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CONTENTMENT; OR, IF YOU PLEASE, CON-
FESSION.

To Mrs. Barlow, on her pleasantly telling the author, that after writing against the superstition of the Scripture religion, he was setting up a religion capable of more bigotry and enthusiasm, and more dangerous to its votaries—that of making a religion of Love.

O could we always live and love,

And always be sincere,

I would not wish for heaven above,
My heaven would be here.

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LINES EXTEMPORE. July, 1808.

Quick as the lightning's vivid flash,
The poet's eye o'er Europe rolls;
Sees battles rage-hears tempests crash,
And dims at horror's threat'ning scowls.

Mark ambition's ruthless king,

With crimson'd banners scath the globe; While trailing after conquest's wing,

Man's fest'ring wounds his demons probe.

Pall'd with streams of reeking gore,

That stain the proud imperial day;

He turns to view the western shore,

Where freedom holds her boundless sway.

'Tis here her sage triumphant sways,
An empire in the people's love,
'Tis here the sovereign will obeys,
No KING but He who rules above.

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