Hath fome peculiar ftrange offence,
Against us arm'd Omnipotence,
To check the nation's pride?
Behold th' appointed punishment!
At length the vengeful bolt is fent,
It fell when Pelham dy'd!
Uncheck'd by fhame, unaw'd by dread,
When Vice triumphant rears her head,
Vengeance can fleep no more;
The evil angel ftalks at large,
The good fubmits, refigns his charge,
And quits th' unhallow'd shore.
The fame fad morna to church and state,
(So for our fins 'twas fix'd by fate)
A double ftroke was giv'n ;
Black as the whirlwinds of the north,
By angels watch'd in Eden's bow'rs,
Our parents pafs'd their peaceful hours,
Nor guilt nor pain they knew ;
But on the day which usher'd in
The hell-born train of mortal fin,
The heav'nly guards withdrew.
The 6th of March, 1754, was remarkable for the publication of the works of a late Lord, and the death of Mr. Pelham.
Look down, much honour'd fhade, below,
Still let thy pity aid our woe;
Stretch out thy healing hand; Resume those feelings, which on earth Proclaim'd thy patriot love and worth, And fav'd a finking land.
Search with thy more than mortal eye,
The breasts of all thy friends: defcry
What there has got poffeffion.
See if thy unfufpecting heart,
In fome for truth mistook not art,
For principle, profeffion.
From thefe, the pefts of human kind,
Whom royal bounty cannot bind,
Protect our parent King:
Unmask their treach'ry to his fight,
Drag forth the vipers into light,
And crush them ere they fting.
If fuch his truft and honours fhare,
Again exert thy guardian care,
Each venom'd heart disclose;
On Him, on Him, our all depends,
Oh fave him from his treach'rous friends,
He cannot fear his foes.
Whoe'er fhall at the helm prefide,
Still let thy prudence be his guide,
To ftem the troubled wave;
But chiefly whisper in his ear,
"That GEORGE is open, juft, fincere, "And dares to fcorn a knave."
No selfish views t' opprefs mankind,
No mad ambition fir'd thy mind,
To purchase fame with blood;
Thy bofom glow'd with purer heat;
Convinc'd that to be truly great,
Is only to be good.
To hear no lawlefs paffion's call,
To serve thy King, yet feel for all,
Such was thy glorious plan!
Wisdom with gen'rous love took part,
Together work thy head and heart,
The Minifter and Man.
Unite, ye kindred fons of worth ;
Strangle bold faction in its birth;
Be Britain's weal your view!
For this great end let all combine,
Let virtue link each fair defign,
And Pelham live in you.
Written at MOUNTAUBAN in FRANCE, 1750,
By the Rev. Mr. JOSEPH WARTON.
ARN, how delightful wind thy willow'd waves,
But ah! they fructify a land of flaves!
In vain thy bare-foot, fun-burnt peasants hide
With luscious grapes yon' hill's romantic fide;
cups nectareous shall their toils repay,
The priest's, the foldier's, and the fermier's prey:
Vain glows this fun in cloudless glory dreft,
That strikes fresh vigour thro' the pining breast ;
Give me, beneath a colder, changeful sky,
My foul's beft, only pleasure, LIBERTY!
What millions perish'd near thy mournful flood Þ
When the red papal tyrant cry'd out" Blood!
Lefs fierce the Saracen, and quiver'd Moor,
That dafh'd thy infants 'gainst the ftones of yore.
Be warn'd ye nations round; and trembling fee
Dire fuperftition quench humanity!
Alluding to the perfecutions of the proteftants, and the wars of the Saracens, carried on in the Southern provinces of France.
By all the chiefs in Freedom's battles loft;
By wife and virtuous ALFRED's aweful ghoft;
By old GALGACUS' fcythed, iron car,
That swiftly whirling thro' the walks of war,
Dash'd Roman blood, and crush'd the foreign throngs :
By holy Druids' courage-breathing songs;
By fierce BONDUCA's fhield, and foaming steeds;
By the bold peers that met on Thames's meads;
By the fifth HENRY's helm, and lightning spear,
O LIBERTY, my warm petition hear;
Be ALBION ftill thy joy! with her remain,
Long as the furge fhall lash her oak-crown'd plain!
**<*}*{*}*«*}X{*}X{*}X{*}X{*}*X
HEN fierce PISARRO's legions flew
O'er ravag'd fields of rich Peru,
Struck with his bleeding people's woes,
Old India's aweful Genius rofe.
He fat on Andes' topmoft ftone,
And heard a thousand nations groan;
For grief his feathery crown he tore,
To fee huge PLATA foam with gore;
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