 | Occasional Poems |  |
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THE CYRNEAN HERO.
Hail to the Chief! whom civic wreaths adorn,
Whose loud acclaim from pole to pole is borne;
Whose godlike strife to save a sinking land,
To wrench the scourge from stern opression's hand,
To shield the last remains, the children brave
Of freedom of struggling 'mid the Tyrrhene wave;
The British youth shall mark with fond surprise,
And patriots feel their kindred passions rise;
More bold to plead for their invaded laws,
And grapple danger for the public cause;
The quell the storm when madd'ning factions roar,
Of tyrant Bourbon, from the hostile shore,
Like great Paoli, 'tend their country's call,
Resolved on conquest, or a glorious fall.
Whose loud acclaim from pole to pole is borne;
Whose godlike strife to save a sinking land,
To wrench the scourge from stern opression's hand,
To shield the last remains, the children brave
Of freedom of struggling 'mid the Tyrrhene wave;
The British youth shall mark with fond surprise,
And patriots feel their kindred passions rise;
More bold to plead for their invaded laws,
And grapple danger for the public cause;
The quell the storm when madd'ning factions roar,
Of tyrant Bourbon, from the hostile shore,
Like great Paoli, 'tend their country's call,
Resolved on conquest, or a glorious fall.
What tho' illiberal France, with venal bland,
Now proudly lord it o'er thy native land!
The sordid state prepare, with tyrant frown
And slavish yoke, to bend thy country down.
What tho' fell bondage shake her iron rod
O'er Cortes walls, glad freedom's late abode!
Yet brighter days shall gild the fav'rite isle,
And fate, relenting, on her warriors smile.
The race of Herc'les ev'ry danger braves,
Nor tamely bends to hosts of Latian slaves.
The public love each kindred bosom fills,
And pours her champions from a hundred hills:
Fiercely they rally o'er the Cyrnean shore,
And drench the island with invader's gore.
Now proudly lord it o'er thy native land!
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And slavish yoke, to bend thy country down.
What tho' fell bondage shake her iron rod
O'er Cortes walls, glad freedom's late abode!
Yet brighter days shall gild the fav'rite isle,
And fate, relenting, on her warriors smile.
The race of Herc'les ev'ry danger braves,
Nor tamely bends to hosts of Latian slaves.
The public love each kindred bosom fills,
And pours her champions from a hundred hills:
Fiercely they rally o'er the Cyrnean shore,
And drench the island with invader's gore.
Unconquer'd Cyrna, struggling to be free,
Still rends the yoke of galling slavery;
Renews the mortal charge with deep'ning roar,
Like the wild waves which dash her rocky shore.
Still Bourbon's mercenary host shall bleed;
Again high Cyrna lift her laurel'd head;
Again triumph in thy victorious sword,
The public father to his sons restor'd.
Still rends the yoke of galling slavery;
Renews the mortal charge with deep'ning roar,
Like the wild waves which dash her rocky shore.
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Again high Cyrna lift her laurel'd head;
Again triumph in thy victorious sword,
The public father to his sons restor'd.
Thus would the Muse, who in thy wrongs takes part,
Who feels the pangs which rend thy patriot heart,
To sooth thy grief, her humble tribute bring
Of lenient hope, shed from her trembling wing;
Hope, our good Angel, with bright radiance crown'd,
With healing hand, allays misfortune's stound;
Dispels the gloom which adverse tempests raise,
And gilds dark providence with orient rays;
Points to the shipwreck'd mariner afar
His port, and guides him like the polar star.
Who feels the pangs which rend thy patriot heart,
To sooth thy grief, her humble tribute bring
Of lenient hope, shed from her trembling wing;
Hope, our good Angel, with bright radiance crown'd,
With healing hand, allays misfortune's stound;
Dispels the gloom which adverse tempests raise,
And gilds dark providence with orient rays;
Points to the shipwreck'd mariner afar
His port, and guides him like the polar star.
What roused the Maccabean race to arms,
Who shook the Syrian tyrant with alarms?
What steel'd the heart of Brutus, sternly good,
To save fall'n Rome, redeem'd by Cæsar's blood?
What led the Great, whose pinion'd fame does soar,
Thee Tamerlane! distain'd with eastern gore?
The toiling Muscovite, Gustavus bold,
To face each danger, when in arms grown old?
'Twas the big hope still bounding in their breast
To save mankind, by tyrant pow'r opprest.
The harvest reap'd in iron fields, to see
Bless'd peace establish'd, and their country free.
Who shook the Syrian tyrant with alarms?
What steel'd the heart of Brutus, sternly good,
To save fall'n Rome, redeem'd by Cæsar's blood?
What led the Great, whose pinion'd fame does soar,
Thee Tamerlane! distain'd with eastern gore?
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To face each danger, when in arms grown old?
'Twas the big hope still bounding in their breast
To save mankind, by tyrant pow'r opprest.
The harvest reap'd in iron fields, to see
Bless'd peace establish'd, and their country free.
This arm'd fair England's champions for the fight,
To combat myriads in their country's right;
Victorious Alfred stain'd with Danish gore,
Her Edwards, Henrys, on the Gallic shore;
Their swords the scourge of heav'n, with vengeful glare
Shook o'er the foe dread pestilence and war;
While kingdoms, tyrants, shrunk before their frown,
Whose scanty legion shook the Gallic throne.
The land which trembling fear'd a foreign sword,
With grateful welcome hail'd her laurel'd lord;
Wing'd conquest led; grim bondage stalk'd behind,
In rattling chains, she for the brave design'd;
High-thron'd, her guardian spread the gifts of peace,
And freedom charter'd to a dauntless race;
Beneath his buckler, loyal, bold, and free,
They shar'd the golden sweets of liberty.
To combat myriads in their country's right;
Victorious Alfred stain'd with Danish gore,
Her Edwards, Henrys, on the Gallic shore;
Their swords the scourge of heav'n, with vengeful glare
Shook o'er the foe dread pestilence and war;
While kingdoms, tyrants, shrunk before their frown,
Whose scanty legion shook the Gallic throne.
The land which trembling fear'd a foreign sword,
With grateful welcome hail'd her laurel'd lord;
Wing'd conquest led; grim bondage stalk'd behind,
In rattling chains, she for the brave design'd;
High-thron'd, her guardian spread the gifts of peace,
And freedom charter'd to a dauntless race;
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They shar'd the golden sweets of liberty.
Oh Liberty! man's first and choicest treasure!
Bright soul of virtue! sacred source of pleasure?
Daughter of heaven! with every blooming grace
To charm the bold, and polish human race.
Without thee nature droops, and all we boast
Of country, friends, and kindred, all is lost:
The plume of grandeur fades, life knows no blessing;
No rich endearment worth caressing.
The world, a dreary, darksome prison lies,
Where all the soul of man within him dies;
Dies to each great design, the minion tame
Of guilty power, the slave of sin and shame.
Bright soul of virtue! sacred source of pleasure?
Daughter of heaven! with every blooming grace
To charm the bold, and polish human race.
Without thee nature droops, and all we boast
Of country, friends, and kindred, all is lost:
The plume of grandeur fades, life knows no blessing;
No rich endearment worth caressing.
The world, a dreary, darksome prison lies,
Where all the soul of man within him dies;
Dies to each great design, the minion tame
Of guilty power, the slave of sin and shame.
For thee, what hardships would the bold endure?
How brave the vengeance of oppressive pow'r!
How, following fierce thro' toil, war, bonds, and death,
Resound the onset with their latest breath!
Unconquer'd struggle, or, should freedom bleed,
Sink, crown'd with glory, 'mid the honour'd dead.
How brave the vengeance of oppressive pow'r!
How, following fierce thro' toil, war, bonds, and death,
Resound the onset with their latest breath!
Unconquer'd struggle, or, should freedom bleed,
Sink, crown'd with glory, 'mid the honour'd dead.
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Descend, dread Goddess of the fearless eye!
Come from eternal splendors, from on high!
To shield the nations from despotic pride,
From rage and violence, usurping wide:
And teach them, rais'd to guard, with manly grace,
The native rights and honours of their race.
Dread Goddess, rise! Extend thine equal reign
From farthest Ind' to Zembla's freezing main:
But chiefly hover with benignant smiles,
Where 'mid old ocean tow'r the British isles;
Where thy true race, of mind and courage high,
Repel the yoke of wasteful slavery.
While dreadful o'er the subject waves is hurl'd,
Like Heav'n's, their thund'ring storm to shake a guilty world.
Come from eternal splendors, from on high!
To shield the nations from despotic pride,
From rage and violence, usurping wide:
And teach them, rais'd to guard, with manly grace,
The native rights and honours of their race.
Dread Goddess, rise! Extend thine equal reign
From farthest Ind' to Zembla's freezing main:
But chiefly hover with benignant smiles,
Where 'mid old ocean tow'r the British isles;
Where thy true race, of mind and courage high,
Repel the yoke of wasteful slavery.
While dreadful o'er the subject waves is hurl'd,
Like Heav'n's, their thund'ring storm to shake a guilty world.
Here fix thy seat, and blaze with Roman flame,
In senates bold no tyrant arts could tame:
Rouze them to feel for the atrocious deed;
Brandish thy terrors at the guilty head:
From mean submission vindicate the land,
And give the vengeance to thy dauntless band:
Till lawless rage and faction be no more,
And foreign tyrants own Britannia's pow'r;
Whose Prince and people prop the general cause,
Supporting and supported by the laws;
While savage bondage driv'n abroad to reign,
Feels her own scourge, and bites her iron chain.
In senates bold no tyrant arts could tame:
Rouze them to feel for the atrocious deed;
Brandish thy terrors at the guilty head:
From mean submission vindicate the land,
And give the vengeance to thy dauntless band:
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And foreign tyrants own Britannia's pow'r;
Whose Prince and people prop the general cause,
Supporting and supported by the laws;
While savage bondage driv'n abroad to reign,
Feels her own scourge, and bites her iron chain.
Ye generous Britons! could this verse avail
To rouse your rage at suff'ring Virtue's tale;
Then might the wretched, struggling with their fate,
Revere thine arm, which props each falling state;
Assert their rights beneath thy guardian care,
And taste the sweets which you profusely share.
To rouse your rage at suff'ring Virtue's tale;
Then might the wretched, struggling with their fate,
Revere thine arm, which props each falling state;
Assert their rights beneath thy guardian care,
And taste the sweets which you profusely share.
But whither would my wayward fancy rove?
Inrich'd with wisdom and with virtue's love,
Paoli rests in hope; nor aught abates
Of this prime anchor 'mid the frowning fates.
Ye mean usurpers, insolent through pow'r!
Hang forth your trophies from Aleria's tow'r!
Raze Freedom's seat! and when her sons complain,
Load them to groan beneath a heavier chain!
Bluster, ye Fates! ye stormy squadrons, rise!
And sound the charge with thunder's dreadful voice!
The island trembles; but, estranged from fear,
Her pilot looks beyond where brightning skies appear;
Where radiant hope breaks o'er the ocean stream,
To gild her shores, like Phosphor's orient beam.
Inrich'd with wisdom and with virtue's love,
Paoli rests in hope; nor aught abates
Of this prime anchor 'mid the frowning fates.
Ye mean usurpers, insolent through pow'r!
Hang forth your trophies from Aleria's tow'r!
Raze Freedom's seat! and when her sons complain,
Load them to groan beneath a heavier chain!
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And sound the charge with thunder's dreadful voice!
The island trembles; but, estranged from fear,
Her pilot looks beyond where brightning skies appear;
Where radiant hope breaks o'er the ocean stream,
To gild her shores, like Phosphor's orient beam.
Meanwhile, exil'd from all the great can boast,
From friends, from kindred, from your native coast:
Honour'd and safe, by Thames' fam'd stream repose,
Nor dread the guile of Cyrna's vengeful foes.
Fair Albion joys thy kindred soul to trace,
And speaks her welcome with a fond embrace:
Unfolds her gates, the brave man's sanctuary,
To shelter worth, and freedom fled with thee.
Her circ'ling seas a shining bulwark stand
To shield the patriot 'scap'd from Pharaoh's hand.
Here, while the tempests lour, and Bourbon waits,
The hir'd assassin of weak Latian states:
The mem'ry of thy country's wrongs efface
In great designs, to save a sinking race;
To pour the lenitive, with healing hand,
In aching wounds that rankle thro' the land;
And form with Roman skill the Cyrnean race,
'Mid war's alarum taught the arts of peace.
Here whet thy rage, that when the hour shall come,
When righteous heav'n shall seal the tyrant's doom,
Paoli may in awful vengeance rise,
To crush the proud, like thunder from the skies.
From friends, from kindred, from your native coast:
Honour'd and safe, by Thames' fam'd stream repose,
Nor dread the guile of Cyrna's vengeful foes.
Fair Albion joys thy kindred soul to trace,
And speaks her welcome with a fond embrace:
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To shelter worth, and freedom fled with thee.
Her circ'ling seas a shining bulwark stand
To shield the patriot 'scap'd from Pharaoh's hand.
Here, while the tempests lour, and Bourbon waits,
The hir'd assassin of weak Latian states:
The mem'ry of thy country's wrongs efface
In great designs, to save a sinking race;
To pour the lenitive, with healing hand,
In aching wounds that rankle thro' the land;
And form with Roman skill the Cyrnean race,
'Mid war's alarum taught the arts of peace.
Here whet thy rage, that when the hour shall come,
When righteous heav'n shall seal the tyrant's doom,
Paoli may in awful vengeance rise,
To crush the proud, like thunder from the skies.
And what may sooth the brave, thy public cause
Secures thee Britain's wonder and applause:
Her peers, the pride and bulwark of the land,
The sons of freedom give thee friendship's hand.
Piercy and princely Douglas foremost found
To tame the dragon, foil'd with many an wound:
The scourge of tyrants grace thy modest gate,
To mourn with thee sad Cyrna's ruin'd state.
Behold! they come! Pembroke, of gallant soul!
Thy pangs to soothe, thy Cyrna's foes controul:
Rochford, to ev'ry courtly grace ally'd;
Rochford, the brave man's friend, and early try'd.
Secures thee Britain's wonder and applause:
Her peers, the pride and bulwark of the land,
The sons of freedom give thee friendship's hand.
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To tame the dragon, foil'd with many an wound:
The scourge of tyrants grace thy modest gate,
To mourn with thee sad Cyrna's ruin'd state.
Behold! they come! Pembroke, of gallant soul!
Thy pangs to soothe, thy Cyrna's foes controul:
Rochford, to ev'ry courtly grace ally'd;
Rochford, the brave man's friend, and early try'd.
See! Caledonia, once depress'd and low,
When pow'r and slav'ry forc'd the brave to bow,
Exalts her tow'ring front, and hastes to greet
The cause of liberty, with rev'rence meet;
Admires in thee the fire which blaz'd of old
In Græme, in Bruce, in Douglas firm and bold,
Who toil'd for Scotland in the throat of death,
And peal'd her triumph with his latest breath.
Her cities hail thee, and her senates wait
T'inroll thy name with chiefs and patriots great.
When pow'r and slav'ry forc'd the brave to bow,
Exalts her tow'ring front, and hastes to greet
The cause of liberty, with rev'rence meet;
Admires in thee the fire which blaz'd of old
In Græme, in Bruce, in Douglas firm and bold,
Who toil'd for Scotland in the throat of death,
And peal'd her triumph with his latest breath.
Her cities hail thee, and her senates wait
T'inroll thy name with chiefs and patriots great.
See him! whom genius and true worth adorn,
And early wreaths, from stern oppression torn;
Who, rous'd by freedom's and by virtue's flame,
First heard the clarion peal Paoli's name:
Left learned ease and Albion's blissful shore,
In distant climes thy fortunes to explore:
There brav'd infested seas, nor fear'd to go
Thro' hostile camps throng'd dire with freedom's foe,
Till every peril past, 'mid fire and sword,
Glad Boswell hail'd high Cyrna's warlike Lord.
And early wreaths, from stern oppression torn;
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First heard the clarion peal Paoli's name:
Left learned ease and Albion's blissful shore,
In distant climes thy fortunes to explore:
There brav'd infested seas, nor fear'd to go
Thro' hostile camps throng'd dire with freedom's foe,
Till every peril past, 'mid fire and sword,
Glad Boswell hail'd high Cyrna's warlike Lord.
He hop'd to see thy righteous cause prevail,
And sullen bondage mourn her sinking scale:
Rehears'd the annals of thy rising state,
And leagu'd with Princes to avert her fate.
But now an exile from thy tribes, opprest
With ev'ry pang which rends thy patriot breast;
True cordial friendship glowing in his face,
In grief and joy he claims thy warm embrace:
Invokes high heav'n to vindicate thy right,
And rouses Europe to the glorious fight.
And sullen bondage mourn her sinking scale:
Rehears'd the annals of thy rising state,
And leagu'd with Princes to avert her fate.
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With ev'ry pang which rends thy patriot breast;
True cordial friendship glowing in his face,
In grief and joy he claims thy warm embrace:
Invokes high heav'n to vindicate thy right,
And rouses Europe to the glorious fight.
So when proud Cæsar stretch'd his iron rod,
Expelling freedom from her fam'd abode:
The Mauritanian, smit with virtue's charms,
Ador'd the Goddess in her Cato's arms;
Arrang'd his myriads, kindling at the call,
To humble Cæsar, or with Cato fall.
Expelling freedom from her fam'd abode:
The Mauritanian, smit with virtue's charms,
Ador'd the Goddess in her Cato's arms;
Arrang'd his myriads, kindling at the call,
To humble Cæsar, or with Cato fall.
Thus I, the follower of the tuneful croud,
By winding Forth rehearse my sonnets rude;
Nor rich to aid, nor powerful to redress,
The Muse may mourn with greatness in distress:
Breath her oraison, nor in blushes hide,
Aw'd by the frown of insolence and pride.
The sacred strains, to worth and freedom due,
Paoli! borrow dignity from you.
The tears we shed when injur'd nations groan,
Mount with their cry to the celestial throne.
By winding Forth rehearse my sonnets rude;
Nor rich to aid, nor powerful to redress,
The Muse may mourn with greatness in distress:
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Aw'd by the frown of insolence and pride.
The sacred strains, to worth and freedom due,
Paoli! borrow dignity from you.
The tears we shed when injur'd nations groan,
Mount with their cry to the celestial throne.
Nor lacks the Muse her burthen to complain;
The lot of man is stamped with grief and pain.
And she has mourn'd fell malice' poison'd dart,
And galling scorn, which gnaws the conscious heart;
And foul ingratitude, the worst of crimes,
To blast fair honour tried in bitter times.
Of these she well could plain her baleful song,
But patience checks, and other cares belong:
To tend the charge the Sov'reign Shepherd gave,
To feed my flock along the briny wave;
To watch their safety from the prouling croud,
But most from Man, oppressive, false, and proud.
There, whilst they haply brouze the wholesome flow'r,
On sunny cliff, or sport the harmless hour,
I ease my pastoral reed, and pleas'd retire
To charm wild eccho with my rustic lyre.
Or wand'ring, pensive, hear the brave complain,
And consecrate to Cyrna's Chief the strain.
Nor selfish shall the Muse's numbers flow
In partial plaint, but for the public woe.
The wrongs of outrage we have learn'd to bear;
Have learn'd to feel for worth, and give the tear,
The sacred tear o'er suff'ring greatness shed,
When anxious Britain veil'd her mournful head;
And pierc'd with horror at Matilda's fate,
Look'd on her Lord the Guardian of the state.
The lot of man is stamped with grief and pain.
And she has mourn'd fell malice' poison'd dart,
And galling scorn, which gnaws the conscious heart;
And foul ingratitude, the worst of crimes,
To blast fair honour tried in bitter times.
Of these she well could plain her baleful song,
But patience checks, and other cares belong:
To tend the charge the Sov'reign Shepherd gave,
To feed my flock along the briny wave;
To watch their safety from the prouling croud,
But most from Man, oppressive, false, and proud.
There, whilst they haply brouze the wholesome flow'r,
On sunny cliff, or sport the harmless hour,
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To charm wild eccho with my rustic lyre.
Or wand'ring, pensive, hear the brave complain,
And consecrate to Cyrna's Chief the strain.
Nor selfish shall the Muse's numbers flow
In partial plaint, but for the public woe.
The wrongs of outrage we have learn'd to bear;
Have learn'd to feel for worth, and give the tear,
The sacred tear o'er suff'ring greatness shed,
When anxious Britain veil'd her mournful head;
And pierc'd with horror at Matilda's fate,
Look'd on her Lord the Guardian of the state.
This should he read, the great whom I revere,
And follow still with heart estranged from sear,
With loyal heart, his noble soul will rise
In indignation at the Muse's voice;
To aid the cause by Britain's sons belov'd,
And right his friend in ev'ry fortune prov'd.
And follow still with heart estranged from sear,
With loyal heart, his noble soul will rise
In indignation at the Muse's voice;
To aid the cause by Britain's sons belov'd,
And right his friend in ev'ry fortune prov'd.
FINIS.
The Author in this Poem uses the antient name of Corsica, which was called Cyrnum or Cyrna by the Greeks, from Cyrnus, the son of Hercules, who was supposed to have been the first who planted a colony in that Island. See Stephanus de urbibus, or that curious and interesting History of Corsica, lately published by the ingenious James Boswell, Esq; of Auchinleck.
It will ever be remembered, with regret, how, after a bloody campaign, the French army intirely reduced the brave Corsicans. Paoli (now beset with traitors and assassins, the mercenary pack set on by lawless power to hunt down the brave and unfortunate) left the Island, where he could continue no longer with advantage to his Countrymen.
Landing in Italy, he passed through several states, where he was entertained with respect, and at length took refuge in England.
There all ranks seemed to contend in paying homage to Fortitude and Freedom in the Person of the great Paoli. He was carried to St James's, and there courteously received; suitable apartments were assigned him; the chief of the nobility attended his levee; and, whereever he passed, the people followed the Hero with public honours and applause.
This young Gentleman, who is Heir to an ample fortune in the west of Scotland, distinguished himself very early by his warm attachment to every good cause, and more particularly by his Writings in defence of Douglas, and of the Brave Corsicans. Animated by a very singular enthusiasm he left London in the spring 1765, and undertook a long and hazardous journey, that he might visit and connect a friendship with the great Paoli, who was then struggling to support his Country against the united troops of France and Genoa.
This enterprising Expedition of the Sieur Boswell drew after him the notice not only of the Literati, but likewise of all the neighbouring states who now considered him as on embassy from the Court of Britain about to interpose in favours of the brave islanders The narrative of his travels to Corsica, and particularly of the consternation and jealousy of the Genoese Senators, is both interesting and full of humour.
From the nearest shore of Italy he crossed over to Corsica, where the sea was beset with the enemy's ships. He was several times in the French camp, and, as he takes notice in his letter to the learned and philosophic Rousseau, in imminent danger of being punished as a spy.
After induring many hardships in a country which was all mountainous, and then the seat of war, he pushed his way across the Island, over almost inaccessible hills, and, having passed through much danger and fatigue, was at length introduced into the tent of the great Paoli.
See the late History of Corsica, by J. Boswell, Esq;. | Occasional Poems | |