Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom,
That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought
Of joy or peace can enter; fee the gates
Harfh-creaking open; what an hideous void,
Dark as the yawning grave! while still as death
A frightful filence reigns: There on the ground
Behold your brethren chain'd like beafts of prey:
There mark your numerous glories, there behold
The look that speaks unutterable woe;

The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye
With famine funk, the deep heart-bursting groan
Supprefs'd in filence; view the loathfome food,
Refus'd by dogs, and oh! the ftinging thought!
View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs,
The deadly prieft triumphant in their woes,

And thundering worse damnation on their fouls:
While that pale form, in all the pangs of death,
Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all
His native British spirit yet untam'd,
Raifes his head, and with indignant frowns
Of great defiance, and fuperior fcorn,

Looks

up and dies.-Oh! I am all on fire!
But let me fpare the theme, left future times
Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain
Durst offer Britain fuch outrageous wrong,

Or Britain tamely bore it

Defcend, ye guardian heroes of the land!
Scourges of Spain, defcend! Behold your fons,
See how they run the fame heroic race,
How prompt, how ardent in their country's caufe,

How greatly proud to affert their British blood,
And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame!
Ah! would to heaven! ye did not rather fee
How dead to virtue in the public caufe!
How cold, how carelefs, how to glory deaf,
They shame your laurels, and belye their birth!
Come, ye great fpirits, Ca'ndish, Rawleigh, Blake!
And ye of later name your country's pride,

Oh! come, difperfe thefe lazy fumes of floth,
Teach British hearts with British fires to glow!
In wakening whispers rouze our ardent youth,
Blazon the triumphs of your better days,
Paint all the glorious fcenes of rightful war,
In all its fplendors; to their swelling fouls
Say how ye bow'd the infulting Spaniards pride,
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their proftrate heads,
Say how ye broke their lines and fir'd their ports,
Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes,
Could damp your fouls, or fhake the great refolve
For Right and Britain: Then display the joys
The patriot's foul exalting, while he views
Tranfported millions hail with loud acclaim
The guardian of their civil, facred rights.
How greatly welcome to the virtuous man
Is death for others good! the radiant thoughts
That beam celeftial on his paffing soul,
The unfading crowns awaiting him above,
The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme,
Who in his actions with complacence views
His own reflected fplendor; then defcend,

Though

Though to a lower, yet a nobler fcene;
Paint the just honours to his reliques paid,
Shew grateful millions weeping o'er his grave;
While his fair fame in each progreffive age
For ever brightens; and the wife and good
Of every land in univerfal choir

With richest incenfe of undying praise
His urn encircle, to the wondering world
His numerous triumphs blazon; while with awe,
With filial reverence, in his steps they tread,
And, copying every virtue, every fame,
Tranfplant his glories into fecond life,

And, with unfparing hand, make nations bleft
By his example. Vaft immenfe rewards!
For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind
Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold?
Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call
Of your poor injur'd countrymen? Ah! no.
I see ye are not; every bosom glows
With native greatnefs, and in all its state
The British fpirit rifes: Glorious change!
Fame, Virtue, Freedom, welcome! Oh! forgive
The Mufe, that ardent in her facred caufe
Your glory queftion'd: She beholds with joy;
She owns, she triumphs in her wish'd mistake.

See! from her fea-beat throne in awful march
Britannia towers: upon her laurel creft
The plumes majestic nod; behold the heaves
Her guardian shields, and terrible in arms
For battle fhakes her adamantine fpear:

Loud at her foot the British lion roars,

Frighting the nations; haughty Spain full foon
Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth,
Your country's daring champions: tell your foes,
Tell them in thunders o'er their prostrate land
You were not born for flaves: Let all your deeds
Shew that the fons of thofe immortal men,
The stars of shining story, are not slow
In virtue's path to emulate their fires,

To affert their country's rights, avenge her fons,
And hurl the bolts of juftice on her foes.

HYMN TO SCIENCE.

"O Vitæ Philofophia Dux! O Virtutis indagatrix, "expultrixque Vitiorum. Tu Urbes peperifti; "tu inventrix Legum, tu magistra Morum & Difciplinæ fuifti: Ad te confugimus, a te Open petimus." CIC. Tufc. Quæft.

66

I.

CIENCE! thou fair effusive ray

SCIEN

From the great source of mental day,
Free, generous, and refin'd!

Defcend with all thy treasures fraught,
Illumine each bewilder'd thought,
And blefs my labouring mind.

II. But

II.

But first with thy refiftlefs light,

Difperfe those phantoms from my fight,
Those mimic fhades of thee:

The fcholiaft's learning, fophift's cant,
The vifionary bigot's rant,
The monk's philofophy.

O! let thy powerful charms impart
The patient head, the candid heart,
Devoted to thy fway;

Which no weak paffions e'er mislead,
Which still with dauntles fteps proceed
Where reafon points the way.

IV.

Give me to learn each fecret caufe;
Let Number's, Figure's, Motion's laws
Reveal'd before me ftand;

These to great Nature's fceees apply,
And round the globe, and through the sky,
Disclose her working hand.

V.

Next, to thy nobler fearch refign'd
The bufy, reftless, human mind
Through every maze pursue ;
Detect Perception where it lies,
Catch the ideas as they rise,
And all their changes view.

A a 3

VI. Say