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In antient times, when Britain's trade was arms,
And the lov'd music of her youth, alarms;
A godlike race sustain’d fair England's fame :
Who has not heard of gallant Piercy's name?
Ay, and of Douglas? Such illustrious focs
In rital Rome and Carthage never rose!
From age to age bright shone the British fire,
And every hero was a herc's sire.
When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom,
Up sprung the phænix from his parent's tomb.
R?ut whilst those generous rivals fought and fell,

hose generous rivals lov'd each other well:
Tho' many a bloody field was lost and won,
Nothing in hate, in honour all was done.
Il'hen Puercy wrong'd, defy'd his prince or peers,
Fast came the DOUGLAs with his Scottish spears;
And, when proud Douglas made his King his foe;
For Douglas, Piercy bent his English bow.
Expellid their native homes by adverse fate,
They knock'd alternate at each other's gate:
Then blaz'd the castle, at the midnight hour,

'im? Whose arms had shook its firmest tow'r.

This night a DOUGLAS your protection claims ;
A wifel a mother! Pity's soficst names:
The story of her woes indulgent hear,
And grant your suppliant all she begs, á tear.
In confidence she begs; and hopes to find
Each English breast, like noble Piercy's, kind.


In days of classic fame, when Persia’s Lord
Oppos'd his millions to the Grecian sword,
Flourish'd the state of Athens, small her store,
Rugged her soil, and rocky was her shore,
Like Caledonia's : yet she gain'd a name
That stands unrivald in the rolls of fame.

Such proud pre-eminence not valour gave,
( For who than Sparta's dauntless sons more brave?)
But learning, and the love of every art,
That virgin Pallas and the Muse impart.

Above the rest the Tragic Muse admir'd Each Attic breast with noblest passions fir'd. In peace their poets with their heroes shard Glory, the hero's, and the bard's reward. The Tragic Muse each glorious record kept, And, o'er the kings she conquerid, Athens wept*.

Here let me ccase, impatient for the scene, To you I need not praise the Tragic Queen: Oft has this audience soft compassion shown To wocs of heroes, heroes not their own.

* See the PERSAI of Æschylus.

This night our scenes no common tear demand,
He comes, the hero of your native land !
DOUGLAS, a name thro' all the world renown'd,
A name that rouses like the trumpet's sound!
Oft have your fathers, prodigal of life,
A DOUGLAs follow'd thro' the bloody strife;
Hosts have been known at that dread name to yield,
And, DOUGLAS dead, his name hath won the field.

Listen attentive to the various tale,
Mark if the author's kindred feelings fail ;
Sway'd by alternate hopes, alternate fears,
He waits the test of your congenial tears.
If they shall flow, back to the muse he flies,
And bids your heroes in succession rise;
Collects the wand'ring warriors as they roam,
Douglas assures them of a welcome home.

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