven for an asylum to other, states, for that security his apostacy denied them."

Such was CROMWELL in England!
Such is BONAPARTE in France!
Par ignobile fratrum!!!

By the means already described, he has in the strictest sense, acquired power, and become an enemy to justice, and the liberty of mankind; under such circumstances, his retention. of authority is, not only to the misery, but infamy of the nation, nor can we be surprised at his extreme caution, when it is considered, that, as an usurper, it is only by force he retains the government, and consequently is at war with every man.

But though at present, France and other nations are in such ignominious bondage, it is ardently to be wished, those execrable cords niay soon be loosened, and that courage may exert itself to break them; for never was a government managed with JUSTICE, when procured by INFAMY. /

As a magnanimous man, who has so frequently asserted his willingness to die for the good and glory of his vassals, nor hesitating to risk the greatest dangers for its welfare, it would impart great comfort to his dying moments, to

+ Let the ancient order of religious houses explain this, and account why he will not im-mediately impose further contributions, a new name given for robbery.

consider

consider what advantage must arise to the world by his leaving it, and preventing future occasions of making more women without a protector, and children without a parent; and other laws exist than the government of the sword.

His conscientious discharge of the arduous duties according to his principles, and beneficence of heart, he so proudly boasts of, can never fear death from the TERRORS of a mispent life. He will then be beyond the reach of malice, nor suffer the torments arising from faction or displeasure more to perplex his mind, or give disquiet to his hours.

But should providence, for reasons unknown to us, still prolong the life of this SCOURGE, (to make his downfall more remarkable and impressive on present and future ages) he will, when he perceives an unfavourable aspect in his affairs, again try his success by DELUSION, or attempt to LULL this nation to forbearance by OFFERS of peace; the former for his own safety, the latter to recover his lost advantages, and making a more sudden attack on the nation's prosperity; does he suppose the guardians of our nation's

honour will relax from their ardour by any artifice he can adopt? No! they are too much alive to the welfare of the people, and disdain to listen to his delusive overtures: and in return for which, and to accomplish the views of our PATRIOT GOVERNMENT, I am confident no Englishman will refuse to make the greatest sacrifices, but manfully come forward with personal service, and chearfully bear every burthen for the defence of his King, Laws, Country's good, and while a TYRANT exists.

For the world in general, and the happiness of France, the downfal of a tyrant is devoutly to be wished, producing the gratifying return of order-the restoration of religion—the exercise of moral duties-real liberty— and the various blessings so valuable in life.

With an earnest hope that these truths may perchance meet the eyes of the Tyrant, I have been induced to offer my real signature, preferring to be recorded in the list of his hatreds, than enrolled in the catalogue of having been introduced to the court of the Usurper--and enemy to my country. June 4, 1803. G. W.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

VERSES ON THE THEATENED INVASION. BY WILSON, ESQ.

Jo! in order of Battle the Legions of France

O'er Freedom's domain to destruction advance;
The Trumpet is sounded, and bursts from afar
From an host of Invaders the thunder of War.
To the fiery Combat they rush in despair,
While the groans of the dying rise wild on the air,
And their blood-dropping banners all-dreadfully wave
er the spot that is mark'd for the Plunderer's grave!

Do

Do they hope to prevail? oh how empty the boast!

The Angel of death has devoted their host,

And when night spreads her darkness, the moon-beam will shed

A glimmering light on the mountains of dead!

A Phalanx of Freemen moves on to the fight,
The spoiler is vanquished, and withered his might!
His wasted battallions like snow melt away
And ruin and horror reign Lords of the day!
The Heroes of England, the heralds of fear,
Pursue the pale squadrons and press on their rear;
Beneath their firm tread the Invaders expire,
And they flame o'er the field like a column of fire!
They had sworn at the Altar of God to be free
Yes! Leader of Armies! they trusted in THEE!
Elated with conquest, what honors await

The brave by whom battle was turned from the gate?
A million of patriots, regardless of life,
That crushed the fierce foe in the glorious strife?
The old man whose course of existence is run
Gives a last placid smile to the Hero his son;
While the virgin unable from rapture to speak,
Reclines on his breast with a tear on her cheek,
And fearing no more from her lover to part
In tenderness breathes a soft sigh from the heart!
On their soul speaking features all gaze with delight
And to bless the defenders of freedom unite!

Each heart leaps with joy at the sound of their name,
And their deeds are preserved in the records of fame!
Yet each Briton will pause mid the triumph to ruourn
For the heroes that fought-ah! no more to return!
Who when stretched on the plain 'neath the shadow of death,
Blessed the Land of their Fathers with tremulous breath,
And sighed their last prayer on the groan-burdened gale,
"Oh! God! may the cause of my Country prevail !"
Yes! the tear will gush fast when we think of their lot
And the name of the valiant will ne'er be forgot,
To their fame a proud Nation a Trophy will raise
And the current of time will add force to its blaze!

WAR SONG.

By the Rev. Mr. GILLESPIE

SONS of the mighty, dreadless band,
That know to conquer or to die,
Around your rock embattl'd strand,
More firm than rocks embattl'd stand,

And

And proud Invasion's threats defy! Unconquered offspring of the brave, Whom Roman power could ne'er enslave, Your freedom who for ever seal'd,

On Bannock Burn's victorious field, Rush from the hills ye heroes on the foe,

Tread on Oppresion's neck, and deal th' avenging blow

On, sons of Morven, to the fight,

Back drive th' Invaders to the waves;
Proud lift on high the arm of might-
Say, shall oppression rule o'er right,
And freemen yield to slaves?

No! whilst our green isle spurns the main,
Shall Britons spurn a tyrants chain:

No! whilst the winds and tempests dread
Pour round our rock-pil'd mountain's head,
Free as those winds and as those tempests dire,
In freedom's cause we fight-we conquer-or expire.

Rise Patriots, to your Country's aid,

Your father's ghosts on vengeance call!
Draw from its sheath the battle blade,
Nor let th' avenging sword be staid,

Till you have made the tyrant fall!
Say, shall we view, dear native soil,
Thy lovely fields a Despot's spoil?

Shall Christians see their altars stain'd,
Their children slain, their wives profan'd?
Shall brave men to a ruffian's arms

Yield trembling beauty's virgin charms?

Oh, righteous heaven, forbid the foul disgrace,
At which the sun asham'd would hide his blushing face!

Most beauteous island of the west,

Seat of the fair, the brave, the free,
By love, by lore, by friendship blest,
While fond remembrance chears my breast,
I shall, dear land, remember thee:
Tho' filled with hills my country rude,
Yet there is courage unsubdued-
A patriot king-A Christian creed-
And laws from wild disorder freed-

And heroes that disdain a Tyrant's rule,

Nurs'd in proud Honour's lap, and train'd in Freedom's school.

Then

Then to your shores, ye dreadless band,
Invasion's sails are now unfurl'd;
Fight for your dear sweet native land;
For freedom, for religion stand,

And prove the saviours of the world!
High pants the steed with foaming breath,
The horseman draws the sword of death,
Thick rows of arms flash in the light,
The weak shallfall beneath your might:

On heroes, on; perdition waits the slayes!

They come to give you chains-you go to give them graves.

VOL. I.

TO THE MEMORY OF

SIR RALPH ABERCROMBIE.

SPIRIT of the heavenly regions,
Crown'd with never ending fame,
List and hear how earthly legions
Consecrate thy deathless name.

From thy blest, thy sainted dwelling,
Where midst fields of glory bright,
Thou sits't the sacred anthem swelling,
With white rob'd ministers of light;

Behold the warriors bosom burning,
The virgin's tear descend for thee;
The British youth with sorrow mourning
The soldier of humanity.

There while valour lights each feature,
Hear them vow they will be free;
Like thee to guard the rights of nature,
To triumph, or to die like thee.

Still enchanted with thy story,
With thy worth and martial glory,
They to latest times will prove,
A nation's gratitude and love.

Spirit of the heavenly regions,

Crown'd with never ending fame,
List and hear how earthly legions

Consecrate thy sacred name.

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