War is no more!—we know no hoftile land!
The beardlefs boy our legions may command;
With harmless pomp their enfigns now may flow!
"What is an army paid for, but for show?
"Go bear thy murmurs to the Thracian shore,
"Where difcord reigns, and waves eternal roar;
"There to the favage natives point thy fears!
"And teach Barbarians all thy boasted wars;
"Recount thy deeds, relate thy tedious fight,
"We want not to be valiant-but polite!
"Or haft thou got a hoard of Punic gold?
"Go buy a Poft-for Pofts are to be fold!
"Elfe-glad obey the Stripling you defpife.
"This is no age, my Friend, for you to rife!"
The Roman now, who once with fcorn could view
The pomp of Kings, himfelf as fumptuous grew!
Then first prevail'd Magnificence and Drefs,
And Luxury was heighten'd to excefs.

To please her Tafte, and fpread her coftly Board,
Each Clime was plundered, and each Sea explor'd.
In early days that blefs'd the Roman ftate,
'Twas virtuous Poverty confirm'd her great:
But now Security has wrought her bane,
And Wealth and Pride have darken'd all the scene;
As fordid Interest sways, your Paffions move,
And Av'rice has expell'd the Public Love!
No Nation now can on your Faith rely,
When all is fold-your Idol Gold can buy!
If Truth a Quintus or a Decius praife,
You cry, "Such patterns fuit not modern days!
"Thofe fimple manners Sabines might become,
"But ill befit the Majefty of Rome!

"A mere chimera is the Patriot's name,
"Ambition be our guide! and Wealth our aim!
"Riches each happy quality include,

Wit, Courage, Learning, Honefty, and Blood. "And he whom Lands or Pow'r distinguish great,

"Has all the Virtues ufeful to the State."

Thus Public Good, by Private Int'reft fway'd,
Neglected pin'd-and dwindled to a fhade;
Corruption as it gain'd the venal poft,
Strove of its Bargain ftill to make the moft;
Av'rice the wealthy Province chofe her prey,
Exaction, Rapine, liv'd beneath her fway;
And the lax finews of a feeble state,
Were marks of Rome's inevitable fate.

O Rome! who in thy glory's cloudlefs morn,
Couldft view the Tyrants of the Earth with fcorn!

P3

When

When Kings beheld thy Senators with awe,
And thy least mandate gave the nations law!
Dejected now from Virtue's radiant height,
Crush'd by their own corrupted weight,
See, like a dying lamp, thy Freedom glow;
And wait Ambition's meditated blow!
Far fooner would I tread Caranea's fhores,
Where Atna all her fierce explosions pours,
Than longer chufe, degenerate Rome, to rest,
A hopeless Native, in thy fatal breast!

When Virtue once her facred Senfe withdraws,
Weak is the rev'rence paid to flighted laws!
Where Pow'r but courts the first advent'rous hand,
Soon Liberty for fakes the dangerous land.

Happy had Rome those useful maxims known,
While yet her ftrength and Vigour were her own;
But lulled in falfe Security the lay,

And dos'd fair Freedom's laft remains away,

Till, not one fpark of Virtue left to fave,

She funk in Death-Corruption dug her grave.

Verfes by a young African Negro Woman at Boften in New-England; whe did not quit her own country till he was ten years old, and has not been above eight in Bofton.

RECOLLECTION,

To Mifs AM, bumbly infcribed by the Authorefs.

MYour ventious 4/ric in the deep defign.

NEME, begin; infpire, ye facred Nine!

Do

ye rekindle the cœleftial fire,

Ye god-like powers; the glowing thoughts infpire.
Immortal Pow'r! I trace thy facred spring,
Affift my ftrains, while I thy glories fing.
By thee, paft acts of many thousand years,
Rang'd in due order, to the mind appears;
The long forgot thy gentle hand conveys,
Returns, and foft upon the fancy plays.
Calm, in the vifions of the night he pours
Th' exhauftlefs treasures of his fecret ftores.
Swift from above he wings his downy flight
Thro' Phabe's realm, fair regent of the night.
Thence to the raptur'd poet gives his aid,
Dwells in his heart, or hovers round his head;
To give inftruction to the lab'ring mind,
Diftufing light coeleftial and refin'd.

Still

Still he purfues, unweary'd in the race,
And wraps his fenfes in the pleasing maze.
The Heav'nly Phantom points the actions done
In the past worlds, and tribes beneath the fun.
He, from his throne in ev'ry human breast,
Has vice condemn'd, and ev'ry virtue b'efs'd.
Sweet are the founds in which thy words we hear,
Cœleftial mufic to the ravish'd ear.

We hear thy voice, refounding o'er the plains,"
Excelling Maro's fweet Menellian ftains.
But awful Thou! to that pe fiious race,
Who fcorn thy warnings, nor the good embrace;
By Thee unveil'd the horrid crime appears,

Ti mighty hand redoubled fury bears;

The time mif-fpent augments their hell of woes,
While through each breast the dire contagion flows.
Now turn and leave the rude ungraceful fcene,
And paint fair Virtue in immortal green.
For ever flourish in the glowing veins,

For ever flourish in poetic strains.

Be Thy employ to guide my early days,

And Thine the tribute of my youthful lays.

Now eighteen years their deftin'd courfe have run,
In due fucceffion, round the central fun;

How did each folly unregarded pafs!

But fure 'tis graven on eternal brass!

To recollect, inglorious I return;

'Tis mine paft follies and paft crimes to mourn.

The virtue, ah! unequal to the vice,

Will fcarce afford fmall reafon to rejoice.

Such, RECOLLECTION! is thy pow'r, high-thron'd

In ev'ry breast of mortals ever own'd.

The wretch who dar'd the vengeance of the skies,
At laft awakes with horror and surprise.

By Thee alarm'd he fees impending fate,
He howls in anguifh, and repents too late.
But oft thy kindness moves with timely fear
The furious rebel in his mad career.

Thrice blefs'd the man, who in thy facred shrine
Improves the REFUGE from the wrath divine.

To a LADY who greatly admired the SPANISH POETRY.

In the manner of Alonzo de Ercilla.

WHEN

HEN I would thy beauties paint,
All he pow'r of verfe is faint;
Though a haplefs, hopeiefs Lover,
All thy charms i can discover;
Charms are only found in thee,
Charms which 'tis unfafe to see;
Charms which might a Hermit bribe,
Charms no language can defcribe.
Where words no fit ideas raife,
Silence beft expreffes praife.
But when I explore thy mind,
A new world of charms I find;
Every virtue, every grace,
There poffefs their proper place;
When of thefe I think awhile,
Raptures foon my foul beguile.
For too ftrong, too clear a light,
Suits not either fenfe, or fight!
All we can do is to gaze,
Sweetly loft in fond amaze.

Faireft Flavia, fav'rite Maid!
Let these artless lays perfuade.
Not that I am kill'd in verfe,
Or thy conquefts can rehearfe;
But, what I did long conceal,
That thy beauty's force I feel,
And in mournful numbers figh,
For those charms by which I die.
Let them tell-what would you
That I expire, and yet adore.

more?

Upon the Earl of CHATHAM'S Verfes to Mr. GARRICK.

W

HEN Peleus' fon, untaught to yield,
Wrathful forfook the hoftile field,
His breast still warm with heav'nly fire,
He tun'd the lay, and fwept the lyre.

So Chatham, whofe exalted foul
Pervaded and infpir'd the whole,
Where far, by martial glory led,
Britain her fails and banners fpread,

Retires,

Retires, tho' Wisdom's God diffuades,
And fecks repofe in rural fhades,
Yet thither comes the god confest,
Celestial form, a well known guest.

Nor flow he moves with folemn air,
Nor on his brow hangs penfive care;
Nor in his hand th' hiftoric page
Gives leffons to experienc'd age;
As when in vengeful ire he rofe,
And plann'd the fate of Britain's foes;
While the wing'd hours obedient stand,
And inftant speed the dread command.

Chearful he came, all blithe and gay,
Fair blooming, like the fon of May;
Adown his radiant thoulder hung
A harp, by all the mufes ftrung.
Smiling, he to his friend refign'd
This foother of the human mind.

On the ROYAL MARRIAGE ACT.

UOTH Dick to Tom-This A&t

QAbfurd, as I'm alive:

To take the Crown at eighteen years,
The Wife at twenty-five.

The myft'ry how fhall we explain?
For, fure, as Dowdefwell faid,
Thus early if they're fit to reign
They must be fit to wed!

Quoth Tom to Dick-Thou art a fool,
And little know'st of life;
Alas! 'tis easier far to rule

G

A kingdom than a wife.

appears

BARREAU x's celebrated Sonnet.

Grand Dieu! tes jugemens, c.

Tranflated.

REAT God, thy Judgments are fupremely right,
And in thy creatures blifs is thy delight;

But I have finn'd beyond the reach of grace,

Nor can thy mercy yield thy juftice place.

Mr. Dowdeswell's Speech on the Royal Marriage Ac.