He, with the generous rustics, sate

Ón Uri's rocks in close divan;
And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,
Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man.

Arabia's scorching sands he cross’d,

Where blasted Nature pants supine,
Conductor of her tribes adust,

To Freedom's adamantine shrine;
And many a Tartar-horde forlorn, aghast,3

He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing;
And taught amidst the dreary waste

The' all-cheering hymns of Liberty to sing.
He virtue finds, like precious ore,

Diffused through every baser mould,
E'en now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,

And turns the dross of Corsica to gold."
He, guardian genius, taught my youth

Pomp's tinsel livery to despise:
My lips, by him chastised to truth,
Ne'er paid that homage which the heart denies.

Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread,

Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity combined,
To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread;

And forge vile shackles for the freeborn mind.
Where Insolence his wrinkled front uprears,

And all the flowers of spurious Fancy blow;
And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears,

Full often wreathed around the miscreant's brow;
Where ever dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain,

Presents her cup of stale Profession's froth;
And pale Disease, with all his bloated train,

Torments the sons of Gluttony and Sloth. 1 Alluding to the known story of William Tell and his associates, the fathers and founders of the confederacy of the Swiss Cantons.

2 The Arabs, rather than resign their independency, have often abandoned their habitations, and encountered all the horrors of the desert.

3 From the tyranny of Genghis-Khan, Timur-Bec, and other eastern conquerors, wliole tribes of Tartars were used to fly into the remoter wastes of Cathay, where no army could follow them.

4 The noble stand made by Pascal Paoli and his associates against the usurpation of the French must endear them to all the sons of Liberty and Independence.

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In Fortune's car behold that minion ride,

With either India's glittering spoils oppress'd: So moves the sumpter-mule, in harness'd pride,

That bears the treasure which he cannot taste. For him let venal bards disgrace the bay,

And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string; Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay;

And all her jingling bells fantastic Folly ring; Disquiet, Doubt, and Dread shall intervene;

And Nature, still to all her feelings just, In vengeance hang a damp on every scene, Shook from the baleful pinions of Disgust.

ANTISTROPHE. Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts

By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, Where the poised lark his evening ditty chants,

And Health, and Peace, and contemplation dwell. There Study shall with Solitude recline;

And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-swains; And Toil and Temperance sedately twine

The slender cord that fluttering Life sustains: And fearless Poverty shall guard the door;

And Taste, unspoil'd, the frugal table spread; And Industry supply the humble store;

And Sleep, unbribed, his dews refreshing shed: White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite, Shall chase far off the goblins of the night; And Independence o'er the day preside, Propitious power! my patron and my pride.


PARENT of joy! heart-easing Mirth!

Whether of Venus or Aurora born;
Yet goddess sure of heavenly birth,
Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn:

Thy glittering colours gay,
Around him, Mirth, display;
And o'er his raptured sense
Diffuse thy living indcence:

So shall each hill, in purer green array'd,

And, flower-adorn'd, in new-born beauty glow; The

grove shall smooth the horrors of the shade,

And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow
Shine, goddess, shine with unremitted ray,
And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day.

Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged Poverty can smile with thee;

If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
And weak the’ uplifted arm of Tyranny.

The Morning opes on high
His universal eye;
And on the world doth pour

His glories in a golden shower!
Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray,
Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn:

The brood obscene, that own her gloomy sway
Troop in her rear, and fly the approach of morn.
Pale shivering ghosts, that dread the' all-cheering light,
Quick as the lightning's flash glide to sepulchral night.

But whence the gladdening beam

pours his purple stream
O'er the long prospect wide ?
'Tis Mirth. I see her sit
In majesty of light,

With Laughter at her side.
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And young Wit Alings his pointed dart,
That guiltless strikes the willing heart.

Fear not now Affliction's power,
Fear not now wild Passion's rage,

Nor fear ye aught in evil hour, Save the tardy hand of Age. Now Mirth hată heard the suppliant Poet's prayer; No cloud that rides the blast shall vex the troubled air

Soft Sleep, profoundly pleasing power,
Sweet patron of the peaceful hour,
0, listen from thy calm abode,
And hither wave thy magic rod;

Extend thy silent, soothing sway,
And charm the canker Care away.
Whether thou lovest to glide along
Attended by an airy throng
Of gentle dreams and smiles of joy,
Such as adorn the wanton boy;
Or to the monarch’s fancy bring
Delights that better suit a king;
The glittering host, the groaning plain,
The clang of arms, and victor's train;
Or should a milder vision please,
Present the happy scenes of peace;
Plump Autumn, blushing all around;
Rich Industry, with toil embrown'd;
Content, with brow serenely gay,
And genial Art's refulgent ray.


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ON Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love;
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the' Arcadian plain.
Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents stain thy limpid source;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly poised, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout, in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel, and mottled par.?
Devolving from thy parent Iake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,

And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
1 The par is a small fish, not unlike the smelt, which it rivals in
delicacy and flavour.

Still on thy banks, so gaily green, “May numerous herds and flocks be seen, And lasses chanting o'er the pail, And shepherds piping in the dale, And ancient faith that knows no guile, And industry imbrown'd with toil, And hearts resolved, and hands prepared, The blessings they enjoy to guard.


WIEN the rough North forgets to howl,
And Ocean's billows cease to roll;
When Libyan sands are bound in frost,
And cold to Nova Zembla's lost!
When heavenly bodies cease to move,
My blue-eyed Ann I'll cease to love.
No more shall flowers the meads adorn;
Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn;
Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring;
Nor parching heats the dogstar bring;
Nor laughing lilies paint the grove,
When blue-eyed Ann I cease to love.
No more shall joy in hope be found;
Nor pleasures dance their frolic round;
Nor Love's light god inhabit earth;
Nor beauty give to passion birth;.
Nor heat to summer sunshine cleave,
When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive.
When rolling seasons cease to change,
Inconstancy forgets to range;
When lavish May no more shall bloom,
Nor gardens yield a rich perfume;
When Nature from her sphere shall start,
I'll tear my Nanny from my heart.

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