He broke his arrows, ftampt the ground,
To view his cities fmoaking round.

What woes, he cry'd, hath luft of gold
O'er my poor country widely roll'd;
Plunderers proceed! my bowels tear,
shall meet deftruction there;

But ye

From the deep-vaulted mine shall rife
Th' infatiate fiend, pale Avarice!
Whose steps shall trembling Juftice fly,
Peace, Order, Law, and Amity!
I fee all Europe's children curst
With lucre's univerfal thirft:

The rage that sweeps my fons away,
My baneful gold fhall well repay.

XXXX

XXXXXX

Τ

The Dying INDIAN.

By the Same.

HE dart of Izdabel prevails! 'twas dipt

Tin double poifon I fhall foon arrive

In

-I

At the blest island, where no tigers fpring

On heedlefs hunters; where anana's bloom
Thrice in each moon; where rivers fmoothly glide,
Nor thundering torrents whirl the light canoe

Down

my forefathers feaft

-O my fon,

Down to the fea; where

Daily on hearts of Spaniards!

I feel the venom busy in my breaft,

Approach, and bring my crown, deck'd with the teeth

Of that bold chriftian who firft dar'd deflour

The virgins of the fun; and, dire to tell!
Robb'd PACHACAMAC's altar of its gems!

I mark'd the spot where they interr'd this traitor,
And once at midnight ftole I to his tomb,
And tore his carcase from the earth, and left it
A prey to poisonous flies. Preserve this crown
With facred secrecy: if e'er returns

Thy much-lov'd mother from the defart woods
Where, as I hunted late, I hapless loft her,
Cherish her age. Tell her I ne'er have worship'd
With those that eat their God. And when disease
Preys on her languid limbs, then kindly ftab her
With thine own hands, nor fuffer her to linger,
Like christian cowards, in a life of pain.
I go! great COPAC beckons me! farewell!

**

ODE

O DE occafion'd by Reading Mr. WEST'S Tranflation of PINDAR.

By the Same.

I. 1.

LBION exult! thy fons a voice divine have heard,

A The man of Thebes hath in thy vales appear'd!

Hark! with fresh rage and undiminish'd fire,
The sweet enthufiaft fmites the British lyre;
The founds that echoed on Alpheus' ftreams,
Reach the delighted ear of liftening Thames;
Lo! fwift across the dusty plain

Great Theron's foaming courfers strain!
What mortal tongue e'er roll'd along
Such full impetuous tides of nervous song?
I. 2.

The fearful, frigid lays of cold and creeping Art,

Nor touch, nor can transport th' unfeeling heart;
Pindar, our inmoft bofom piercing, warms
With glory's love, and eager thirst of arms:
When Freedom speaks in his majestic ftrain,
The patriot-paffions beat in every vein:
We long to fit with heroes old,
'Mid groves of vegetable gold,

• Where Cadmus and Achilles dwell,

And ftill of daring deeds and dangers tell.

2 See 2. Olym. Od.

I. 3. Away

I. 3.

Away, enervate bards, away,
Who fpin the courtly, filken lay,

b As wreaths for fome vain Louis' head,
Or mourn fome foft Adonis dead:

No more your polifh'd lyrics boast,
In British Pindar's ftrength o'erwhelm'd and lost:
As well might ye compare

The glimmerings of a waxen flame,
(Emblem of verse correctly tame)

To his own Ætna's fulphur-fpouting caves,
When to heaven's vault the fiery deluge raves,

When clouds and burning rocks dart thro' the troubled air. II. 1.

In roaring cataracts down Andes' channel'd steeps

Mark how enormous Orellana sweeps!
Monarch of mighty floods! fupremely ftrong,
Foaming from cliff to cliff he whirls along,
Swoln with an hundred hills' collected fnows:
Thence over nameless regions widely flows,
Round fragrant ifles, and citron-groves,
Where still the naked Indian roves,

And fafely builds his leafy bow'r,

From slavery far, and curft Iberian pow'r ;'

b Alluding to the French and Italian lyric poets. See 1. Pyth. Od.

II. 2. So

II. 2.

So rapid Pindar flows.

O parent of the lyre,

Let me for ever thy fweet fons admire!

O ancient Greece! but chief the bard whose lays
The matchless tale of Troy divine emblaze;
And next Euripides, foft Pity's priest,

Who melts in useful woes the bleeding breaft;
And him, who paints th' incestuous king,
Whose foul amaze and horror wring;
Teach me to tafte their charms refin'd,
The richest banquet of th' enraptur'd mind:
II. 3.

*།

For the bleft man, the mufe's child &
On whose aufpicious birth the smil'd,
Whose foul the form'd of purer fire,
For whom the tun'd a golden lyre,
Seeks not in fighting fields renown

7

h

M

No widows' midnight shrieks, nor burning town,
The peaceful poet please ;

Nor ceafelefs toils for fordid gains,

Nor purple pomp, nor wide domains,

Nor heaps of wealth, nor power, nor ftatefman's fchemes, Nor all deceiv'd Ambition's feverish dreams,

Lure his contented heart from the sweet vale of eafe.