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Raised by thy hands, and fashinn'd to tliy will, Thy power,* thy guiding influence governs

■till. Where at the hlond-stain'd board expert he

plies, The lame artificer of fraud and lies; He with the mitred head,and cloven heel:— Dnom'd the coarse edge of Kewbell's jest»

to feel; To stand the playful buffet, and to hear The frequent ink-stand whizzing past his ear; While all the five directors laugh to see Tin: limping priest so deft at his new

ministry.

Last of ill' anointed five behold, and least, The directorial lama, sovereign priest,— Lepaux:—whom atheists worship;—at whose

nod Bow their meek heads the men without a god.

Ere long, perhaps, to this astnnish'd isle, Fresh from the shores of subjugated Nile, Shall Buonaparte's victor fleet protect The genuine theophilanlhropic sect,— The sect of Marat, Mirabenu. Voltaire,— Led by their pontiff*, good La lleveillere. Rejoiced our club« shall greet him, and instal The holy hunch-back in thy dome, St. Paul! While countless votaries thronging in his

train Wave their redcaps, and hymn this jocund

strain: "Couriers and Stars, sedition's evening-host, Thon Morning-Chronicle, and Morning-Post! Whether ye make the rights of man your

theme, Your country libel, and your God blaspheme, Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw, Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise

Lepaux. And ye five other wandering bards that move In sweet accord of harmony and love, Coleridge and Southey, Lloyd, and Lamb

and Co. Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux. Priestley* and Whitefield, humble, holy men, Give praises to his name with tongue and pen! Thelwal, and ye that lecture as ye go, And for your pains get pelted, praise Lepaux! Praise him each jacobin, or fool, or knave. And your cropped heads in sign of worship

wave! All creeping creatures, venomous and low, Paine, Williams, Godwin, liolcroft, praise

Lepaux! And thou, le>iathan! on ocean's brim Hugest of living things that sleep and swim; Thou in whose nose by Burke's gigantic hand The hook was fix'd to drag thee to the land, With—.—.and—in thy train, And—wallowing in the yeasty main— Still as ye snort, and puff', and spout, and blow. In puffing, and in spouting, praise Lepaux!"

Britain, beware; nor let th' Insidious foe, Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow. Thy pence, thy strength, with devilish wiles

assail, And when her arms nre vain, by arts prevail. True, thou art rich, art powerful!—through

thine isle Industrious skill, contented labour, smile; Far seas are studded with thy countless sails; What wind but wafts them, and what shore

but hails? True, thou art brave!—o'er all the busy land In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand; Thy foes behold with impotent amaze. And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze! But what avails to guard each outward part, If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart. Spite of thy courage.of thy power,and wealth. Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health t

So thine own oak, by some fair streamlet's

side, Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy

pride, Towers from the earth, and, rearing to the

skies Its conscious strength, the tempest's wrath

defies. Its ample branches shield the fowls of air. To its cool shade the panting: herds reprfir.— The treacherous current works its noiseless

way,— The fibres loosen, and the roots decay; Prostrate the beauteous ruin lies; and all That shared its shelter, perish in its fall.

O thou! lamented sage!—whose prescient

scan Pierced through foul anarchy's gigantic plan. Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose The guilt of France, and Europe's world

of woes; — Thou, on whose name posterity shall gaze. The mighty sea-mark of these troubled days! O large of soul, of genius nnconfihed, Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind!— Burke! in whose breast a Roman ardour

glow'd; Whose copious tongue with Grecian richness

flow'd, Well hast thou found (if such thy country's

doom) A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb! As. in far realms, where eastern kings are laid. In pomp of death, beneath the cypress-shade. The perfumed lamp with unextinguish'd light Flames through the vault, and cheers the

gloom of night:— So, mighty Burke! in thy sepulchral urn. To fancy's view, the lamp of truth shall burn. Thither late times shall turn their reverent

eyes. Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise.

There are, to whom (their taste such plea-
sures cloy)
No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy;
Peace to their henvy heads,and callous hearts,
Peace—such as sloth, as ignorance imparts! —
Pleased may they live to plan their country's

good, And crop with calm content their flowery food!

What though thy venturous spirit loved

to urge The labouring theme to reason's utmost

verge. Kindling and mounting from th' enraptured

sight;— Till anxious Wonder wntch'd thy daring

flight! While vulgar souls, with mean malignant

stare, Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share! Poor triumph! price of that extorted praise, Which still to daring genius envy pays.

Oh! for thy playful smile,—thy potent frown,—

T' abash bold vice, and laugh pert folly down!

So should the Muse, in humour's happiest vein,

With verse that flow'd in metaphoric strain,

And apt allusions to the rural trade,

Tell of whnt wood young jacobins are made;

How the skill'd gardener grafts, with nicest rule,

The slip of coxcomb on the stock of fool;—.

Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender

A thing to wonder at—perhaps a whig.— Should tell,how wise each half-fledged pedant

prates Of weightiest matters, grave distinctions

states — That rules of policy, and public good, In Saxon times were rightly understood; That kings are proper, may be useful things, But then some gentlemen object to kings; That in all times the minister's to blame; That British liberty's an empty name, Till each fair burgh, numerically free. Shall choose its members by the rule of three.

So should the Muse, with verse in thunder

clothed, Proclaim the crimes by God and nature

loathed, Which—when fell poison revels in the

veins— (That poison fell which frantic Gallia drains From the crude fruit of freedom's blasted

tree) Blot the fair records of humanity.

To feebler nations let proud France afford Her damning choice,— the chalice or the

sword,— To drink or die;—oh, fraud! oh, specious lie! Delusive choice! for if they drink, they die.

The sword we dread not:—of oarsrltei

secare, Firm were our strength, our peace aai

freedom sure. Let all the world confederate all it> power* Be they not back'd by those that nh»>.

be ours. High on his rock shall Britain's genias stand. Scatter the crowded hosts, and »indii.

the land.

Guard we hut our own heart*: wit:

constant view. To ancient morals, ancient manners true. True to the manlier virtues, such an nfn • Our fathers' breasts, and this proud i«i

preserved For mnny a rugged age:—and scora t»'

while Each philosophic atheist's sperions guile— The soft seductions, the refinements aice. Of gay morality, and easy vice:— So shall we brave the storm;—our 'etablub'4

power Thy refuge, Europe, in some happier hour But, French in heart—though victory Ctowt

our brow. Low at our feet though prostrate nations bow. Wealth gild our cities, commerce rrowd oar

shore,— London may shine, but England is no

THE SLAVERY OF GREECE.

(HOT.)

Vnrivall'd Greece! thon ever-hsnwurre

name. Thou nurse of heroes dear to deathlr«« (amThough now to worth, tohonourall unknows Thy lustre faded, and thy glories flown. Yet still shall memory with reverted eye Trace thy past worth, and view thee with

a sigh.

Thee freedom rherish'd once with foster

ing hand. And breathed undaunted valour through t»>

land. Here the stern spirit of the Spartan soil. The child of poverty inured to toil. Here, loved by Pallas and the sacred Ni»' Once did fair Athens' towery glories can" To bend the bow, or the bright falchion wiek To lift the bulwark of the brazen shirW. To toss the terror of the whizzing spear. The conquering standard's glittering g-lori •

rear. And join the maddening battle's lond csnrec How skill'd the Greeks; confess what Prr

sians slain Were strew'd on Marathon's eosangnitv-*

plain;

i heaps on heaps the routed squadrons

fell, reith their gaudy myriads peopled hell. t millions bold Leonidns withstood, neal'd the Grecian freedom with his blood; "" *»eas Thermopylae! how fierce he trod, spoke a hero, and how moved a god! ******* rush of nations could alone sustain, '*le half the ravaged globe was arm'd in vain, .curtTM say, let Mantinea tell, maw- «- great Epaminondas fought and fell!

war's vast art alone adorn'd thy fame, ~-m mild philosophy endear'd thy name.

—o knows not, sees not with admiring eye, ■best Plato thought, how Socrates could die?

"*© bend the arch, to bid the column rise, the tall pile aspiring pierce the skies, "***"- awful fane magnificently great, '^"^'h pictured pomp to grace, and sculptured

state, am****K.B science taught; on Greece each science shone, the bold statue started from the stone; warm with life, the swelling canvas glow'd; re, big with thought, the poet's raptures

flow'd: re Homer's lip was touch'd with sacred

fire, d wanton Sappho tuned her amorous lyre; re bold Tyrta?us roused th' enervate

throng, aked to glory by th' aspiring song; _^ere Pindar sonr'd a nobler, loftier way, id brave Alcacus senrn'd a tyrant's sway; ere gorgeous tragedy with great control mch'd every feeling of th' impassion'd soul; hile in soft measure tripping to the song er comic sister lightly danced along.—

^t*r Thia was thy state! but oh! how changed ^. thy fame,

ynd all thy glories fading into shame, ^•ifhat! that thy bold, thy freedom-breathing land hould crouch beneath a tyrant's stern ^^» command!

'hat servitude should bind in galling chain,

j»t'honi Asin's millions once opposed in vain;

Vho could have thought? who sees without

-^ a groan

^'hy cities mouldering, and thy walls o'er

thrown.— _ «"hat where once tower'd the stately solemn

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<ow moss-grown ruins strew the ravaged plain,

"^lud unobserved but by the traveller's eye, ="^Proud, vaulted domes in fretted fragments

lie, s**And the fallen column on the dusty ground, •Vale ivy throws its sluggish arms around.

Thy sons (sad change!") in abject bondage

sigh; Unpitied toil, and unlamented die. Groan at the labours of the galling oar, Or the dark caverns of the mine explore. The glittering tyranny of Othninn's sons, The pomp of horror which surrounds their

thrones, Has awed their servile spirits into fear, Spurn'd by the foot they tremble and revere. The day of labour, night's sad, sleepless hour, Th' inflictive scourge of arbitrary power, The lilondy terror of the pointed steel. The murderous stake, the agonizing wheel, And (dreadful choice!) the bowstring, or

the bowl, Damps their faint vigour and unmans the soul. Disastrous fate! still tears will fill the eye. Still recollection prompt the mournful sigh; When to the mind recurs thy former fame, And all the horrors of thy present shame.

So some tall rock, whose bare, broad bosom

high Towers from the earth, and braves th'in

clement sky; On whose vast top the blackening deluge

pours, At whose wide base the thundering ocean

roars; In conscious pride its huge gigantic form Surveys imperious and defies the storm, Till worn by age, and mnuld'ring to decay, Th' insidious waters wash its base away. It falls, and falling cleaves the trembling

ground. And spreads a tempest of destruction round.

ELIJAH'S MANTLE.

A TR1BCTB TO THE MEMORY Or WILLI tn PITT.

Whbk, by th' Almighty's dread command
Elijah, call'd from Israel's land,

Kose in the sacred flame,
His Mantle good Elishn caught.
And, with the Prophet's spirit fraught,

Her second hope became.

In Pitt our Israel saw combined

The Patriot's heart—the Prophet's mind,

Elijnh'ii spirit here:
Now, sad reverse!—that spirit reft,
No confidence, no hope is left;

For no Elijah's near.

Is there, among the greedy band

Who've seized on powsr, with harpy hand,

And patriot worth assume,
Om: on whom public fnith ran rest—
Ohk fit tn wear Elijah's vest.

And cheer a nation's gloom?

Grenvillc !—to aid tliy treasury Tame,
A portion of Pitt's Mantle claim.

His gen'rous ardour feel;
Resolve. 'Iiove sordid self to soar,
Amidst Exchequer gold be poor!

Thy wealth—the public weal.

Fox!—if on thee some remnant fall,
The shred may to thy mind recal

Those hours of loud debate,
When thy unballow'd lips be-praised
"The glorious fabric" traitors raised

On Bourbon's fallen state.

Thy soul let Pitt's example fire,
With patriot zeal thy tongue inspire,

Spite of thy Gallic leaven;
And teach thee in thy latest dny.
His form of prayer, (if thou canst pray)

"O save my country, Heaven!"

Windham.—if e'er thy sorrows flow
For private loss or public woe,

Thy rigid brow unbend:
Tears over Caesar Brutus shed,
His hatred warr'd not with the dead—

And Pitt was once thy friend.

Does envy bid thee not to mourn?
Hold then his Mantle up to scorn,

His well-earn'd fame assail:
Of funeral honors strip his corse,
And at his virtues, till thou'rt hoarse,

Like curst Thcrsites rail!

Illustrious Roscius of the state!
New-breech'd and harness'd for debate,

Thou wonder of thy age!
Petty or Betty art thou hight,
By Granta sent to strut thy night.

On Stephen's bustling stage.

Pitt's 'chequer robe 'tis thine to wear; Take of his Mantle too a share,

'Twill aid thy wnys and means; And should Fat Jack, and his cabal, Cry "Bob us the Exchequer, Hal!"

'Twill charm away the fiends.

Sage Palinurus of the realm!

By Vincent call'd to take the helm!

And play his proxy's part;
Dost thou or star or compass know?
Canst reef aloft—or hand below?

Hast conn'd the shipman's chart?

No !—From Pitt's Mantle tear a rag,
Enough to serve thee for a flag,

And hoist it on thy mast?
Renrnth that sign (our prosperous star)
Shall future Nelsons rush to war,

And rival victories past.

Sidmouth—though low his head i« laid Who call'd thee from thy native shade.

And gave thee second birth; Gave thee the sweets of power and pUr The tufted gown—the gilded mace,

And rear'd thy puny worth:

Think how his Mantle wrapp'd thee rout: Is one of equal virtue found

Among thy new compeers? Or can thy cloak of Amiens stunt. Once laugh'd to scorn hy blue and bnlT,

Screen thee from Windham's jeers?

When faction thrcaten'd Britain's land Thy new-made friends—a desperate baas'.

Like A hah—stood reproved: Pitt's powerful tongue their rage could check His counsel saved, 'midst general wreck.

The Israel that he loved.

Yes, honnr'd shade! whilst near thy gn<-
The letter'd sage, and chieftain brave,

The votive marble claim;
O'er thy cold corse—the public tear
Congeal'd, a crystal shrine shall i

Unsullied as thy fame!

EPITAPH.

George Charles Canning.

GEORGE CAMIW AND JOAN" SCOTT HIS WIFE;

Burn April 25, 1801.—Died March 11, 190.

Tin)run short thy span, God's unirapeaen t

decrees. Which made that shortrn'd span oae Use

diseaae. Yet, merciful in chastening, gave thee am** For mild, redeeming virtue*. Faith u*

• Hope;

Meek Resignation; pious Charity;
And, since this world was nut the world for

thee. Far from thy path removed, with partial

care. Strife, Glory, Gain, and Pleasure's flowery

snare. Bade Earth's temptations pass thee hamlru

And fix'd on Heaven thine unaverted rye! Oh! inark'd from birth, and nurtur'd for the

skies! In youth, with more than learning's wisdom.

wise! As sainted martyrs, patient to endure! Simple as nnweaned infancy and parr!

Pnre from all stain (save thnt of human

"lay. Which Christ'* atoning' blood hath wnsh'd

away!), By mortal sufferings now no more oppress'd. Mount, sinless Spirit, to thy destined rest! While 1—reversed our nature's kindlier

doom, Pour forth a father's sorrows on thy tomb.

MARY ANN BROWNE.

ANONYMOUS.

THE FOREBODING.

Ay, twine thy hair with a summer-wreath,

And sing thy bridal song; Lit fragrant flowers around thee breathe—

It will not be for long.

A» that bright garland will decay,
Thy beauty will soon be gone;

And thy very nnme will pass away,
Like thy sweet song's closing tone.

Ay, deck thee with that golden chain,

It severs with scarce a touch; Its strongest link is snapt in twain,

And thou wilt be as such:

And mingle with the thoughtless crowd,

And don thy gorgeous vest: Twill soon be changed, for thy burial shroud

Already wraps thy breast.

Bright and clear the heavens are,
There is but one speck in the sky;

But that speck covers thy natal star,
The star of thy destiny!

I gazed on that star last night,—it shook;

And though it still faintly gleams, It looks not as it was, wont to look,

And a mist is over its beams.

I have read thy fate in a flowery braid ;

I hung it on a tree—
I saw one bright rose fall and fade,—

Twas the blossom I named for thee !—

But mostly thy fortune I can tell,

From thy happiness and mirth, For when did bliss so perfect dwell

More than an instant on earth ¥

LOVERS' PRESENTS.

Take hack thy gifts, thou noble dame,
Gifts that might courtly homage claim:
This ring is circled by diamonds bright,
This chain is flashing with ruby light,
This emerald-wreath once bound thy curls,
And thy waist was clasp'd by this zone of

pearls; Lady, such gifts were unwish'd by me, And I loved them but as bestow'd by thee.

Pledges so splendid I could not impart,
My poor return was a faithful heart;
But now that our gifts we each resign,
Lady, how sad an exchnnge is mine!
Thy glittering gems are still gay ami bright,
And may charm a high-born lover's sight,
But the humblest maid will spurn a token
Like the heart thy treachery has broken!

MY PARTNER.

At Cheltenham, where one drinks one's fill

Of folly and cold water,
I danced, last year, my first quadrille,

With old Sir Geoffrey's daughter.
Her cheek with Summer's rose might vie,

When Summer's rose is newest;
Her eyes were blue as Autumn's sky,

When Autumn's sky is bluest;
And well my heart might deem her one

Of Life's most precious flowers,
For half her thought were of its Sun,

And half were of its Showers.

I spoke of Novels:—"Vivian Gray"

Was positively charming
And "Almack's" infinitely gay,

And "Frankenstein" alarming;
I said "Dc Vere" was chastely told,

Thought well of "Herbert Lacy,"
Called Mr. Banim's sketches "bold,"

And Lady Morgan's "racy:"
I vow'd that last new thing of Hook's

Was vastly entertaining;
And Laura said—"I doat on books,

Because it's always raining!"

I talk'd of Music's gorgeous fane;

I raved about Rossini,
Hoped Ronzi would come back again.

And criticised Pacini;
I wish'd the chorus-singers dumb,

The trumpets more pacific.
And eulogized Brocard's a plomb.

And voted Paul "terrific."

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