Where Gallia's fwarming legions flee the

Thore, [before; Where in long line their ranks were rang'd The fervile peafantry forfook the plain, And fallen nobles form'd the gorgeous train; [rial throne, Where the firft Conful grafp'd th' Impe. Hail'd Royal Pomp, and Law, and Power, his own! [found From fair Italia's realms with awe proThe hoary Pontiff trod in Gallic ground; Of power defpoil'd, subjected to his Lord, He and his priests obey the Imperial word;

Invoke on high angelic powers above,
To crown a favourite with celeftial love!
No lofty Marcus Brutus tower'd along,
The veneration of the mingled throng!
As when a comet pours its blazing fire,
And trembling gazers wonder and admire;
Such was the man, far fam'd in days of old,
A Patriot, uncorrupted, firm, and bold;
Who when thro' Rome the tidings fresh
were borne,
[throne,
That Cæfar grafp'd to mount the Imperial
In his proud bosom plung'd the glittering
blade,
[bleed,
And bade for Rome's great weal a Cæfar
No Brutus's amid those ranks were seen,
Of fervile kneelers to their new-made king,
Ah, no! the fpirit of thofe gen'rals fallen,
Who flood like rocks unmov'd 'mid War's
alarms:

"Oh, France! what fcenes are thefe which blaft mine eyes, [to rife; Which call me from the dark, damp grave Was it for this my guiltlefs blood was pour'd, fing fword? And War unfheath'd his broad and waftYou flew where Freedom's ftreaming banners wav'd, [grave? And `turn'd my kingdom to a reeking On my devoted head charg'd many a crime, Done ages paft thro' a long Royal line? Oh, Frenchmen! tis for this I only groan, A proud Ufurper climbs my rightful throne: Wheree'er he towers with horrid ftrides around,

See War and Ruin ftamp the defert ground! Nor my poor boy,lodg'd in the narrow tomb, Survives to bear in mind my hapless doom; T' whom my fad injur'd ghoft might tell its wrongs, [own. Fire him to avenge his father's and his But brief-their ftrain'd eyes dazzle with the glare,

My faded fenfes with the noontide air! Oh France! thou fickning scene of blood and wrong,

I'll fly, I'll hide me in the friendly tomb!" And thou, proud Chief, who with unwearied pain,1 [of Fame; Haft toiling climb'd the rugged mount Frail be the garland woven for thy brow, Enwreath'd by fanguine hands of War and Woe, [o'er,

When thy few fleeting days on earth are And the pale fpirit land on Pluto's fhore; There by fad Acheron's dark streamreclin'd, With black remorse mourn many a fable crime; [world,

"Done in thy days of Nature" o'er the Ere thou from heights of power and life wert hurl'd;

With groans of everlafting forrow mourn, 'Mid tortur'd fpirits, and pale fhades forforn; [and fell, Some rival Cromwells there, who tower'd May ftride gigantic 'crofs the walks of Hell, May greet thee, haughty fpirit, on thy way, And crown thy brows with fulphurous boughs of bay

"Hail thou dejected Champion! all hail! Behold thou 'rt loft in forrow and deep wail: [champaign,

Thefe are the fields, and this the dark Where we, O Chief, extend our gloomy reign.

Thy wars on earth, the bloody battles done, And thy bright sun of power and life gone down,

Repofe thee then, tho' not to us be given To "flumber here as in the vales of Heaven."

From realms of Death, and fhades of tyrants fallen, [dawn, I upwards fprung where lights celeftial

Milton's Paradife Loft.

Hail, Britons, hail, thou bright and wef

tern far:

In Peace majestic, terrible in War!
My own, my native country, ever dear,
While time fhall stand, and year shall fol-
low year;

From every clime I turn with love of thee;
Bleft be thy fons, enlight'ned, bold, and
free:
[fhall bring,
To thee my Mufe her budding wreathes
Green, unmatur'd, thro' eighteen's open-
ing fpring.
[alarms,
Loud rock'd by Ocean's, and by War's
Thou Ifle of Science, and thou "nurfe of
arms!"
[Thores
Long may'ft thou ftand, e'en as thy fandy
Rebellow backOldOcean's thund'ring roar.
From age to age they brave the hostile main,
And form a bulwark round thy blooming
plains.

May Gaul, proud Gaul, behold thy towers

fo ftrong,

[among! And fear to launch her fleets the deeps Reft on her arms with dark fufpended ire, Cool'd the fierce ardours of the martial fire, Till War, dire fcourge, forfake my native land,

And Peace, fweet Peace, from Paradife defcend. LAVINIA. Near Shafton.

THE FLOWER GIRL'S CRY.
BY THE LATE MISS SYMMONS;
ET. 11, 1800.

NOME buy my Wood Hare-bells, my [fweet; O take my Carnations and Jeffamines Left their beauties fhould wither, their

CCB blip nye buy

perfumes fhould die; [tive retreat. Ah! fnatch'd, like myself, from their naO ye, who in pleasure and luxury live, Whofe bofoms would fink beneath half

my fad woes;

Ah! deign to my cry a kind anfwer to give, And fhed a foft tear for the fate of poor Rofe.

Yet, once were my days happy, fweet, and ferene, [pofe;

And once have I tafted the balm of ReBut now on my cheek meagre Famine is feen, [Rofe.

And Anguish prevails in the bofom of Then buy my Wood Harebells, my Cowflips come buy; . [fweet; O take my Carnations and Jeffamines Left their beauties fhould wither, their perfumes fhould die; [tive retreat. Ah! Inatch'd, like myfelf, from their na

TO MEMORY.

BY THE SAME.

HALL, Memory! celeftial maid,

Who lov'ft with Solitude to dwell; Under the mountain's ragged fhade Retir'd within thy penfive cell.

O thou, my mingled joy and woe,

Sweet fource of every burfting figh! Who bidd'st these filent forrows flow: Hail, heaven-born foothing Memory! The sky is clad in tendereft blue,

And Zephyr fpreads his balmy wing; The bending flowret weeps with dew; The bird's foft fong falutes the fpringYet, far retir'd from this gay scene, From Solitude, and thee, I feek My friend's foft figh, her fmile ferene, Her fpeaking eye, her moiftened check Come then, and foothe my labouring heart; Come awful power; come sweeteft maid; O hafte, my Lucia's fmile impart, Ahd leave the mountain's ragged fhade.

N

THE HARE-BELL...

BY THE SAME.

Spring's green lap there blooms a
Who fips fresh Nature's balmy dew,
Whofe cups imbibe each vernal show'r;
Clad in her sweetest pureft blue;
Yet fhuns the ruddy beam of Morning,
The fhaggy wood's brown fhade adorning;
Simple floweret! child of May!
Though hid from the broad eye of day;
Though doom'd to wafte thofe penfive
graces,

In the wild wood's dark embraces;
In defert airs thy fweets to fhed,
Unnotic'd droop thy languid head;
Still Nature's darling thou'lt remain;
She feeds thee with her softest rain;
Fills each fweet bell with honied tears,
With genial gales thy bloffom cheers.
Still then unfold thy bashful charms,
In yon deep thicket's circling arms;
Far from the common eye's coarse glare,
No heedlefs hand shall harm thee there.
Still then avoid the gaudy scene,
The flaunting fun, th'embroider'd green;
And bloom and fade, with chafte re-
ferve unfeen.

And fhadows fail along the green,"
And birds are ftill, and winds ferene,
I wander filently.-

And while my lone step prints the dew,
Dear are the dreams that bless my.view;
To Memory's eye the maid appears,
For whom have fprung my fweetest tears,
So oft fo tenderly..

I fee her, as, with graceful care,
She binds her braids of funny hair;

feel her harp's melodious thrill--· trike to my heart-and thence be ftill. I Re-echo'd faithfully.

meet her mild and quiet eye, Jrink the warm fpirit of her figh; ee young Love beating at her breaft, and with to mine its pulfes preft;

God knows how fervently!

uch are the hours of dear Delight; and morn but makes me long for night, And think how fwift the minutes flew, When laft amongst the dropping dew, I wander'd filently.

FROM THE SAME.

[MET Love wandering o'er the wild,
In femblance of a fimple child;
heard his name, and in the found,
to much of sweet Perfuafion found,
Fhat, piteous of his tears, I preft
The little darling to my breaft;
And watch'd his quiet flumbers there,
With all a father's tender care.
From day to day the orphan grew,
And with him, my affection too;
Till at the laft, around my mind
The winning boy fo clofely twin'd;
learnt his baby form to prize,
Like one of thofe within mine eyes,
And lov'd the young adopted more
Than ever fire did fon before.

I had a bank of favourite flowers,
Which bloffom'd e'en in wintry hours';
Content, the bofom's thornlefs rofe,
And Innocence, the heart's repofe.
Love like a rude and wanton boy,
Broke into my bow'rs of joy,
Tore Content's young roles hence,
Kill'd Repose-and Innocence!

Ah! wretch! what mifchiefs haft thou done,

To him who lov'd thee like a fon!
How could't thou dim the doating eyes,
Which did thee like their babies prize?
How break the heart of him who preft
Thee, cold and weeping, to his breaft!
And watch'd thy quiet flumbers there
With all a father's tender care!

H*

BY MASTER T. ROMNEY ROBINSON. ARK! midft the gloom of Lagan's winding fhores, [ftartled earYon mournful knell loud thrills the While freed from life, a much-lov'd Spi[a tear.

rit foars, And claims on earth the tribute of See dark December tears his robes of fnow, Cold icy dew his hoary locks deforms, And with th'expiring Year, departing flow, Sighs midft the whirlwind of his rushing ftorms.

In Fancy's wreath no gem refplendent [rends

fhines

Her frantic han the flow'ry girland

Funereal Cyprets round her brow the {bands!

twines,

し