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And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey ;

Thy form, from out thy sweet abode,

O’ertook him on his blafted road,
And ftop'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away.

I fee recoil his fable steeds,

That bore him swift to savage deeds,
Thy tender melting eyes they own;
O Maid, for all thy love to Britain shown,

Where Justice bars her iron tower,

To thee we build a roseate bower, Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and Ahare our

monarch's throne !





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HO shall awake the Spartan fife,

And call in folemn sounds to life,
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,

Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding,

Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view ?
What new Alcæus, fancy-blest,
Shall fing the sword, in myrtles drest,

At Wisdom's shrine a-while its flame concealing, (What place fo fit to seal a deed renown'd ?)

Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted O Goddess, in that feeling hour,

[wound! When most its founds would court thy ears,

Let not my shell's misguided power, E'er draw thy fad, thy mindful tears.

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No, Freedom, no, I will not tell,
How Rome, before thy weeping face,
With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,
Push'd by a wild and artless race,
From off its wide ambitious base,
When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,

And all the blended work of strength and grace,

With many a rude repeated stroke, [broke, And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments



Yet even, where'er the least appear’d,
Th’admiring world thy hand rever'd ;
Still, 'midst the scatter'd states around,
Some remnants of her strength were found ;
They saw, by what escap'd the storm,
How wonderous rose her perfect form ;
How in the great, the labour'd whole,
Each mighty master pour'd his soul!



For sunny Florence, seat of art,
Beneath her vines preferv'd a part,
Till they, whom science lov'd to name,
(O who could fear it ?) quench'd her flame.
And lo, an humbler relic laid
In jealous Pisa's olive shade!

See small Marino joins the theme,
Tho' least, not last in thy esteem ;
Strike, louder strike th' ennobling ftrings
To those, whose merchant sons were kings ;
To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride:

port of glory, wealth, and pleasure, Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure : Nor e'er her former pride relate,


To fad Liguria's bleeding state.
Ah no! more pleas'd thy haunts I seek,
On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak:


(Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring archer heard thy voice;
Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,
The ravening Eagle northward fled.)
Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With those to whom thy Stork is dear :
Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd,
Whose crown a


The magic works, thou feel it the strains,
One holier name alone remains ;
The perfect spell shall then avail,
Hail Nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail !

Beyond the measure vast of thought,
The works, the wizzard Time has wrought!

* The Dulch, amongst whom there are very severe penalties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept tame in almoft all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are said to entertain a fuperftitious sentiment, that if the whole species of them Tovid become extinct, they should lose their liberties,

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