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From the fair natives of this peerless hill

Thou gav'st the sheep that browze Iberian plains : Their plaintive cries' the faithless region fill,

Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains.

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Will no bright maid, by worth, by titles known,

Give the rich growth of British hills to fame? And let her charms, and her example, own That virtue's dress, and beauty's are the same ?

F 2

Will

"Will no fam'd chief support this gen'rous maid:
Once more the patriot's arduous path resume?

And, comely from his native plains array'd,
Speak future glory to the British loom?

What pow'r unseen my ravish'd fancy fires?

I pierce the dreary made of future days; Sure 'tis the genius of the land inspires,

To breathe my latest breath in * * * praise.

O might my breath for * * * praise susfice,
How gently shou'd my dying limbs repose!

O might his future glory bless mine eyes,

My ravish'd eyes ! how calmly wou'd they close!

* * * was born to spread the gen'ral joy;

By virtue rapt, by party uncontroul'd; Britons for Britain shall the crook employ;

Britons for Britain's glory shear the fold."

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A GAIN the lab'ring hind inverts the soil,

Again the merchant ploughs the tumid wave; Another spring renews the soldier's toil,

And finds mę vacant in the rural cave.

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Damon, she cry'd, if pleas'd with honest praise,
Thou court success by virtue or by song,

Fly the false dictates of the venal race;
Fly the gross accents of the venal tongue.

Sweir that no lucre shall thy zeal betray

Swerve not thy foot with fortune's vot'ries more;

Brand thou their lives, and brand their lifeless day—
The winning phantom urg'd me, and I swore.

Forth from the rustic altar swift I stray'd,
"Aid my firm purpose, ye celestial pow'rs!

Aid me to quell the sordid breast, I said;

And * threw my jav'lin tow'rds their hostile tow'rs.

Think not regretful I survey the deed;
Or added years no more the zeal allow;

Still, still observant to the grove I speed,
The shrine embellish, and repeat the vow.

Sworn from his cradle Rome's relentless foe,

Such gen'rous hate the f Punic champion bore;

Thy lake, O Thrasimene! beheld it glow,

And Cannæ's walls, and Trebia's crimson shore.

* The Roman ceremony in declaring war. f Hannibal.

But But let grave annals pakrt the warrior's fame;

Fair shine his arms in history enroll'd; "Whilst humbler lyres his civil worth proclaim,

His nobler hate of avarice and gold.—

Now Punic pride its sinal eve survey'd;

Its hosts exhausted, and its fleets on fire; Patient the victors lurid frown obey'd,

And saw th' unwilling elephants retire.

But when their gold depress'd the yielding scale,
Their gold, in pyramidic plenty piTd,

He saw th' unutterable grief prevail ^

He saw their tears, and, in his fury, fmil'd.

Think not, he cry'd, ye view the smiles of ease,
Or this firm breast disclaims a patriot's pain;

I smile, but from a soul estrang'd to peace,
Frantic with grief, delirious with disdain!

But were it cordial, this detested smile,

Seems it less timely than the grief ye shew?

O sons of Carthage! grant me to revile
The sordid source of your indecent woe 1

Why weep ye now! ye saw with tearless eye

When your fleet peristt'd on the Punic wave .* . Where lurk'd the coward tear, the lazy sigh, . When Tyre's imperial state commene'd a slave?

F 4 JTis

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