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Not the fam’d Straight, by bleeding heroes barr'd,
While each bold inmate of the isles,
Swells the vindictive Päan round;
Fiercer than Persia's scept'red lord;
Wide o'er Europa's trembling lands,
Fell desolation marks their way :
When thunders war, when lightnings fly,
Fondly her eye, lo! Albion throws
Each tie to closer union draws,
By mingled rights and mingled laws; Then turns averse from Gallia's guilty field, And tears, with gen'rous pride, the lilies from her
Albion and Erin's kindred race,
And, as in history's awful page,
Immortal virtue shall proclaim To every clime, thro' ev'ry age,
Imperial George's patriot fame; That parent care shall win her warmest smiles, Which rear'd, mid' ocean's reign, the Empire of the
the 18ch Century.
Which has another century run:
Thus, since at first JEHOVAH's voice
(And, while the sons of glory sung,
Genius of light, celestial name!
Again, bright messenger of God! Again, thy glories set in blood; The madd’ning world is still in arms, Still Europe shakes with loud alarms. Still round her oft ensanguin'd shores, The tumult of destruction roars; Still pride and avarice, imps of hell, The rulers of our race impel, To arm their rude and wretched slaves, And send whole nations to their graves.
The frowning heaven's oppose in vain, Not winter cau their rage restain, Not frozen hills abate that rage, On fields of ice the troops engage; The work of death no storm impcdes, 'Midst showers of snow the battle bleeds. Ah! how defil'd its Aeecy white; The pitying sun avoids the sight, His mourning race he turns away, And blots with gloomy clouds the day.
Almighty sov’reign of the sun! Whose will in heaven and earth is done; In pity stop the sanguine tide; Olet the wrath of man subside;
Bid to its sheath the sword return,
The hands and hearts of all our kind.
RUINS OF A RELIGIOUS HOUSE.
To pale misfortunes sorrowing sons endear'd,
No more, alas! a refuge here is found,
, waits the wish’d-for lot, Where time and care are with their griefs forgot,
Where, once in works of tenderness and love, The transcripts of the gentle Jesus strove, And sympathy would oft its vigils keep By the pale wretch, and weep with them that weepi. Where ost the hallow'd taper in his hand, Beside th' expiring saint, the saint would stand, Pour on the soul the sweet celestial balm, Which Gilead drops, our terrors to becalm, Lift to the cross the languid dying eye, Mark what he taught, and learn himself to die.
There dreary solitude in silence dwells, Unthrong'd the aisles, untenanted the cells; And where the tranquil group would council hold, And where their beads the pious fathers told, And where the cares that wring my breast forgot, How pray’r would sooth, how praise sublime their lot; A death-like stillness holds its solemn reign, Nor aught presumes its empire to arraign, Save when the melancholy birds of night, With shrill response to deeds of death invite; Save when the daw, with pertly clam'rous sound, Wheels sportively thy battlements around, And oft, at eve, th' affrighted zephir moans, Sighs in the blast, or in the tempest groans, Ah! me that naught beneath the spangled vault, Can 'scape th' unhallow' sccptics rude assault, That sorrow's pittance earn’d with many a tear, The courtly ruffian's avarice could not spareGood God! how long shall suff'ring man lament A blessing promis'd, but a scorpion sent! How long shall wrathful vengeance thus delay, To crush the traitor, and avenge the prey?
Where now shall pining anguish bide its head? Where find the peace thy friendly roof would shed! Where shall thiş breaking heart for refuge fly, The world renounce, and all its spight defy? Alas! of all our pious fathers pains, Not e'en one lunely sanctu'ry remains; O'erwhelm'd in reformation's frantic tide, The wreck alone frowns dark on ev'ry side