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Not the fam’d Straight, by bleeding heroes barr'd,
Nor Cecrop's walls, her hallow'd altars guard;

While each bold inmate of the isles,
On iņroads bamped effort smiles.
From every port, with cheering sound,

Swells the vindictive Päan round;
And Salamis' proud, from her sea-girt shore,
Sees o'er the hostile fleet the indignant surges roar.


Fiercer than Persia's scept'red lord;
More numerous than the embattled train,
Whose thirsty swarms the sea broad rivers drain,
Lo! Gallia’s plains disgorge their maddening hordel

Wide o'er Europa's trembling lands,
Victorious speed the murderous bands ;
Where'er they spread their powerful sway,

Fell desolation marks their way :
Unhurt, amid a warring world alone,
Britannia sits secure, firm on her island throne.


When thunders war, when lightnings fly,
When howling tempésts shake the sky,
Is more endear'd the sheltring dome,
More sweet th’ social joys of home;

Fondly her eye, lo! Albion throws
On the tried partner of her weal and woes:

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,
Long as your sister isles the seas embrace,
Long as the circling tides your shores that lave,
Waft your united banners o'er the wave;
Wide thro’ the deep, commercial wealth to spread,
Or hurl destruction on the oppressor's head :
May Heav'n, on cach unconquer'd nation, show's
Eternal concord, and encreasing pow'r!

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



On seeing the Sun set December 31, 1800, the last Day of

the 18ch Century.
VEE where it sets! the glorious sun,

Which has another century run:
Mark, as his chariot sinks away
Bright in the west, what splendors play!
Thus, beaming glory as he flies,
Age after age, he sweeps the skics;
Thus, bright as when he first arose,
With undiminish'd heat he glows,
And bears aloft, as centuries turn,
Through heaven's wide arch his flaming ura!
To trace his path, on tip-toe stand
The minutes, an unresting band,
With vicwless wings, and transient forms,
Onward they rush, in coụntless swarms,
Not one retuțns, a ceaseless throng,
A constant flood, they pour along ;
Nor ought in heaven or earth impedes
The march, which undisturb’d proceeds:
No chasm breaks the shining chain,
And, plac'd in order, through the train,
Like chicfs of each successive hand,
The hours and days all marshall’d stand;
With larger plumes the weeks appear,
And months more stately fill the year!

Thus, since at first JEHOVAH's voice
Bid chaos with new light rejoice,

(And, while the sons of glory sung,
The balanc'd earth on nothing hung),
With speed unceasing, full of prime,
Have march'd the bands of hoary time ;
And thus, till time itself is o’er,
And suns and planets blaze no more,
While years and centuries roll away,
The glorious march shall never stay.

Genius of light, celestial name!
Thron'd on thine orb of central flame!
Ost, as these hundred years have past,
Of which this day has been the last:
Hast thou, on thy high throne reclin'd,
Survey'd the miseries of mankind.

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,
And rescu'd nations cease to mourn.
Soon may the rising century sce,
The groaning world from carnage free;
Great source of everlasting love!
Send down from heaven the holy dove,
For ever, from the human heart,
Bid pride and black revenge depart;
And with eternal olives bind,

The hands and hearts of all our kind.
Jan. 1, 1801.



To pale misfortunes sorrowing sons endear'd,
Where oft the bleeding heart, from day to day,
Wept o'er its woes, and sigh'd itself away-
While pensive o'er thy fall’n remains I tread,
And mark the ruins of thy glory fled,
The joy mantled tow'rs that round me rise,
The chasms thro' which thy own sad genius sighs,
The broken arches, the deserted shrines,
The solemn gloom, where scarce a sun-beam shines,
My soul detests the blind infuriate rage,
Which, while it crush'd the abuses of the age,
Dar'd too on thec its impious hands to lay,
And sweep thy country's ornament away.

No more, alas! a refuge here is found,
No more the pityiog fathers melt around,
No more compassion sooths the tortur'd breast,
No more submission makes those tortures blest,
No more within thy walls devotion dwells,
No more the anthem's solemn cadence swells,
No more, with transport beaming in his eye,
While yet on earth, the inmate of the sky,
Th’ impatient spirit

, 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

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