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A longer date of woe, the widow'd wife
Her lamentable lot afflicted bore;
Yet both were rescu'd from the chains of life
Before Arion reach'd his native shore:

The father unrelenting phrenzy stung,

Untaught in Virtue's school distress to bear; Severe Remorse his tortur'd bosom wrung, He languish'd, groan'd, and perish'd in despair.

Ye lost companions of distress, adien!
Your toils, and pains, and dangers are no more;
The tempest now shall howl unheard by you,
While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore;

On you the blast, surcharg'd with rain and snow, In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat; Unfelt by you the vertic Sun may glow,

А РОЕМ,

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HIS ROYAL HIGH-
NESS FREDERIC PRINCE OF WALES.

FROM the big horrour of war's hoarse alarms,
And the tremendous clang of clashing arms,
Descend, my Muse! a deeper scene to draw
(A scene will hold the list'ning world in awe ')
Is my intent: Melpomene inspire,
While, with sad notes, I strike the trembling lyre!
And may my lines with easy motion flow,
Melt as they move, and fill each heart with woe:
Big with the sorrow it describes, my song,
In solemn pomp, majestic, move along.

Oh! bear me to some awful silent glade
Where cedars form an unremitting shade;
Where never track of human feet was known;

And scorch the panting Earth with baneful heat: Where never cheerful light of Phoebus shone;

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Where chirping linnets warble tales of love,
And hoarserwinds howl murm'ring through the grove;
Where some unhappy wretch aye mourns his doom,
Deep melancholy wand'ring through the gloom;
Where solitude and meditation roam,

And where no dawning glimpse of hope can come;
Place me in such an unfrequented shade,
To speak to none but with the mighty dead:
T" assist the pouring rains with brimful eyes,
And aid hoarse howling Boreas with my sighs.

When Winter's horrours left Britannia's isle,
And Spring in blooming verdure 'gan to smile;
When rills, unbound, began to pur! along,
And warbling larks rencw'd the vernal song;
When sprouting roses, deck'd in crimson dye,
Began to bloom,..

Hard fate! then, noble Fred'ric, didst thou die :
Doom'd by inexorable Fate's decree,

Th' approaching Summer ne'er on Earth to see;
In thy parch'd vitals burning fevers rage,
Whose flame the virtue of no herbs asswage;
No cooling med'cine can its heat allay,
Relentless Destiny cries, "No delay."
Ye pow'rs! and must a prince so noble die?
(Whose equal breathes not under th' ambient sky:)
Ah! must be die, then, in youth's full-blown prime,
Cut by the scythe of all-devouring Time?
Yes, Fate has doom'd! his soul now leaves its weight,
And all are under the decree of Fate;
Th' irrevocable doom of Destiny

Pronoune'd, "All mortals must submissive die."
The princes wait around with weeping eyes,
And the dome echoes all with piercing cries:
With doleful noise the matrons scream around,
With female shrieks the vaulted roofs rebound:
A dismal noise! Now one promiscuous roar
Cries, Ah! the noble Fredric is no more!"
The chief reluctant yields his latest breath;
His eye-lids settle in the shades of death:
Dark sable shades present before each eye,
And the deep vast abyss, eternity!

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Through perpetuity's expanse he springs;
And o'er the vast profound he shoots on wings:
The soul to distant regions steers her flight,
And sails incumbent on inferior night:
With vast celerity she shoots away,
And meets the regions of eternal day,
To shine for ever in the heav'nly birth,
And leave the body here to rot on Earth.

By awe, here. is meant attention.

The melancholy patriots round it wait,
And mourn the royal hero's timeless fate.
Disconsolate they move, a mournful band!
In solemn pomp they march along the strand:
The noble chief, interr'd in youthful bloom,
Lies in the dreary regions of the tomb.

Adown Augusta's pallid visage flow
The living pearls with unaffected woe:
Discons'late, hapless, see pale Britain mourn,
Abandon'd isle! forsaken and forlorn!

With desp'rate hands her bleeding breast she beats;
While o'er her, frowning, grim Destruction threats.
She mourns with heart-felt grief, she rends her hair,
And fills with piercing cries th' echoing air.
Well may'st thou mourn thy patriot's timeless end,
Thy Muse's patron, and thy merchant's friend.
What heart shall pity thy full-flowing grief?
What hand now deign to give thy poor relief?
T'encourage arts, whose bounty now shall flow,
And learned science to promote, bestow?
Who now protect thee from the hostile frown,
And to the injur'd Just return his own?
From us'ry and oppression who shall guard
The helpless, and the threat'ning ruin ward?
Alas! the truly noble Briton's gone,

And left us here in ceaseless woe to moan !
Impending Desolation hangs around,
And Ruin hovers o'er the trembling ground:
The blooming Spring droops her enamell'd head,
Her glories wither, and her flow'rs all fade:
The sprouting leaves already drop away;
Languish the living herbs with pale decay:
The bowing trees, see! o'er the blasted heath,
Depending, bend beneath the weight of death:
Wrapp'd in th' expansive gloom, the lightnings play,
Hoarse thunder mutters through th' aërial way:
All Nature feels the pangs, the storms renew,
And sprouts, with fatal haste, the baleful yew.

Some pow'r avert the threat'ning horrid weight,
And, godiike, prop Britannia's sinking state!
Minerva, hover o'er young George's soul;
May sacred wisdom all his deeds control!
Exalted grandeur in each action shine,
His conduct all declare the youth divine.

Methinks I see him shine a glorious star, Gentle in peace, but terrible in war! Methinks each region does his praise resound, And nations tremble at his name around!

His fame, through ev'ry distant kingdom rung, Proclaims him of the race from whence he

sprung:

So sable smoke, in volumes curls on high,
Heaps roll on heaps, and blacken all the sky:
Already so, his fame, methinks, is hurld
Around th' admiring venerating world.
So the benighted wand'ver, on his way,
Laments the absence of all-cheering day;
Far distant from his friends and native boine,

And not one glimpse does glimmer through the gloom :

In thought he breathes, cach sigh his latest breath,
Present, each meditation, pits of death:
Irreg'lar, wild chimeras fill his soul,
And death, and dying, ev'ry step control.

Till from the cast there breaks a purple gleam,
His fears then vanish as a fleeting dream.
Hid in a cloud the Sun first shoots his ray,
Then breaks effulgent on th' illumin'd day;
We see no spot then in the flaining rays,
Confus'd and lost within th' excessive blaze.

ODE

ON THE DUKE OF YORK'S SECOND DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND AS REAR ADMIRAL.

WRITTEN ABOARD THE ROYAL GEORGE.

AGAIN the royal streamers play!
To glory Edward hastes away;
Adieu, ye happy silvan bowers,
Where Pleasure's sprightly throng await!
Ye domes, where regal Grandeur towers
In purple ornaments of state!

Ye scenes where Virtue's sacred strain
Bids the tragic Muse complain!
Where Satire treads the comic stage,
To scourge and mend a vena! age;
Where music pours the soft, melodious lay,
And melting symphonies congenial play!
Ye silken sons of Ease, who dwell
In flowery vales of Peace, farewell!

In vain the goddess of the myrtle grove
Her charms ineffable displays;

In vain she calls to happier realms of love,
Which Spring's unfading bloom arrays:
In vain her living roses blow,
And ever-vernal pleasures grow;
The gentle sports of youth no more
Allure him to the peaceful shore:
Arcadian ease no longer charms,

For war and fame alone can please.
His throbbing bosom beats to arms,
To war the hero moves, through storms and wintry

CHORUS.

The gentle sports of youth no more Allure him to the peaceful shore, For war and fame alone can please;

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To war the hero moves, through storms and wintry

Though Danger's hostile train appears

To thwart the course that Honour steers;
Unmov'd he leads the rugged way,
Despising peril and dismay:

His country calls; to guard her laws,
Lo! every joy the gallant youth resigns;

Th' avenging naval sword he draws,

And o'er the waves conducts her martial lines:
Hark! his sprightly clarions play;
Follow where he leads the way!
The piercing fife, the sounding drum,
Tell the deeps their master's come.

CHORUS.

Hark! his sprightly clarions play,
Follow where he leads the way!
The piercing fife, the sounding drum,
Tell the deeps their master's come.

Thus Alcmena's warlike son The thorny course of Virtue run, When, taught by her uncring voice, He made the glorious choice: Severe, indeed, th' attempt he knew, Youth's genial ardours to subdue: For Pleasure, Venus' lovely form assum'd; Her glowing charms, divinely bright, In all the pride of beauty bloom'd, And struck his ravish'd sight.

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Transfix'd, amaz'd,
Alcides gaz'd:
Enchanting grace
Adorn'd her face,

And all his changing looks confest
Th' alternate passions in his breast:
Her swelling bosom half reveal'd, *

Her eyes that kindling raptures fir'd,
A thousand tender pains instill'd,

A thousand flatt'ring thoughts inspir'd:
Persuasion's sweetest language hung
In melting accent on her tongue:
Deep in his heart, the winning tale
Infus'd a magic power;

She prest him to the rosy vale,

And show'd th' Elysian bower:

Her hand, that trembling ardours move, Conducts him blushing to the blest alcove: Ah! sec, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms, And won by Love's resistless arms, The captive yields to Nature's soft alarms!

CHORUS.

Ah! see, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms, And won by Love's resistless arms, The captive yields to Nature's soft alarms!

Assist, ye guardian powers above!
From ruin save the son of Jove!
By heavenly mandate Virtue came,
And check'd the fatal flame:
Swift as the quivering needle wheels,
Whose point the magnet's influence feels,
Inspir'd with awe,
He, turning, saw
The nymph divine
Transcendent shine;

And, while he view'd the godlike maid,
His heart a sacred impulse sway'd:
His eyes with ardent motion roll,
And love, regret, and hope, divide his soul.
But soon her words his pain destroy,

And all the numbers of his heart,
Return'd by her celestial art,

Now swell'd to strains of nobler joy.
Instructed thus by Virtue's lore,

His happy steps the realms explore
Where guilt and errour are no more:

The clouds that veil'd his intellectual ray, Before his breath dispelling, melt away: Broke loose from Pleasure's glittering chain, He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign: Convinc'd, resolv'd, to Virtue then he turn'd, And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.

CHORUS.

Broke loose from Pleasure's glittering chain, He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign: Convinc'd, resolv'd, to Virtue then he turn'd, And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.

So when on Britain's other hope she shone,
Like him the royal youth she won:
Thus taught, he bids his fleet advance
To curb the power of Spain and France:
Aloft his martial ensigns flow,

And hark! his brazen trumpets blow!

The wat'ry profound,
Awak'd by the sound,
All trembles around:

While Edward o'er the azure fields
Fraternal wonder wields:

High on the deck behold he stands,
And views around his floating bands
In awful order join:

They, while the warlike trumpet's strain,
Deep sounding, swells along the main,
Extend th' embattled line.
Then Britain triumphantly saw
His armament ride

Supreme on the tide,

And o'er the vast ocean give law.

CHORUS.

Then Britain triumphantly saw
His armament ride
Supreme on the tide,

And o'er the vast ocean give law.

Now with shouting peals of joy,
The ships their horrid tubes display,
Tier over tier in terrible array,

And wait the signal to destroy:
The sails all burn to engage:
Hark! hark! their shouts arise,

And shake the vaulted skies!
Exulting with bacchanal rage.
Then, Neptune, the hero revere,

Whose power is superior to thine! And, when his proud squadrons appear, The trident and chariot resign!

CHORUS.

Then, Neptune, the hero revere,
Whose power is superior to thine!
And, when his proud squadrons appear,
The trident and chariot resign!

Albion, wake thy grateful voice!
Let thy hills and vales rejoice:
O'er remotest hostile regions

Thy victorious flags are known;
Thy resistless martial legions

Dreadful move from zone to zone;
Thy flaming bolts unerring roll,
And all the trembling globe control:
Thy stamen, invincibly true,
No menace, no fraud, can subdue:
To thy great trast
Sverdly just,

All dissonant strife they disclaim:
To meet the for,

Their bosoms glow;
Who only are rivals in fame.

CHORUS.

Thy scamen, invincibly true,
No menace, no fraud, can subdue:
All dissonant strife they disclaim,
And only are rivals in fame.

For Edward tune your harps, ye Nine!
Trumphant strike cach living string,
For mm, in ecstasy divine,
Your choral to Paans sing!

For him your festive concerts breathe!
For him your flowery garlands wreathe!
Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye fauns of the woods,
Ye nymphs of the floods,
The musical current prolong!
Ye sylvans, that dance on the plain,
To swell the grand chorus accord!
Ye tritons, that sport on the main,
Exulting, acknowledge your lord!
Till all the wild numbers combin'd,
That floating proclaim
Our admiral's name,
In symphony roll on the wind!

CHORUS.

Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye sylvans, that dance on the plain,
Ye tritons, that sport on the main,
The musical current prolong!

O! while consenting Britons praise,
These votive measures deign to hear!
For thee my Muse awakes her lays,
For thee th' unequal viol plays,

The tribute of a soul sincere.
Nor thou, illustrious chief, refase
The incense of a nautic Muse!

For ah! to whom shall Neptune's sons complain,
But him whose arms unrivall'd rule the main?

Deep on my grateful breast

Thy favour is imprest:
No happy son of wealth or fame
To court a royal patron came!
A hapless youth, whose vital page
Was one sad lengthen'd tale of woe,

Where ruthless Fate, impelling tides of rage, Bade wave on wave in dire succession flow,

To glittering stars and titled names unknown, Preferr'd his suit to thee alone.

The tale your sacred pity mov'd;
You felt, consented, and approv'd.
Then touch my strings, ye blest Pierian quire!
Exalt to rapture every happy line!

My bosom kindle with Promethean fire!
And swell each note with energy divine.
No more to plaintive sounds of woe
Let the vocal numbers flow!
Perhaps the chief to whom I sing

May yet ordain auspicious days,
To wake the lyre with nobler lays,
And tune to war the nervous string.
For who, untaught in Neptune's school,
Though all the powers of genius he possess,
Though disciplin'd by classic rule,

With daring pencil can display
The night that thunders on the watery way,
And all its horrid incidents express?
To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong!
Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

CHORUS.

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong! Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

THE FOND LOVER,

A BALLAD.

A NYMPH of ev'ry charm possess'd,
That native virtue gives,
Within my bosom all confess'd,
In bright idea lives.

For her my trembling numbers play
Along the pathless deep,
While sadly social with my lay
The winds in concert weep.

If beauty's sacred influence charms
The rage of adverse Fate,
Say why the pleasing soft alarms
Such cruel pangs create?
Since all her thoughts by sense refin'd,
Unartful truth express,

Say wherefore sense and truth are join'd
To give my soul distress?

If when her blooming lips I press,

Which vernal fragrance fills,
Through all my veins the sweet excess
In trembling motion thrills;

Say whence this secret anguish grows,
Congenial with my joy?

And why the touch, where pleasure glows,
Shou'd vital peace destroy?

If when my fair, in melting song,
Awakes the vocal lay,

Not all your notes, ye Phocian throng,
Such pleasing sounds convey;

Thus wrapt all o'er with fondest love,
Why heaves this broken sigh?

For then my blood forgets to move,

I

gaze, adore, and die.

Accept, my charming maid, the strain
Which you alone inspire;

To thee the dying strings complain
That quiver on my lyre.

O! give this bleeding bosom ease,
That knows no joy but thee;
Teach me thy happy art to please,
Or deign to love like me.

THE DEMAGOGUE.

BOLD is th' attempt, in these licentious times,
When with such towering strides Sedition climbs,
With sense or satire to confront her power,
And charge her in the great decisive hour:
Bold is the man, who, on her conquering day,
Stands in the pass of Fate to bar her way:
Whose heart, by frowning Arrogance unaw'd,
Or the deep-lurking snares of specious Fraud,
The threats of Giant-faction can deride,
And stem, with stubborn arm, her roaring tide.
For him unnumber'd brooding ills await,
Scorn, malice, insolence, reproach, and hate:
At him, who dares this legion to defy,
A thousand mortal shafts in secret fly:
Revenge, exulting with malignant joy,
Pursues th' incautious victim to destroy:

And Slander strives, with unrelenting aim,
To spit her blasting venom on his name:
Around him Faction's harpies flap their wings,
And rhyming vermin dart their feeble stings:
In vain the wretch retreats, while in full cry,
Fierce on his throat the hungry blood-hounds fly.
Enclos'd with perils thus the conscious Muse,
Alarm'd, though undismay'd, her danger views.
Nor shall unmanly terrour now control
The strong resentment struggling in her soul;
While Indignation, with resistless strain,
Pours her full deluge through each swelling vein.
By the vile fear that chills the coward breast,
By sordid caution is her voice supprest,
While Arrogance, with big theatric rage,
Audacious struts on Pow'r's imperial stage;
While o'er our country, at her dread command,
Black Discord, screaming, shakes her fatal brand:
While, in defiance of maternal laws,
The sacrilegious sword Rebellion draws;
Shall she at this important hour retire,
And quench in Lethe's wave her genuine fire?
Honour forbid! she fears no threat'ning foe,
When conscious Justice bids her bosom glow:
And while she kindles the reluctant flame,
Let not the prudent voice of Friendship blame!
She feels the sting of keen Resentiment goad,
Though guiltless yet of Satire's thorny road.
Let other Quixotes, frantic with renown,
Plant on their brows a tawdry paper crown!
While fools adore, and vassal-bards obey,
Let the great Monarch Ass through Gotham bray!
Our poet brandishes no mimic sword,
To rule a realm of dunces self-cxplor'd:
No bleeding victims curse his iron sway;
Nor murder'd reputation marks his way.
True to herself, unarm'd, the fearless Muse
Through Reason's path her steady course pursues:
True to herself advances, undeterr'd
By the rude clarours of the savage herd.
As some bold surgeon, with inserted steel,
Probes deep the putrid sore, intent to heal;
So the rank ulcers that our Patriot load,
Shall she with caustic's healing fires corrode.

Yet ere from patient slumber Satire wakes,
And brandishes th' avenging scourge of snakes;
Yet ere her eyes, with lightning's vivid ray,
The dark recesses of his heart display;
Let Candour own th' undaunted pilot's power,
Felt in severest Danger's trying hour!
Let Truth consenting, with the trump of Fame,
His glory, in auspicious strains, proclaim !
He bade the tempest of the battle roar,
That thunder'd o'er the deep from shore to shore.
How oft, amid the horrours of the war,
Chain'd to the bloody wheels of Danger's car,
How oft my bosom at thy name has glow'd,
And from my beating heart applause bestow'd;
Applause, that, genuine as the blush of youth
Unknown to guile, was sanctify'd by truth!
How oft I blest the Patriot's honest rage,
That greatly dar'd to lash the guilty age;
That, rapt with zeal, pathetic, bold, and strong,
Roll'd the full tide of eloquence along;

That Power's big torrent brav'd with manly pride,
And all Corruption's venal arts defy'd!
When from afar those penetrating eyes
Beheld each secret hostile scheme arise;
Watch'd every motion of the faithless foe,
Each plot o'erturn'd, and baffled every blow:

A fond enthusiast, kindling at thy name,
I glow'd in secret with congenial flame;
While my young bosom, to deceit unknown,
Believ'd all real virtue thine alone.

Such then he seem'd, and such indeed might be,
If Truth with Errour ever could agree!
Sure Satire never with a fairer hand
Portray'd the object she design'd to brand.
Alas! that Virtue should so soon decay,
And Faction's wild applause thy heart betray!
The Muse with secret sympathy relents,
And buman failings, as a friend, laments:
But when those dangerous crrours, big with fate,
Spread discord and distraction through the state,
Reason should then exert her utmost power
To guard our passions in that fatal hour.

There was a time, ere yet his conscious heart
Durst from the hardy path of Truth depart,
While yet with generous sentiment it glow'd,
A stranger to Corruption's slippery road;
There was a time our Patriot durst avow
Those honest maxims he despises now.
How did he then his country's wounds bewail,
And at the insatiate German vulture rail!
Whose cruel talons Albion's entrails tore,
Whose hungry maw was glutted with her gore?
The mists of errour, that in darkness held
Our reason, like the Sun, his voice dispell'd.
And lo! exhausted, with no power to save,
We view Britannia panting on the wave;
Hung round her neck, a millstone's pond'rous weight
Drags down the struggling victim to her fate!
While horrour at the thought our bosom feels,
We bless the man this horrour who reveals.

But what alarming thoughts the heart amaze,
When on this Janus' other face we gaze;
For, lo! possest of Power's imperial reins,
Our chief those visionary ills disdains!
Alas! how soon the steady Patriot turns!
In vain this change astonish'd England mourns!
Her vital blood, that pour'd from every vein,
So late, to fill th' accurs'd Westphalian drain,
Then ceas'd to flow; the vulture now no more
With unrelenting rage her bowels tore.
His magic rod transforms the bird of prey!
The millstone feels the touch, and melts away!
And, strange to tell, still stranger to believe,
What eyes ne'er saw, and heart could ne'er conceive,
At once, transplanted by the sorcerer's wand,
Columbian hills in distant Austria stand!
America, with pangs before unknown,
Now with Westphalia utters groan for groan:
By sympathy she fevers with her fires,
Burns as she burns, and as she dies expires.
From maxims long adopted thus he flew,
For ever changing, yet for ever true;
Swoln with success, and with applause inflam'd,
He scorn'd all caution, all advice disclaim'd;
Armi'd with war's thunder, he embrac'd no more
Those patriot principles maintain'd before.
Perverse, inconstant, obstinate, and proud,
Drunk with ambition, turbulent and loud,
He wrecks us headlong on that dreadful strand
He once devoted all his powers to brand!

Our hapless country views with weeping eyes,
On every side, o'erwhelming horrours rise;
Drain'd of her wealth, exhausted of her power,
And agoniz'd as in the mortal hour;
Her armies wasted with incessant toils,
Or doom'd to perish in contagious soils,

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