Poems on various subjects, religious and moral

MÆCENAS, you, beneath the myrtle shade,
Read o'er what poets sung and shepherds play'd.
What felt those poets but you feel the same?
Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?
Their noble strains your equal genius shares
In softer language, and diviner airs.

While Homer paints lo! circumfus'd in air,
Celestial Gods in mortal forms appear;
Swift as they move hear each recess rebound,
Heav'n quakes, earth trembles, and the shores resound.
Great Sire of verse, before my mortal eyes,

The lightnings blaze across the vaulted skies;
And, as their thunder shakes the heav'nly plains,
A deep-felt horror thrills thro' all my veins.
When gentler strains demand my graceful song,
The length'ning line moves languishing along.
When great Patroclus courts Achilles' aid,
The grateful tribute of my tears is paid;
Prone on the shore he feels the pangs of love,
And stern Pelides tend'rest passions move.

Creat Maro's strain in heav'nly numbers flows,
The Nine inspire, and all the bosom glows.
O, could I rival thine and Virgil's page,
Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan Sage;
Soon the same beauties should my mind adorn,
And the same ardors in my soul should burn:
Then should my song in bolder notes arise,
And all my numbers pleasingly surprise;
But here I sit and mourn a grov'ling mind,
That fain would mount, and ride upon the wind.

Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,
Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home;
When they from tow'ring Helicon retire,
They fan in you the bright immortal fire;
But I, less happy, cannot raise the song,
The fault'ring music dies upon my tongue.

The happier Terence[1] all the choir inspir'd,
His soul replenish'd, and his bosom fir'd;
But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace,
To one alone of Afric's sable race;
From age to age, transmitting thus his name
With the first glory in the rolls of fame?

Thy virtues, great Mæcenas! shall be sung
In praise of him, from whom those virtues sprung:
While blooming wreaths around thy temples spread,
I'll snatch a laurel from thine honour'd head,
While you indulgent smile upon the deed.

As long as Thames in streams majestic flows,
Or Naids in their oozy beds repose,
While Phœbus reigns above the starry train,
While bright Aurora purples o'er the main,
So long, great Sir, the muse thy praise shall sing,
So long thy praise shall make Parnassus ring:
Then grant, Mæcenas, thy paternal rays,
Hear me propitious and defend my lays.

[1]

An African by birth.

On VIRTUE.

O THOU bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t' explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o'er thine head.
Fain would the heav'n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promis'd bliss.

Auspicious queen, thine heav'nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array'd in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But Guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,
To give an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron'd with cherubs in the realms of day!

To the University of CAMBRIDGE, in
NEW-ENGLAND.

WHILE an intrinsic ardor prompts to write,
The Muses promise to assist my pen;
'Twas not long since I left my native shore
The land of errors, and Egyptian gloom:
Father of mercy, 'twas thy gracious hand
Brought me in safety from those dark abodes.

Students, to you 'tis giv'n to scan the heights
Above, to traverse the ethereal space,
And mark the systems of revolving worlds.
Still more, ye sons of science ye receive
The blissful news by messengers from heav'n,
How Jesus' blood for your redemption flows.
See him with hands out-stretcht upon the cross;
Immense compassion in his bosom glows;
He hears revilers, nor resents their scorn:
What matchless mercy in the son of God!
When the whole human race by sin had fall'n,
He deign'd to die that they might rise again,
And share with him in the sublimest skies,
Life without death, and glory without end.

Improve your privileges while they stay,
Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears

Or good or bad report of you to heav'n.
Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,
By you be shunn'd, nor once remit your guard;
Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg.
Ye blooming plants of human race divine,
An Ethiop tells you 'tis your greatest foe;
Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,
And immense perdition sinks the soul.

TO THE KING's MOST EXCELLENT
MAJESTY.—1768.

YOUR subjects hope, dread sire—
The crown upon your brows may flourish long,
And that your arm may in your God be strong!
O may your sceptre num'rous nations sway,
And all with love and readiness obey!

But how shall we the British king reward!
Rule thou in peace, our father, and our lord!
Midst the remembrance of thy favours past,
The meanest peasants most admire the last.[2]
May George, belov'd by all the nations round,
Live with heav'ns choicest blessings crown'd!

Great God, direct, and guard him from on high,
And from his head let ev'ry evil fly!
And may each clime with equal gladness see
A monarch's smile can set his subjects free!

[2]

The repeal of the Stamp Act.

On being brought from AFRICA to
AMERICA.

'TWAS mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
"Their colour is a diabolic die"
Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be resin'd and join th' angelic train.

On the DEATH of the Rev. Dr. SEWELL, 1769.

ERE yet the morn its lovely blushes spread,
See Sewell number'd with the happy dead.
Hail, holy man, arriv'd th' immortal shore,
Though we shall hear thy warning voice no more.

Come, let us all behold with wishful eyes
The saint ascending to his native skies;
From hence the prophet wing'd his rapt'rous way
To the blest mansions in eternal day.
Then begging for the spirit of our God,
And panting eager for the same abode,
Come, let us all with the same vigour rise,
And take a prospect of the blissful skies;
While on our minds Christ's image is imprest,
And the dear Saviour glows in ev'ry breast.
Thrice happy saint! to find thy heav'n at last,
What compensation for the evils past!

Great God, incomprehensible, unknown
By sense, we bow at thine exalted throne.
O, while we beg thine excellence to feel,
Thy sacred spirit to our hearts reveal,
And give us of that mercy to partake,
Which thou hast promis'd for the Saviour's sake!

"Sewell is dead:" Swift-pinion'd Fame thus cry'd.
"Is Sewell dead," my trembling tongue reply'd,
O what a blessing in his flight deny'd!
How oft for us the holy prophet pray'd!
How oft to us the word of life convey'd!
By duty urg'd my mournful verse to close,
I for his tomb this epitaph compose.

"Lo, here a man, redeem'd by Jesus' blood,
A sinner once, but now a saint with God;
Behold ye rich, ye poor, ye fools, ye wise,
Nor let his monument your hearts surprise;
'Twill tell you what this holy man has done,
Which gives him brighter lustre than the sun.
Listen, ye happy, from your seats above;
I speak sincerely, while I speak in love.
He sought the paths of piety and truth,
By these made happy from his early youth!
In blooming years that grace divine he felt,
Which rescues sinners from the chains of guilt.
Mourn him, ye indigent, whom he has fed,
And henceforth seek, like him, for living bread;
Ev'n Christ, the bread descending from above,
And ask an int'rest in his saving love.
Mourn him, ye youth, to whom he oft has told
God's gracious wonders from the times of old.
I, too, have cause this mighty loss to mourn,
For he, my monitor, will not return.
O when shall we to his blest state arrive?
When the same graces in our bosoms thrive."

On the DEATH of the Reverend Mr. GEORGE
WHITEFIELD,—1770.

HAIL, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,
Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown.
We hear no more the music of thy tongue,
Thy wonted auditories cease to throng.
Thy sermons in unequal'd accents flow'd,
And ev'ry bosom with devotion glow'd:
Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin'd
Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.
Unhappy, we the setting sun deplore,
So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.

Behold the prophet in his tow'ring flight!
He leaves the earth for heaven's unmeasur'd height,
And worlds unknown receive him from our sight.
There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way,
And sails to Zion through vast seas of day.
Thy pray'rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries
Have pierc'd the bosom of thy native skies.
Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light,
How he has wrestled with his God by night.
He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell,
He long'd to see America excell;
He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine
Should with full lustre in their conduct shine.

That Saviousr which his soul did first receive,
The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give,
As freely offer'd to the num'rous throng,
That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung.

"Take him, ye wretched, for your only good,
Take him ye starving sinners, for your food;
Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream,
Ye preachers, take him for your royal theme;
Take him my dear Americans, he said,
Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid:
Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,
Impartial Saviour is his title due:
Wash'd in the fountain of redeeming blood,
Ye shall be sons, and kings, and priests to Cod.

Great Countess,[3] we Americans revere
Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;
New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn,
Their more than father will no more return.

But, tho' arrested by the hand of death,
Whitefield no more exerts his lab'ring breath;
Yet let us view him in th' eternal skies,
Let ev'ry heart to this bright vision rise;

While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust,
Till life divine re-animates his dust.

[3]

The Countess of Huntingdon, to whom Mr. Whitefield was Chaptain.

On the DEATH of a YOUNG LADY of five
years of age.

FROM dark abodes to fair etherial light
Th' enraptur'd innocent has wing'd her flight;
On the kind bosom of eternal love
She finds unknown beatitude above.
This know, ye parents, nor her loss deplore,
She feels the iron hand of pain no more;
The dispensations of unerring grace,
Should turn your sorrows into grateful praise;
Let then no tears for her henceforward flow,
No more distress'd in this dark vale below.

Her morning sun, which rose divinely bright,
Was quickly mantled with the gloom of night;
But hear, in heav'ns blest bow'rs, your Nancy fair,
And learn to imitate her language there.
"Thou, Lord, whom I behold with glory crown'd,
By what sweet name, and in what tuneful sound
Wilt thou be prais'd? Seraphic pow'rs are faint
Infinite love and majesty to paint.

To thee let all their grateful voices raise,
And saints and angels join their songs of praise.

Perfect in bliss, she from her heav'nly home
Looks down, and smiling beckons you to come;
Why then, fond parents, why these fruitless groans?
Restrain your tears, and cease your plantive moans.
Freed from a world of sin, and snares, and pain,
Why would you wish your daughter back again?
No—bow resign'd. Let hope your grief controul,
And check the rising tumult of the soul.
Calm in the prosperous, and adverse day,
Adore the God who gives and takes away;
Eye him in all, his holy name revere,
Upright your actions, and your hearts sincere,
Till having sail'd through life's tempestuous sea,
And from its rocks, and boist'rous billows free,
Yourselves, safe landed on the blissful shore,
Shall join your happy babe to part no more.

On the DEATH of a YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

WHO taught the conflict with the power's of night,
To vanquish Satan in the fields of fight?
Who strung thy feeble arms with might unknown,
How great thy conquest, and how bright thy crown!

War with each princedom, throne, and pow'r is o'er,
The scene is ended to return no more.
O could my muse thy feat on high behold,
How deck'd with laurel, how enrich'd with gold!
O could she hear what praise thine harp employs,
How sweet thine anthems, how divine thy joys!
What heav'nly grandeur should exalt her strain!
What holy raptures in her numbers reign!
To sooth the troubles of her mind to peace,
To still the tumult of life's tossing seas,
To ease the anguish of the parents heart,
What shall my sympathizing verse impart?
Where is the balm to heal so deep a wound?
Where shall a sov'reign remedy be sound?
Look, gracious Spirit, from thine heavenly bow'r,
And thy full joys into their bosom pour;
The raging tempest of their grief control,
And spread the dawn of glory thro' the soul,
To eye the path the saint, departed, trod,
And trace him to the bosom of his God.

To a LADY on the DEATH of her HUSBAND.

GRIM monarch! see, depriv'd of vital breath,
A young physician in the dust of death:
Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waste our joy?

Enough—thou never yet was known to say,
Tho' millions die, the vassals of thy sway:
Not youth, nor science, nor the ties of love,
Nor aught on earth thy flinty heart can move.
The friend, the spouse from his dire dart to save,
In vain we ask the sovereign of the grave.
Fair mourner, there see thy lov'd Leonard laid,
And o'er him spread the deep impervious shade;
Clos'd are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep
His senses bound in never-waking sleep,
Till time shall cease, till many a starry world
Shall fall from heav'n, in dire confusion hurl'd;
Till nature in her final wreck shall lie,
And her last groan shall shake the azure sky:
Not, not till then his active soul shall claim
His body, a divine immortal frame.

But see the softly-stealing tears apace
Pursue each other down the mourner's face;
But cease thy tears, bid ev'ry sigh depart,
And cast the load of anguish from thine heart:
From the cold shell of his great soul arise,
And look beyond thou native of the skies;
There six thy view, where fleeter than the wind
Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.
Thyself prepare to pass the vale of night

To join forever on the hills of light:
To thine embrace his joyful spirit moves,
To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;
He welcomes thee to pleasures more refin'd,
And better suited to th' immortal mind.

GOLIATH OF GATH.

1 Sam. Chap. xvii.

YE martial pow'rs, and all ye tuneful nine,
Inspire my song, and aid my high design.
The dreadful scenes and toils of war I write,
The ardent warriors, and the fields of fight:
You best remember, and you best can sing
The acts of heroes to the vocal string:
Resume the lays with which your sacred lyre,
Did then the poet and the sage inspire.
Now front to front the armies were display'd
Here Israel rang'd, and there the foes array'd;
The hosts on two opposing mountains stood,
Thick as the foliage of the waving wood;
Between them an extensive valley lay,
O'er which the gleaming armour pour'd the day,
When from the camp of the Philistine foes,
Dreadful to view, a mighty warrior rose;

In the dire deeds of bleeding battle skill'd,
The monster stalks the terror of the field.
From Gath he sprung, Goliath was his name,
Of fierce deportment, and gigantic frame:
A brazen helmet on his head was plac'd,
A coat of mail his form terrific grac'd,
The greaves his legs, the targe his shoulders prest:
Dreadful in arms high-tow'ring o'er the rest
A spear he proudly wav'd, whose iron head,
Strange to relate; six hundred snekels weigh'd.
He strode along and shook the ample field,
While Phœbus blaz'd refulgent on his shield:
Through Jacob's race a chilling horror ran,
When thus the huge, enormous chief began:

"Say, what the cause that in this proud array
You set your battle in the face of day?
One hero find in all your vaunting train,
Then see who loses, and who wins the plain;
For he who wins, in triumph may demand
Perpetual service from the vanquish'd land:
Your armies I desy, your force despise,
By far inserior in Philistia's eyes:
Produce a man, and let us try the fight,
Decide the contest, and the victor's right."

Thus challeng'd he: All Israel stood amaz'd,
And ev'ry chief in consternation gaz'd:
But Jesse's son in youthful bloom appears,
And warlike courage far beyond his years:
He left the folds, he left the flow'ry meads,
And soft recesses of the sylvan shades.
Now Israel's monarch, and his troops arise,
With peals of shouts aseending to the skies;
In Elah's vale the scene of combat lies.

When the fair morning blush'd with orient red,
What David's sire enjoin'd the son obey'd,
And swift of foot towards the trench he came,
Where glow'd each bosom with the martial flame.
He leaves his carriage to another's care,
And runs to greet his brethren of the war.
While yet they spake the giant-chief arose,
Repeats the challenge, and insults his foes:
Struck with the sound, and trembling at the view,
Affrighted Israel from its post withdrew.
"Observe ye this tremendous soe, they cry'd,
Who in proud vaunts our armies hath defy'd:
Whoever lays him prostrate on the plain,
Freedom in Israel for his house shall gain;
And on him wealth unknown the king shall pour,
And give his royal daughter for his dow'r."

Then Jesse's youngest hope: "My brethren say,
What shall be done for him who takes away
Reproach from Jacob, who destroys the chief,
And puts a period to his country's grief.
He vaunts the honours of his arms abroad,
And scorns the armies of the living God."

Thus spoke the youth, th' attentive people ey'd
The wond'rous hero, and again reply'd:
"Such the rewards our monarch will bestow,
On him who conquers, and destroys his foe."

Eliab heard and kindled into ire,
To hear his shepherd-brother thus inquire,
And thus begun: "What errand brought thee? say
Who keeps thy flock? or does it go astray?
I know the base ambition of thine heart,
But back in safety from the fields depart."

Eliab thus to Jesse's youngest heir,
Express'd his wrath in accents most severe;
When to his brother mildly he reply'd,
"What have I done? or what the cause to chide?"

The words were told before the king, who sent
For the young hero to his royal tent:
Before the monarch dauntless he began,
"For this Philistine fail no heart of man:

I'll take the vale, and with the giantfight:
I dread not all his boasts, nor all his might."
When thus a king: "Dar'st thou a stripling go,
And venture combat with so great a foe?
Who all his days has been inur'd to fight,
And made its deeds his study and delight:
Battles and bloodshed brought the monster forth,
And clouds and whirldwinds usher'd in his birth."
When David thus: "I kept the fleecy care,
And out there rush'd a lion and a bear;
A tender lamb the hungry lion took,
And with no other weapon than my crook,
Bold I pursued, and chac'd him o'er the field,
The prey deliver'd and the felon kill'd:
As thus the lion and the bear I slew,
So shall Goliath fall, and all his crew:
The God, who sav'd me from these beasts of prey,
By me this monster in the dust shall lay."
So David spoke. The wond'ring king reply'd,
"Go thou with heav'n and vict'ry on thy side:
This coat of mail, this sword gird on", he said,
And plac'd a mighty helmet on his head:
The coat, the sword, the helm he laid aside,
Nor chose to venture with those arms untry'd,
Then took his staff, and to the neighb'ring brook
Instant he ran, and thence five pebbles took

Mean time descended to Philistia's son
A radiant cherub, and he thus begun:
"Goliath, well thou know'st thou hast defy'd
Yon Hebrew armies, and their God deny'd:
Rebellious wretch! audacious worm! forbear,
Nor tempt the vengence of their God too far:
Them, who with his omnipotence contend,
No eye shall pity, and no arm defend:
Proud as thou art, in short liv'd glory great,
I come to tell thee thine approaching fate.
Regard my words. The judge of all the gods,
Beneath whose seeps the tow'ring mountain nods,
Will give thine armies to the savage brood,
That cut the liquid air, or range the wood.
Thee too a well-aim'd pebble shall destroy,
And thou shalt perish by a beardless boy:
Such is the mandate from the realms above,
And should I try the venge'nce to remove,
Myself a rebel to my king should prove.
Goliath say, shall grace to him be shown,
Who dares heav'ns monarch, and insults his throne?"

"Your words are lost on me," the giant cries,
While fear and wrath contended in his eyes,
When thus the messenger from heav'n replies:

Provoke no more Jehovah's awful hand
To hurl its venge'nce on thy guilty land:
He grasps the thunder, and, he wings the storm,
Servants their sov'reign's orders to perform.

The angel spoke, and turn'd his eyes away,
Adding new radiance to the rising day.

Now David comes: the fatal stones demand
His left, the staff engag'd his better hand:
The giant mov'd, and from his tow'ring height
Survey'd the stripling, and disdain'd the fight,
And thus began: "Am I a dog with thee?
Bring'st thou no armour, but a staff to me?
The gods on thee their vollied curses pour,
And beasts and birds of prey thy slesh devour."

David undaunted thus, "Thy spear and shield
Shall no protection to thy body yield:
Jehovah's name—no other arms I bear,
I ask no other in this glorious war.
To-day the Lord of Hosts to me will give
Vict'ry, to-day thy doom thou shalt receive;
The fate you threaten shall your own become,
And beasts shall be your animated tomb,
That all the earth's inhabitants may know
That there's a God, who governs all below:

This great assembly too shall witness stand,
That needs not sword, nor spear th' Almighty's hand:
The battle his, the conquest he bestows,
And to our pow'r consigns our hated foes."

Thus David spoke; Goliath heard and came
To meet the hero in the field of fame.
Ah! fatal meeting to thy troops and thee,
But thou wast deaf to the divine decree;
Young David meets thee, meets thee not in vain;
'Tis thine to perish on th' ensanguin'd plain.

And now the youth the forceful pebble flung,
Philistia trembled as it whizz'd along:
In his dread forehead, where the helmet ends,
Just o'er the brows the well-aim'd stone descends,
It piere'd the skull, and shatter'd all the brain,
Prone on his face he tumbled to the plain:
Goliath's fall no smaller terror yields
Than raving thunders in aeriel fields.
The soul still ling'ring in its lov'd abode,
Till conqu'ring David o'er the giant strode:
Goliath's sword then laid its master dead,
And from the body hew'd the ghastly head;
The blood in gushing torrents drench'd the plains,
The soul found passage thro' the spouting veins.

And now aloud th' illustrious victor said,
"Where are your boastings now your champion's dead?"
Scarce had he spoke, when the Philistines fled;
But fled in vain: The conqu'ror swift pursu'd:
What scenes of slaughter! and what seas of blood!
There Saul thy thousands grasp'd th' impurpl'd sand
In pangs of death the conquest of thine hand;
And David there were thy ten thousands laid:
Thus Israel's damsels musically play'd.

Near Gath and Ekron many an hero lay,
Breath'd out their souls, and curs'd the light of day:
Their fury, quench'd by death, no longer burns,
And David with Goliath's head returns,
To Satem brought, but in his tent he plac'd
The load of armour which the giant grac'd.
His monarch saw him coming from the war,
And thus demanded of the son of Ner:
"Say, who is this amazing youth?" he cry'd,
When thus the leader of the host reply'd;
"As lives thy soul I know not whence he sprung,
So great in prowess though in years so young:"
"Inquire whose son is he," the sov'reign said,
"Before whose conq'ring arm Philistia fled."

Before the king behold the stripling stand,
Goliath's head depending from his hand:
To him the king: "Say of what martial line
Art thou, young hero, and what sire was thine?"
He humbly thus: "The son of Jesse I:
I came the glories of the field to try.
Small is my tribe, but valiant in the fight;
Small is my city but thy royal right."
"Then take the promis'd gifts," the monarch cry'd,
Conferring riches and the royal bride:
"Knight to my soul for ever thou remain
With me, nor quit my regal roof again."

THOUGHTS ON THE WORKS OF PROVIDENCE.

ARISE, my soul, on wings enraptur'd rise,
To praise the monarch of the earth and skies;
Whose goodness and beneficence appear
As round its centre moves the rolling year;
Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,
Or the sun slumbers in the ocean's arms.
Of light divine be a rich portion lent,
To guide my soul, and favour my intent.
Celestial muse, my ard'ous flight sustain,
And raise my mind to a seraphic strain!

Ador'd for ever be the God unseen,
Which round the sun revolves this vast machine,
Tho' to his eye its mass a point appears:
Ador'd the God that whirls surrounding spheres,
Which first ordain'd that mighty Sol should reign
The peerless monarch of th' ethereal train:
Of miles twice forty millions is his height,
And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight
o far beneath—from him th' extended earth
Vigour derives, and ev'ry flow'ry birth:
Vast thro' her orb she moves with easy grace
Around her Phœbus in unbounded space;
True to her course th' impetuous storm derides,
Triumphant o'er the winds, and surging tides.

Almighty, in these wond'rous works of thine,
What Pow'r, what Wisdom, and what Goodness shine?
And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explor'd,
And yet creating glory unador'd!

Creation smiles in various beauty gay,
While day to night, and night succeeds to day:
That Wisdom, which attends Jehovah's ways,
Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays,
Without them, destitute of heat and light,
This world would be the reign of endless night;
In their excess how would our race complain,
Abhorring life! how hate its length'ned chain!

From air adult what num'rous ills would rise?
What dire contagion taint the burning skies?
What pestilential vapours, fraught with death,
Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath?

Hail, smiling morn, that from the orient main
Ascending dost adorn the heav'nly plain!
So rich, so various are thy beauteous dies,
That spread through all the circuit of the skies;
That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars,
And thy great God, the cause of all adores.

O'er beings infinite his love extends,
His Wisdom rules them, and his Pow'r defends,
When tasks diurnal tire the human frame,
The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame;
Then too that ever active bounty shines,
Which not infinity of space confines.
The sable veil, that Night in silence draws,
Conceals effects, but shews th' Almighty Cause:
Night feals in sleep the wide creation fair,
And all is peaceful but the brow of care.
Again, gay Phœbus, as the day before,
Wakes ev'ry eye, but what shall wake no more;
Again the face of nature is renew'd,
Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good.
May grateful strains salute the smiling morn,
Before its beams the eastern hills adorn!

Shall day to day and night to night conspire
To show the goodness of the Almighty Sire?
This mental voice shall man regardless hear,
And never, never raise the filial pray'r?
To-day, O hearken, nor your folly mourn
For time mispent, that never will return.

But see the sons of vegetation rise,
And spread their leafy banners to the skies.
All-wise Almighty Providence we trace
In trees, and plants, and all the flow'ry race;
As clear as in the nobler frame of man,
All lovely copies of the Maker's plan.
The pow'r the same that forms a ray of light,
That call'd creation from eternal night.
"Let there be light," he said: From his profound
Old Chaos heard, and trembled at the sound:
Swift as the word, inspir'd by pow'r divine,
Behold the light around its maker shine,
The first fair product of th' omnific God,
And now through all his works diffus'd abroad.

As reason's pow'rs by day our God disclose,
So we may trace him in the night's repose:
Say what is sleep? and dreams how passing strange!
When action ceases, and ideas range

Licentious and unbounded o'er the plains,
Where Fancy's queen in giddy triumph reigns.
Hear in soft strains the dreaming lover sigh
To a kind fair, or rave in jealousy;
On pleasure now, and now on vengeance bent,
The lab'ring passions struggle for a vent.
What pow'r, O man! thy reason then restores,
So long suspended in nocturnal hours?
What secret hand returns the mental train,
And gives improv'd thine active pow'rs again?
From thee, O man, what gratitude should rise!
And, when from balmy sleep thou op'st thine eyes,
Let thy first thoughts be praises to the skies.
How merciful our God who thus imparts
O'erflowing tides of joy to human hearts,
When wants and woes might be our righteous lot,
Our God forgetting, by our God forgot!

Among the mental pow'rs a question rose,
"What most the image of th' eternal shows?"
When thus to reason (so let Fancy rove)
Her great companion spoke immortal love.

"Say, mighty pow'r, how long shall strife prevail,
And with its murmurs load the whisp'ring gale?
Refer the cause to Recollection's shrine,
Who loud proclaims my origin divine,

The cause whence heav'n and earth began to be,
And is not man immortaliz'd by me?
Reason let this most cauless strife subside."
Thus Love pronounc'd and Reason thus reply'd.

"Thy birth, celestial queen! 'tis mine to own,
In thee resplendent is the Godhead shown;
Thy words persuade, my soul enraptur'd feels
Resistless beauty which thy smile reveals."
Ardent she spoke, and kindling at her charms,
She clasp'd the blooming goddess in her arms,

Infinite Love where'er we turn our eyes
Appears: This ev'ry creature's wants supplies;
This most is heard in Nature's constant voice,
This makes the morn, and this the eve rejoice.
This bids the fost'ring rains and dews descend
To nourish all to serve one gen'ral end,
The good of man: yet man ungrateful pays
But little homage, and but little praise,
To him whose works array'd with mercy shine,
What songs should rise, how constant, how divine!

To a LADY on the DEATH of THREE
RELATIONS.

WE trace the pow'r of death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
'Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phœbus, and dissolve the sky;
His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl'd,
From its firm base to shake the solid world;
His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,
And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.

Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:
Behold thy brother number'd with the dead!
From bondage freed, the exulting spirit flies
Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.
Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn
In vain; to earth thou never must return.
Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart
Of death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.
Weep not for them, who wish thine happy mind
To rise with them, and leave the world behind.

As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
So near its parent lies the newly born—
But 'midst the bright ethereal train behold
It shines superior on a throne of gold:

Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,
Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.
On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,
Mindless of sublunary scenes below;
Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,
And seek substantial, and immortal joys;
Where hope receive, where faith to vision springs,
And raptur'd seraphs tune the immortal strings
To strains extatic. Thou the chorus join,
And to thy father tune the praise divine.

To a CLERGYMAN on the DEATH of his
LADY.

WHERE contemplation finds her sacred spring,
Where heav'nly music makes the arches ring,
Where virtue reigns unsully'd and divine,
Where wisdom thron'd, and all the graces shine,
There sits thy spouse amidst the radiant throng,
While praise eternal warbles from her tongue;
There choirs angelic shout her welcome round,
With perfect bliss, and peerless glory crown'd.

While thy dear mate, to flesh no more confin'd,
Exults a blest, and heav'n-ascended mind,

Say in thy breast shall floods of sorrow rise?
Say shall its torrents overwhelm thine eyes?
Amid the seats of heav'n a place is free,
And angels ope' their brighter ranks for thee;
For thee they wait, and with expectant eye
Thy spouse leans downward from th' empyreal sky:
"O come away", her longing spirit cries,
"And share with me the raptures of the skies.
Our bliss divine to mortals is unknown;
Immortal life and glory are our own.
There too may the dear pledges of our love
Arrive, and taste with us the joys above;
Attune the harp to more than mortal lays,
And join with us the tribute of their praise
To him who dy'd stern justice to atone,
And make eternal glory all our own.
He in his death slew ours, and as he rose,
He crush'd the dire dominion of our foes:
Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight,
Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light."

She spoke, and turn'd from mortal scenes her eyes,
Which beam'd celestial radiance o'er the skies.

Then thou, dear man, no more with grief retire,
Let grief no longer damp devotion's fire,
But rise sublime, to equal bliss aspire.

Thy sighs no more be wasted by the wind,
No more complain, but be to heav'n resign'd.
'Twas thine t' unfold the oracles divine,
To sooth our woes the task was also thine;
Now sorrow is incumbent on thy heart,
Permit the muse a cordial to impart
Who can to thee their tend'rest aid refuse?
To dry thy tears how longs the heav'nly muse.

An HYMN to the MORNING.

ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,
Assist my labours, and my strains refine;
In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
For bright Aurora now demands my song.

Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies,
Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:
The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephry plays:
Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,
Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.

Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display
To shield your poet from the burning day:

Calliope awake the sacred lyre,
While the fair sisters fan the pleasing sire:
The bow'rs, the gales, the variegated skies
In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.

See in the east th' illustrious king of day!
His rising radiance drives the shades away—
But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong,
And scarce begun, concludes the abortive song.

An HYMN to the EVENING.

SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air the mingled music floats.

Thro' all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev'ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!

Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,

Let placid slumbers sooth cach weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refin'd;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.

Night's leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

ISAIAH lxiii. 1—8.

SAY, heav'nly muse, what king, or mighty God,
That moves sublime from Idumea's road?
In Bozrah's dies, with martial glories join'd,
His purple vesture waves upon the wind.
Why thus enrob'd delights he to appear
In the dread image of the Pow'r of war?

Compress'd in wrath the swelling wine-press groan'd
It bled, and pour'd the gushing purple round.

"Mine was the act," th' Almighty Saviour said,
And shook the dazzling glories of his head,
"When all forsook I trod the press alone,
And conquer'd by omnipotence my own;
For man's release sustain'd the pond'rous load,
For man the wrath of an immortal God:

To execute th' Eternal's dread command
My soul I sacrific'd with willing hand;
Sinless I stood before the avenging frown,
Atoning thus for vices not my own."

His eye the ample field of battle round
Survey'd, but no created succours found;
His own omnipotence sustain'd the fight,
His vengeance sunk the haughty foes in night;
Beneath his feet the prostrate troops were spread,
And round him lay the dying, and the dead.

Great God, what light'ning flashes from thine eyes?
What pow'r withstands if thou indignant rise?

Against thy Zion tho' her foes may rage,
And all their cunning, all their strength engage,
Yet she serenely on thy bosom lies,
Smiles at their arts, and all their force defies.

On RECOLLECTION.

MNEME begin. Inspire ye sacred nine,
Your vent'rous Afric in her great design.
Mneme, immortal pow'r, I trace thy spring:
Assist my strains, while I thy glories fing:

The acts of long departed years, by thee
Recover'd, in due order rang'd we see:
Thy pow'r the long forgotten calls from night,
That sweetly plays before the fancy's sight.

Mneme, in our nocturnal visions pours
The ample treasure of her secret stores;
Swift from above she wings her silent flight
Thro' Phœbe's realms, fair regent of the night:
And, in her pomp of images display'd,
To the high-raptur'd poet gives her aid,
Thro' the unbounded regions of the mind,
Diffusing light celestial and refin'd.
The heavn'ly phantom paints the actions done
By ev'ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.

Mneme, enthron'd within the human breast,
Has vice condemn'd, and ev'ry virtue blest.
How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear?
Sweeter than music to the ravish'd ear,
Sweeter than Maro's entertaining strains
Resounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.
But how is Mneme dreaded by the race,
We scorn her warnings, and despise her grace?
By her unveil'd each horrid crime appears,
Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.

Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!
Hers the worst tortures that our souls can know.

Now eighteen years their destin'd course have run,
In fast succession round the central sun.
How did the follies of that period pass
Unnotic'd, but behold them writ in brass!
In recollection see them fresh return,
And sure 'tis mine to be asham'd, and mourn.

O Virtue, smiling in immortal green,
Do thou exert thy pow'r, and change the scene;
Be thine employ to guide my future days,
And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.

Of Recollection such the pow'r enthron'd
In ev'ry breast, and thus her pow'r is own'd.
The wretch, who dar'd the vengeance of the skies,
At last awakes in horror and suprize,
By her alarm'd, he sees impending fate,
He howls in anguish, and repents too late.
But O! what peace, what joys are hers t' impart
To ev'ry holy, ev'ry upright heart!
Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine!
Feels himself shelter'd from the wrath divine!

On IMAGINATION.

THY various works, imperial queen, we see,
How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee!
Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand,
And all attest how potent is thine hand.

From Helicon's refulgent heights attend,
Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.

Now here, now there, the roving Fancy shes,
Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes,
Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,
And soft captivity involves the mind.

Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.

Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes
The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands.
Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain.
Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,
And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd:
Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.

Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.

Fancy might now her silken pinions try
To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high;
From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise,
Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,
While a pure stream of light oe'rflows the skies.
The monarch of the day I might behold,
And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,

But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,
Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;
Winter austere forbids me to aspire,
And northern tempests damp the rising fire;
They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea,
Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.

A Funeral POEM on the Death of C. E. an
Infant of Twelve Months.

THRO' airy roads he wings his infant flight
To purer regions of celestial light;
Enlarg'd he sees unnumber'd systems roll,
Beneath him sees the universal whole:
Planets on planets run their destin'd round,
And circling wonders fill the vast profound.
Th' etherial now, and now th' empyreal skies
With growing splendors strike his wond'ring eyes:
The angels view him with delight unknown,
Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne;
Then smiling thus: "To this divine abode,
The seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God,
Thrice welcome thou." The raptur'd babe replies,
"Thanks to my God, who snatch'd me to the skies,

E'er vice triumphant had possess'd my thought,
E'er yet the tempter had beguil'd my heart,
E'er yet on sin's base actions I was bent,
E'er yet I knew temptation's dire intent;
E'er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt,
E'er vanity had led my way to guilt,
But, soon arriv'd at my celestial gaol,
Full glories rush on my expanding soul.
Joyful he spake: Exulting cherubs round
Clapt their glad wings, the heav'nly vaults resound.

Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?
Why heave your pensive bosoms with a groan?
To Charles, the happy subject of my song,
A brighter world, and nobler strains belong.
Say would you tear him from the realms above
By thoughtless wishes, and prepost'rous love?
Doth his felicity increase your pain?
Or could you welcome to this world again
The heir of bliss? with a superior air
Methinks he answers with a smile severe,
"Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me there."
But still you cry, "Can we the sigh forbear,
And still and still must we not pour the tear?
Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
Twelve moons revolv'd, becomes the prey of death;

Delightful infant, nightly visions give
Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
We fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast,
The Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest."

To yon bright regions let your faith ascend,
Prepare to join your dearest infant friend
In pleasures without measure, without end.

To Captain H—d, of the 65th Regiment.

SAY, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight
The warriors bosom in the fields of fight?
Lo! here the christian, and the hero join
With mutual grace to form the man divine.
In H—d see with pleasure and surprize,
Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies:
Go, hero brave, still grace the post of fame,
And add new glories to thine honour'd name,
Still to the field, and still to virtue true:
Brittannia glories in no son like you.

To the Right Honourable WILLIAM, Earl
of Dartmouth, His Majesty's Principal
Secretary of State for North-America, &c.

HAIL, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,
Each soul expands, each grateful bosom burns;
While in thine hand with pleasure we behold
The silken reins, and Freedom's charms unfold.
Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies
She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:
Soon as appear'd the Goddess long desir'd,
Sick at the view she languish'd and expir'd;
Thus from the splendors of the morning light
The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.

No more, America, in mournful strain
Of wrongs, and grievance unredress'd complain,
No longer shall thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand
Had made, and with it meant t' enslave the land.

Should you, my lord, while you pursue my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,

Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood.
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch'd from Afric's fancy'd happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must molest,
What sorrows labour in my parents breast?
Steel'd was that soul and by no misery mov'd
That from a father seiz'd his babe belov'd:
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray,
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?

For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,
And thee we ask thy favours to renew,
Since in thy pow'r, as in thy will before,
To sooth the griefs, which thou did'st once deplore.
May heav'nly grace the sacred sanction give
To all thy works and thou for ever live,
Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
Tho' praise immortal crowns the patriot's name,
But to conduct to heav'ns refulgent fane,
May fiery coursers sweep th' ethereal plain,
And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,
Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.

ODE to NEPTUNE.

On Mrs. W—'s Voyage to England.

I.

WHILE raging tempests shake the shore,
While Æ'lus' thunders round us roar,
And sweep impetuous o'er the plain,
Be still, O tyrant of the main;
Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray,
While my Susannah skims the wat'ry way.

II.

The Pow'r propitions hears the lay,
The blue-ey'd daughters of the sea
With sweeter cadence glide along,
And Thames responsive joins the song.
Pleas'd with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray,
And double radiance decks the face of day.

III.

To court thee to Brittannia's arms
Serene the climes and mild the sky,
Her region boasts unnumber'd charms,
Thy welcome smiles in ev'ry eye.
Thy promise Neptune keep, record my pray'r,
Nor give my wishes to the empty air.

Boston, October 10, 1772,

To a LADY on her coming to North-America
with her Son, for the Recovery of her
Health.

INDULGENT muse! my grov'ling mind inspire,
And fill my bosom with celestial fire.
See from Jamaica's fervid shore she moves,
Like the fair mother of the blooming loves,
When from above the Goddess with her hand
Fans the soft breeze, and lights upon the land;
Thus she on Neptune's wat'ry realm reclin'd
Appears and thus invites the ling'ring wind.
"Arise, ye winds America explore,
Waft me ye gales from this malignant shore;
The Norther'n milder climes I long to greet,
There hope that health will my arrival meet."
Soon as she spoke in my ideal view
The winds assented, and the vessel slew.

Madam, your spouse bereft of wife and son,
In the grove's dark recesses pours his moan;
Each branch, wide-spreading to the ambient sky,
Forgets its verdure, and submits to die.

From thence I turn, and leave the sultry plain,
And swift pursue thy passage o'er the main:
The ship arrives before the fav'ring wind,
And makes the Philadelphian port assign'd;

Thence I attend you to Bostonia's arms,
Where gen'rous friendship ev'ry bosom warms:
Thrice welcome here! may health revive again,
Bloom on thy cheek, and bound in every vein!
Then back return to gladden ev'ry heart,
And give your spouse his soul's far dearer part,
Received again with what a sweet surprize
The tear in transport starting from his eyes!
While his attendant son with blooming grace
Springs to his father's ever dear embrace.
With shouts of joy Jamaica's rocks resound,
With shouts of joy the country rings around.

To a LADY on her remarkable Preservation
in an Hurricane in North-Carolina.

THO' thou did'st hear the tempest from afar,
And felt'st the horrors of the wat'ry war,
To me unknown, yet on this peaceful shore
Methinks I hear the storm tumultuous roar;
And how stern Boreas with impetuous hand
Compell'd the Nereids to usurp the land.
Reluctant rose the daughter of the main,
And slow ascending glided o'er the plain,

Till Æolus in his rapid chariot drove,
In gloomy grandeur, from the vault above:
Furious he comes. His winged sons obey
Their frantic sire, and madden all the sea.
The billows rave, the wind's fierce tyrant roars,
And with his thund'ring terrors shakes the shores.
Broken by waves the vessel's frame is rent,
And strows with planks the wat'ry element.

But thee, Maria, a kind Nereid's shield
Preserv'd from sinking, and thy form upheld:
And sure some heav'nly oracle design'd
At that dread crisis to instruct thy mind
Things of eternal consequence to weigh,
And to thine heart just feelings to convey
Of things above, and of the future doom,
And what the births of the dread world to come.

From tossing seas I welcome thee to land.
"Resign her, Nereid," 'twas thy God's command.
Thy spouse late buried, as thy fears conceiv'd,
Again returns, thy fears are all reliev'd:
Thy daughter blooming with superior grace
Again thou see'st, again thine arms embrace;
O come, and joyful show thy spouse his heir,
And what the blessings of maternal care!

To a LADY and her CHILDREN, on the
Death of her Son and their Brother.

O'ERWHELMING sorrow now demands my song:
From death the overwhelming sorrow sprung.
What flowing tears? What hearts with grief oppress'd?
What sighs on sighs heave the fond parent's breast?
The brother weeps, the hapless sisters join
Th' increasing woe, and swell the crystal brine;
The poor, who once his gen'rous bounty sed,
Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead.
In death the friend, the kind companion lies,
And in one death what various comfort dies!

Th' unhappy mother sees the sanguine rill
Forget to slow, and nature's wheels stand still,
But see from earth his spirit far remov'd,
And know no grief recals your best-beloved:
He, upon pinious swifter than the wind,
Has left mortality's sad scenes behind
For joys to this terrestrial state unknown,
And glories richer than the monarch's crown.
Of virtue's steady course the prize behold!
What blissful wonders to his mind unfold!
But of celestial joys I sing in vain:
Attempt not, muse, the too advent'rous strain.

No more in briny show'rs, ye friends around,
Or bathe his clay, or waste them on the ground:
Still do you weep, still wish for his return?
How cruel thus to wish, and thus to mourn?
No more for him the streams of sorrow pour,
But haste to join him on the heav'nly shore,
On harps of gold to tune immortal lays,
And to your God immortal anthems raise.

To a GENTLEMAN and LADY on the Death
of the Lady's Brother and Sister, and a
Child of the Name AVIS, aced one Year.

ON Death's domain intent I fix my eyes,
Where human nature in vast ruin lies:
With pensive mind I search the drear abode,
Where the great conqu'ror has his spoils bestow'd;
There, there the offspring of six thousand years
In endless numbers to my view appears:
Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust,
And nations mix with their primeval dust:
Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb;
His is the present, his the age to come.
See here a brother, here a sister spread,
And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.

But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd:
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wasted to the skies in vain:
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.

The glowing stars and silver queen of light
At last must perish in the gloom of night:
Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand,
Which gave them life, and bow to his command.
Thine Avis give without a murm'ring heart,
Tho' half thy soul be fated to depart;
To shining guards consign thy infant care
To waft triumphant thro' the seas of air:
Her soul enlarg'd to heav'nly pleasure springs,
She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
And learning forward with a filial love,
Invite you there to share immortal bliss
Unknown, untasted in a state like this.
With tow'ring hopes, and growing grace arise,
And seek beatitude beyond the skies.

On the Death of Dr. SAMUEL MARSHALL. 1771.

THRO' thickest glooms look back immortal shade,
On that confusion which thy death has made;
Or from Olympus' height look down, and see
A Town involv'd in grief berest of thee.
Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead,
And rends the graceful tresses from her head,
Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest
Sigh follows sigh deep heaving from her breast.

Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone?
Ah! lost for ever to thy wife and son!
The hapless child, thine only hope and heir,
Clings round his mother's neck, and weeps his sorrows there.
The loss of thee on Tyler's soul returns,
And Boston for her dear physician mourns.

When sickness call'd for Marshah's healing hand,
With what compassion did his soul expand?
In him we found the father and the friend:
In life how lov'd! how honour'd in his end!

And must not then our Æsculapius stay
To bring his ling'ring insant into day?
The babe unborn in the dark womb is tost,
And seems in anguish for its father lost

Gone is Apollo from his house of earth,
But leaves the sweet memorials of his worth:
The common parent, whom we all deplore,
From yonder world unseen must come no more
Yet 'midst our woes immortal hopes attend.
The spouse, the sire, the universal friend.

To a GENTLEMAN on his Voyage to Great-Britain
for the Recovery of his Health.

WHILE others chant of gay Elysian scenes,
Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow'ry plains,
My song more happy speaks a greater name,
Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
For thee O R—, the muse attunes her strings,
And mounts sublime above inferior things.

I sing not now of green embow'ring woods,
I sing not now the daughters of the floods,
I sing not of the storms o'er ocean driv'n,
And how they howl'd along the waste of heav'n,
But I to R—would paint the British shore,
And vast Atlantic, not untry'd before:
Thy life impair'd commands thee to arise,
Leave these bleak regions, and inclement skies,

Where chilling winds return the winter past,
And nature shudders at the furious blast.

O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main
Exert thy wonders to the world again!
If ere thy pow'r prolong'd the fleeting breath,
Turn'd back the shafts, and mock'd the gates of death,
If ere thine air dispens'd an healing pow'r,
Or snatch'd the victim from the fatal hour,
This equal case demands thine equal care,
And equal wonders may this patient share.
But unavailing, frantic is the dream
To hope thine aid without the aid of him
Who gave thee birth, and taught thee where to flow,
And in thy waves his various blessings show.

May R— return to view his native shore
Replete with vigour not his own before,
Then shall we see with pleasure and surprize,
And own thy work, great Ruler of the skies!

To the Rev. Dr. THOMAS AMORY on reading
his Sermons on Daily Devotion, &c.

TO cultivate in ev'ry noble mind
Habitual grace, and sentiments refin'd,
Thus while you strive to mend the human heart,
Thus while the heav'nly precepts you impart,
O may each bosom catch the sacred fire,
And youthful minds to Virtue's throne aspire!

When God's eternal ways you set in sight,
And Virtue shines in all her native light,
In vain would Vice her works in night conceal,
For Wisdom's eye pervades the sable veil.

Artists may paint the sun's effulgent rays,
But Amory's pen the brighter God displays:
While his great works in Amory's pages shine,
And while he proves his essence all divine,
The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud
Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God;
As if the clay without the potter's aid
Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made;
Or worlds above with orb o'er orb profound
Self mov'd could run the everlasting round.
It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides
With eye propitious, and o'er all presides.

Still prosper, Amory! still may'st thou receive
The warmest blessings which a muse can give,
And when this transitory state is o'er,
When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame's no more,
May Amory triumph in immortal fame,
A nobler title, and superior name!

On the DEATH of J. C. an Infant.

NO more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rise,
Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes;
No more with joy we view that lovely face
Smiling, disportive, flush'd with ev'ry grace.
The tear of sorrow flows from ev'ry eye,
Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply;
What sudden pangs shot thro' each aching heart,
When, Death, thy messenger dispatch'd his dart?
Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow'r
Hurried the infant to his mortal hour.
Could'st thou unpitying close those radiant eyes?
Or fail'd his artless beauties to surprize?
Could not his innocence thy stroke controul,
Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul?

The blooming babe, with shades of Death o'er spread,
No more shall smile, no more shall raise its head,
But like a branch that from the tree is torn,
Falls prostrate, wither'd, languid, and forlorn.
"Where flies my James?" tis thus I seem to hear
The parent ask, "Some angel tell me where
"He wings his passage thro' the yelding air?"
Methinks a cherub, bending from the skies,
Observes the question and serene replies,
"In heav'ns high palaces your babe appears:
Prepare to meet him, and dismiss your tears."
Shall not th' intelligence your grief restrain,
And turn the mournful to the chearful strain?
Cease your complaints, suspend each rising sigh,
Cease to accuse the Ruler of the sky.
Parents, no more indulge the salling tear:
Let Faith to heav'n's resulgent domes repair,
There see your insant, like a seraph glow:
What charms celestial in his numbers flow
Melodious, while the soul-enchanting strain
Dwells on his tongue, and sills th' ethereal plain?
Enough—for ever cease your murm'ring breath;
Not as a foe, but friend converse with Death,
Since to the port of happiness unknown
He brought that treasure which you call your own.

The gift of heav'n intrusted to your hand
Chearful resign at the divine command:
Not at your bar must sov'reign Wisdom stand.

An HYMN TO HUMANITY.

To S. P. G. Esq.

I.

LO! for this dark terrestrial ball
Forsakes his azure-payed hall
A prince of heav'nly birth!
Divine Humanity behold!
What wonders rise, what charms unfold
At his descent to earth!

II.

The bosoms of the great and good
With wonder and delight he view'd,
And six'd his empire there:
Him, close compressing to his breast,
The sire of gods and men address'd,
"My son, my heav'nly fair!

III.

"Descend to earth, there place thy throne?
To succour man's afflicted son
Each human heart inspire:
To act in bounties unconfin'd,
Enlarge the close contracted mind,
And sill it with thy sire."

IV.

Quick as the word, with swift career
He wings his course from star to star,
And leaves the bright abode.
The Virtue did his charms impart;
Their G—y! then thy raptur'd heart
Perceiv'd the rushing God:

V.

For when thy pitying eye did see
The languid muse in low degree,
Then, then at thy desire
Descended the celestial nine;
O'er me methought they deign'd to shine,
And deign'd to string my lyre.

VI.

Can Asric's muse forgetful prove?
Or can such friendship fail to move
A tender human heart?
Immortal Friendship laurel-crown'd
The smiling Graces all surround
With ev'ry heav'nly Art.

To the Honourable T. H. Esquire, on the
Death of his Daughter.

WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade
The hand of death, and your dear daughter laid
In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow,
And racks your bosom with incessant woe,
Let Recollection take a tender part,
Asluage the raging tortures of your heart,
Still the wild tempest of tumult'ous grief,
And pour the heav'nly nectar of relief:
Suspend the sigh, dear Sir, and check the groan,
Divinely bright your daughter's Virtues shone:
How free from scornful pride her gentle mind,
Which ne'er its aid to indigence declin'd!
Expanding free, it fought the means to prove
Unfailing charity, unbounded love!

She unreluctant flies to see no more
Her dear-lov'd parents on earth's dusky shore:
Impatient heav'n's resplendent goal to gain,
She with swift progress cuts the azure plain,
Where grief subsides, where changes are no more,
And life's tumult'ous billows cease to roar;
She leaves her earthly mansion for the skies,
Where new creations feast her wondering eyes.

To heav'n's high mandate chearfully resign'd
She mounts, and leaves the rolling globe behind;
She who late wish'd that Leonard might return,
Has ceas'd to languish, and forgot to mourn;
To the same high empyreal mansions come,
She joins her spouse, and smiles upon the tomb:
And thus I hear her from the realms above:
"Lo! this the kingdom of celestial love!
Could ye, fond parents, see our present bliss,
How soon would you each sigh, each fear dismiss?
Amidst unutter'd pleasures whilst I play
In the fair sunshine of celestial day,
As far as grief affects an happy soul
So far doth grief my better mind controul,
To see on earth my aged parents mourn
And secret wish for T—l to return:
Let brighter scenes your ev'ning hours employ
Converse with heav'n, and taste the promis'd joy."

NIOBE in Distress for her Children slain
by APOLLO, from Ovid's Metamorphoses,
Book VI. and from a view of the Painting
of Mr. Richard Wilson.

APOLLO's wrath to man the dreadful spring
Of ills innum'rous, tuneful goddess, sing!
Thou who did'st first th' ideal pencil give,
And taught'st the painter in his works to live,
Inspir'd with glowing energy of thought
What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote.
Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain,
Tho last and meanest of the rhyming train!
O guide my pen in lofty strains to show
The Phrygian queen all beautiful in woe.

'Twas where Maonia spreads her wide domain
Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign:
See in her hand the regal sceptre shine,
The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine,
He most distinguished by Dodonean Jove,
To approach the tables of the gods above:
Her grandsire Atlas, who with mighty pains
Th' ethereal axis on his neck sustains:
Her other grandsire on the throne on high
Rolls the loud pealing thunder through the sky.

Her spouse, Amphion, who from Jove too springs,
Divinely taught to sweep the sounding strings.

Sev'n sprightly sons the royal bed adorn,
Seven daughters beauteous as the op'ning morn,
As when Aurora fills the ravish'd sight,
And decks the orient realms with rosy light
From their bright eyes the living splendors play,
Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray.

Wherever, Niobe, thou turn'st thine eyes,
New beauties kindle, and new joys arise!
But thou had'st far the happier mother prov'd,
If this fair offspring had been less belov'd:
What if their charms exceed Aurorar's teint,
No words could tell them, and no pencil paint,
Thy love vehement hastens to destroy
Each blooming maid, and each celestial boy.

Now Manto comes, endu'd with mighty skill,
The past to explore, the future to reveal.
Thro' Thebes' wide streets Tiresia's daughter came,
Divine Latona's mandate to proclaim:
The Thebian maids to hear the orders ran,
When thus Mœonia's prophetess began:

"Go, Thebans! great Latona's will obey,
And pious tribute at her altars pay:

With rights divine, the goddess be implor'd,
Nor be her sacred offspring unador'd."
Thus Manto spoke. The Theban maids obey,
And pious tribute to the goddess pay.
The rich perfumes ascend in waving spires,
And altars blaze with consecrated fires;
The fair assembly moves with grateful air,
And leaves of laurels bind the flowing hair.

Niobe comes with all her royal race,
With charms unnumber'd, and superior grace:
Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue,
Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view,
Beyond description beautiful she moves
Like heav'nly Venus 'midst her smiling loves:
She views around the supplicating train,
And shakes her graceful head with stern disdain:
Proudly she turns around her lofty eyes,
And thus reviles celestial deities:
"What madness drives the Theban ladies fair
To give their incense to surrounding air?
Say why this new sprung deity preferr'd?
Why vainly fancy your petitions heard?
Or say why Cœus' offspring is obey'd,
While to my goddessship no tribute's paid?
For me no altars blaze with living fires,
No bullock bleeds, no frankincense transpires,

Tho' Cadmus' palace, not unknown to fame,
And Phrygian nations all revere my name.
Where'er I turn my eyes vast wealth I find;
Lo! here an empress with a goddess join'd.
What, shall a Titaness be deify'd?
To whom the spacious earth a couch deny'd?
Nor heav'n, nor earth, nor sea received your queen,
'Till pitying Delos took the wand'rer in.
Round me what a large progeny is spread!
No frowns of fortune has my soul to dread.
What if indignant she decrease my train
More than Latona's number will remain?
Then hence, ye Theban dames, hence haste away,
Nor longer offrings to Latona pay?
Regard the orders of Amphion's spouse,
And take the leaves of laurel from your brows."
Niobe spoke. The Theban maids obey'd,
Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid.

The angry goddess heard, then silence broke
On Cynthus' summit, and indignant spoke;
"Phœbus! behold, thy mother in disgrace,
Who to no goddess yeilds the prior place
Except to Juno's self, who reigns above,
The spouse and sister of the thund'ring Jove.
Niobe, sprung from Tantalus, inspires
Each Theban bosom with rebellious fires;

No reason her imperious temper quells,
But all her father in her tongue rebels;
Wrap her own sons for her blaspheming breath,
Appollo! wrap them in the shades of death."
Latona ceas'd, and ardent thus replies,
The God, whose glory decks th' expanded skies.

"Cease thy complaints, mine be the task assign'd
To punish pride, and scourge the rebel mind."
Thus Phœbus join'd.—They wing their instant flight;
Thebes trembled as th' immortal powers alight.

With clouds encompass'd glorious Phœbus stands:
The feather'd veng'ance quiv'ring in his hands.

Near Cadmus' walls a plain extended lay,
Where Thebes' young princes pass'd in sport the day:
There the bold coursers bounded o'er the plains,
While there great masters held the golden reins.
Isinenus first the racing pastime led,
And rul'd the sury of his flying steed.
"Ah me," he sudden cries, with shrieking breath,
While in his breast he feels the shaft of death;
He drops the bridle on the courser's mane,
Before his eyes in shadows swims the plain:
He, the first-born of great Amphion's bed,
Was struck the first, first mingled with the dead.

Then didst thou, Sipylus, the language hear
Of fate portentuous whistling in the air:
As when the impending storm the sailor sees
He spreads the canvass to the fav'ring breeze:
So to thine horse thou gav'st the golden reins,
Gav'st him to rush impetuous o'er the plains:
But ah! a fatal shaft from Phœbus' hand
Smites thro' thy neck, and sinks thee on the sand.

Two other brothers were at wrestling found
And in there pastime claspt each other round:
A shaft that instant from Appollo's hand
Transfixt them both and stretcht them on the sand.
Together they their cruel fate bemoan'd,
Together languish'd, and together groand'd:
Together too th' unbodied spirits fled,
And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead.

Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view,
Beat his torn breast, that chang'd its snowy hue.
He flies to raise them in a kind embrace;
A brother's fondness triumphs in his face:
Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed,
A dart dispatch'd him (so the fates decreed:)
Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound,
His issuing entrails smoak'd upon the ground.

What woes on blooming Damasichon wait!
His sighs portend his near impending fate.
Just where the well-made leg begins to be,
And the soft sinews form the supple knee,
The youth, sore wounded by the Delian god,
Attempts t' extract the crime-avenging rod;
But, whilst he strives the will of fate t' avert,
Divine Apollo sends a second dart;
Swift thro' his throat the feather'd mischief flies,
Bereft of sense, he drops his head and dies.

Young Ilioneus, the last, directs his pray'r,
And cries, "My life, ye gods celestial! spare."
Apollo heard, and pity touch'd his heart,
But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart:
Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doom'd to fall,
The fates refuse that arrow to recal.

On the swift wings of ever-flying Fame
To Cadmus' palace soon the tidings came:
Niobe heard, and with indignant eyes
She thus express'd her anger and surprize:
"Why is such privilege to them allow'd?
Why thus insulted by the Delian god?
Dwells there such mischief in the pow'rs above?
Why sleeps the veng'ance of immortal Jove?"

For now Amphion too, whith grief oppress'd,
Had plung'd the deadly dagger in his breast.
Niobe now, less haughty than before,
With lofty head directs her steps no more.
She, who late told her pedigree divine,
And drove the Thebans from Latona's shrine,
How strangely chang'd!—yet beautiful in woe,
She weeps, nor weeps unpity'd by the foe.
On each pale corse the wretched mother spread
Lay overwhelm'd with grief, and kiss'd her dead,
Then rais'd her arms, and thus, in accents slow,
"Be sated cruel Goddess! with my woe;
If I've offended, let these streaming eyes,
And let this sev'nfold funeral suffice:
Ah! take this wretched life you deign'd to save,
With them I too am carried to the grave.
Rejoice triumphant, my victorious foe,
But show the cause from whence your triumphs flow?
Tho' I unhappy mourn these children slain,
Yet greater numbers to my lot remain."
She ceas'd, the bow-string twang'd with awful sound
Which struck with terror all th' assembly round,
Except the queen, who stood unmov'd alone.
By her distresses more presumptuous grown.
Near the pale corses stood their sisters fair
In sable vestures and dishevell'd hair;

One, while she draws the fatal shaft away,
Faints, falls, and sickens at the light of day.
To sooth her mother, lo! another flies,
And blames the fury of inclement skies,
And, while her words a filial pity show,
Struck dumb—indignant seeks the shades below.
Now from the fatal place another flies,
Falls in her flight, and languishes, and dies.
Another on her sister drops in death;
A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath;
While the sixth seeks some gloomy cave in vain,
Struck with the rest, and mingl'd with the slain.

One only daughter lives, and she the least;
The queen close clasp'd the daughter to her breast:
Ye heav'nly pow'rs, ah spare me one," she cry'd,
"Ah! spare me one," the vocal hills reply'd:
In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny,
In her embrace she sees her daughter die.

[4] "The queen of all her family bereft,
Without her husband, son, or daughter left,
Grew stupid at the shock. The passing air
Made no impression on her stiff'ning hair.

The blood forsook her face: amidst the flood,
Pour'd from her cheeks, quite fix'd her eyes-balls stood.
Her tongue, her palate both obdurate grew,
Her curdled veins no longer motion knew;
The use of neck and arms and feet was gone,
And ev'n her bowels hard'ned into stone:
A marble statue now the queen appears,
But from the marble steal the silent tears."

[4]

This Verse to the End is the Work of another Hand.

To S. M. a young AFRICAN PAINTER, on
seeing his WORKS.

TO show the lab'ring bosom's deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint,
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live:
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wond'rous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter's and the poet's fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!
And may the charms of each seraphic theme
Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame!

High to the blissful wonders of the skies
Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes.
Thrice happy, when exalted, to survey
That splendid city, crown'd with endless day,
Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring:
Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring.

Calm and serene thy moments glide along,
And may the muse inspire each future song!
Still, with the sweets of contemplation bless'd,
May peace with balmy wings your soul invest!
But when these shades of time are chas'd away,
And darkness ends in everlasting day,
On what seraphic pinions shall we move,
And view the landscapes in the realms above?
There shall thy tongue in heav'nly murmurs flow,
And there my muse with heav'nly transport glow:
No more to tell of Damon's tender sighs,
Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes:
For nobler themes demand a nobler strain,
And purer language on th' ethereal plain.
Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night
Now seals the fair creation from my sight.

To his Honour the Lieutenant Governor,
on the Death of his Lady.

ALL-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow'r,
Hope's tow'ring plumage falls to rise no more!
Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
Who e'er escap'd thee, but the saint[5] of old,
Beyond the flood in sacred annals told,
And the great sage[6] , whom fiery coursers drew
To heav'n's bright portals from Elisha's view;
Wond'ring he gaz'd at the refulgent car,
Then snatch'd the mantle floating on the air.
From Death these only could exemption boast,
And without dying gain'd th' immortal coast.
Not falling millions sate the tyrant's mind,
Nor can the victor's progress be confin'd:
But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease:
He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace.

His to conduct to the immortal plains,
Where heav'ns Supreme in bliss and glory reigns.

There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse;
A gem-blazed circle beaming on her brows.

Hail'd with acclaim among the heav'nly choirs,
Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires,
To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings,
While heav'ns high concave with the music rings.
Virtue's reward can mortal pencil paint?
No—all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint;
Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse
To heav'nly tidings from the Afric muse.

As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate,
As the saint miss the glories I relate;
Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,
Which wip'd the trick'ling tear from Mis'ry's eye.
Whene'er the adverse winds were known to blow,
When loss to loss[7] ensu'd and woe to woe,
Calm and serene beneath her father's hand
She sat resign'd to the divine command.

No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,
And let us hear the mournful sigh no more:
Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye,
Be all thy future moments crown'd with joy!
Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin'd,
But soaring high pursue th' unbodied mind.
Forgive the muse, forgive th' advent'rous lays,
That fain thy soul to heav'nly scenes would raise.

[5]

Enoch.

[6]

Elijah.

[7]

The loss of three amiable daughters.

A Farewell to AMERICA. To Mrs. S. W.

I.

ADIEU, New-England's smiling meads
Adieu, the flow'ry plain;
I leave thine op'ning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.

II.

In vain for me the flow'rets rise,
And boast there gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health deny'd.

III.

Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanish'd joys regain.

IV.

Susannah mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal show'r,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departure's hour;

V.

Nor unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.

VI.

In vain the feather'd warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the bosom of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes,

VII.

While for Brittannia's distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonish'd eyes explore
The wide-extended main.

VIII.

Lo Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe's mantle o'er her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.

IX.

To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crown'd,

Which cloud Aurora's thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around,

X.

Why, Phœbus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!

XI.

For thee, Brittannia I resign,
New-England's smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!

XII.

But thou Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train;
Nor once seduce my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.

XIII.

Thrice happy they, whose heav'nly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow'r disarms!

Boston, May 7, 1775.

A REBUS, BY I. B.

I.

A BIRD deliclous to the taste,
On which an army once did feast,
Sent by an hand unseen;
A creature of the horned race,
Which Britain's royal standards grace;
A gem of vivid green;

II.

A town of gaiety and sport,
Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort,
And gallantry doth reign;
A Dardan hero fam'd of old
For youth and beauty, as we're told,
And by a monarch slain;

III.

A peer of popular applause,
Who doth our violated laws,
And grievances proclaim.
Th' initials show a vanquish'd town,
That adds fresh glory and renown
To old Brittannia's fame.

An ANSWER to the REBUS, by the Author
of these Poems.

THE Poet asks, and Phillis can't refuse.
To shew th' obedience of the infant muse.
She knows the Quail of most inviting taste
Fed Israel's army in the dreary waste;
And what's on Britain's royal standard borne,
But the tall, graceful, rampant Unicorn?
The Emerald with a vivid verdure glows
Among the gems which regal crowns compose;
Boston's a town polite and debonair,
To which the beaux and beauteous nymphs repair,
Each Helen strikes the mind with sweet surprise,
While living lightning flashes from her eyes.
See young Euphorbus of the Dardan line
By Menelaus' hand to death resign:
The well known peer of popular applause
Is C—m zealous to support our laws.
Quebec now vanquish'd must obey,
She too must annual tribute pay
To Britain of immortal fame,
And add new glory to her name.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library