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Forth iffuing from the Scean gate,
For ten long years delaying Fate,
The black battalions rife ;
They hear their fhouts, their loud alarms,
Again the world is bright in arms,
Again! again! a woman is the prize!
They tread no more on Attic ground,
They think no more of fallen Troy,
They fee her with her glory crown'd,
And burn with fury to destroy;
'Gainst Hector's felf in thought advance,
Raise the broad fhield, and grasp the quiv'ring lance,
Such was the power of Homer's fong;
Refiftlefs ftill his numbers flow,
As Alpine torrents forc'd along,
Swell'd by the melting of the winter's fnow.
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[From the Morning Chronicle.]
STOP, courteous ftranger, and with joyful eye
Mark this proud column, tow'ring to the sky;
And, if thy breaft with love of Freedom glows,
Feel all the pride a British patriot knows.
This fpot, where Thames glides gently to the main,
Gave the first blow to Superftition's reign;
Here the first stand 'gainft lawless fway was made,
And in the duft defpotic Pow'r was laid!
Here the first struggles for fair Freedom's cause
To the poor vaffal gave both rights and laws,
When Albion's warlike fons in days of yore
In fhining arms their brave retainers bore,
Humbled a Tyrant whom no tie could bind,
Crafty, revengeful, bigoted, and blind;
And left a leffon for the lateft age-
No brighter leffon in your country's page!
But oh, remember, what their valour gave,
Your firmness, conftancy alone can fave.
View wealthy Athens with her wide domain,
Like you triumphant o'er the azure main ;
View Tyre's gay palaces and crowded mole,
Whofe flag, like yours, was wav'd at either pole;
View haughty Rome, long fince to ruin hurl'd,
Like you, once miftrefs of a fubject world,
By Wealth diffolv'd in Pleasure's flow'ry train,
Unnerv'd, unmann'd, though infolent and vain,
When ripe for ruin, funk without a blow
Beneath a foreign or domeflic foe!
Then by these barons, once your pride and boaft,
By the great Alfred's wife and awful ghost,
By Sydney's fraffold and by Ruffell's doom,
By virtuous Hampden's much-lamented tomb,
By all that Charles, by all that James defign'd,
By the Eighth Henry's fierce, defpotic mind,
Guard for your children, as their greatest good,
The freedom gain'd by your forefathers' blood;
Tranfmit that bleffing, firft of all below,
By which Misfortune lofes half its woe.
Be you, though others fhrink feduc'd by gold,
Firft with the brave and foremost with the bold;
Whilst some are frighten'd, fome enflav'd by Pow'r,
In the laft rampart, to the latest hour,
True in Desertion, in Corruption found,
Firm at your poft may you be ever found!
But, if ordain'd by Fate that fall we must,
And this proud fabric 's levell'd with the duft;
If vain the ftruggle, and you 're doom'd a flave,
Sink in the ruins that you cannot fave.
LINES UPON AN OLD ABBEY,
WITHIN TWENTY MILES OF LONDON.
BY W. J. DENISON, ESQ.
NO thoughtful Prieft in yonder mofs-clad tower
Trims the pale lamp at midnight's filent hour;
No ev'ning vefpers with their folemn knell
Roufe Contemplation from her penfive cell;
The mould'ring cloifter and the ivied wall
No longer hear Misfortune's plaintive call,
No more the altar views the Virgin's tear,
Youth's modeft blufh, and foft bewitching fear;
When the sweet girl, her mother's darling pride,
With anxious hope, becomes the blooming bride.
No parish politics are canvafs'd o'er
Ere the grey fexton opes the massy door;
No cheerful bell the hamlet calls to pray'r,
And gives to toil a fhort reprieve from care.
No anthem 's chanted through the roofless quire----
No facred precepts teach us to afpire;
Teach us the changes of this tranfient state,
Arm us to meet the awful blow of Fate.
No more yon pile views Friendship's foften'd eye,
Its mournful look, its agonizing figh;
No more it views Affection's bursting tear,
When youth and beauty fill the fable bier;
Or fome fond parent, filver'd o'er with age,
Quits for a better-life's eventful stage.
The neighb'ring peafant at the close of day
Feels Superftition's vile degrading fway;
In trembling hafte, pale with unmanly fright,
Avoids thy precincts at the dufk of night;
Ideal forms his falt'ring step affail;
The nurfe's legend, and the goffip's tale.-
Emblem you ftand; whatever mortal 's made,
Like you, alas! muft fink, decay, and fade;
Like all the empires fam'd in days of yore,
Though now forgot on cold Oblivion's fhore.-
Where's Thebes or Memphis with their lofty wall,
In ruin great, majestic in their fall;
Where first 'midft rude and savage tribes we find
That ray of Heav'n-the cultivated mind;
Where laws, where fcience beam'd their cheering light?
Loft beyond hope, in ignorance and night.
Where's all that Athens, all that Greece beftow'd-
The fage, the hero's once belov'd abode ?
Cradle of Genius, Liberty, and Art ;
Whate'er can soften, or can fire the heart :
Where's all that Socrates, that Plato taught?
Where's all Praxiteles or Phidias wrought?
Her groves, her forums, and each learned hall,
(Which Mem'ry's sad, though soothing thoughts recall ;)
Her works of proud magnificence and grace,
Destroy'd by Othman's unrelenting race;
Her trophies gone-her glories all decay'd;
Artifts and ftatefmen in one ruin laid.-
Where are the cities Perfia's monarchs rul'd,
With all their wealth-" barbaric pearl and gold?
Where's proud Perfepolis's ftately tower,
The scene of pomp, of pleasure, and of power?
Each gilded palace, and each glitt'ring fpire,
Sunk in the flames to please a Strumpet's ire;
Ages ago, a veftige scarce remain'd
Where Cyrus triumph'd, or Darius reign'd.
E'en haughty Rome, whom once the world obey'd,
Long fince the forfeit of ambition paid;
Her tow'ring eagles in their turn brought low,
Her temples plunder'd by a barb'rous foe;
Unnerv'd, unmann'd by Superftition's rod,
Though kings and princes trembled at her nod;
Sunk and debas'd to Gallia's fervile tool,
Though once her Cæfars bore imperial rule;
No friend to pity, and no arm to fave,
She with her vaffals fhares one common grave.
Perhaps, alas! fome ftranger here will fay,
When diftant ages fhall have roll'd away;
When Commerce, tranfient as the April gale,
For other regions hoifts her fickle fail;
When he no more her golden treasure pours,
And Empire feeks Columbia's rifing shores;
When Albion's felf, unftain'd by guilt or crime,
Falls the fad victim of remorseless Time;
Albion diftinguifl'd from her earliest birth,
For mind, for talent, probity, and worth;
(Where no harsh lines life's varying ranks divide,
Nor dawning merit 's cramp'd by feudal pride;)
Who oft for Europe pour'd her gen'rous blood,
Brav'd ev'ry danger, ev'ry toil withflood;
Who nobly rofe above the meaner crowd,
And fpar'd the feeble, while fhe crush'd the proud;
When all her laurels, all her triumphs fade;
When the whole fabric finks in endless fhade;
When Locke, when Milton, and when Marlbro's fame,
When Shakspeare's felf is but an empty name;
When weeping Freedom shall her Fox deplore,
His matchlefs thunders fhall be heard no more,
(Such as of old immortal Tully pour'd,
When Rome's great matter first to empire foar'd;
Such as of old made haughty Philip fear,
And dread their magic more than Phocion's fpear ;) ·
When he no longer pleads Misfortune's caufe,
The guard, the bulwark of his country's laws;
And, like thofe rivals of his heav'nly art,
Lives but to warm the embryo patriot's heart;
Some penfive moralift, perhaps, will fay,
Pointing to turrets, theu with Time grown grey :
"Thofe diftant ruins on the defert plain
Shew where Augufta held her splendid reign;
Augufta once, of Trade the crowded mart;
The feat of Empire, Elegance, and Art;
Adorn'd with Beauty's fafcinating fimile,
The charm, the boaft of Britain's favour'd ifle,
(Form'd for the friend, the mother, and the wife,
Or the gay walks of high and polish'd life ;)
Whofe free-born fons each manly virtue join'd
With Heav'n's best gift, a gen'rous, feeling mind;
That stay of Europe, and that fcourge of France,
Seems like a tale, a phantom of romance:
Her feats of Learning, and her claffic bowers,
Where Taste and Science cull'd the fairest flowers;
Her melting charities of ev'ry form,
Which ev'ry victim fhelter'd from the storm;
Her trophied halls that Gallia's fpoils display,
The well-earn'd fruits of many a hard-fought day;
Those matchlefs works, where Art with Nature vied,
The ftranger's wonder, and the Briton's pride;
Thofe fimiling hamlets Industry bestow'd,
Where each mild virtue fix'd its bleft abode;
That fenfe of honour, and that dread of fhame,
Which fir'd the peafant and the peer the fame;
That energy throughout the globe difplay'd;
Thofe colonies which empires once obey'd;
That conqu'ring fleet which kept a world in awe ;
That boafted prefs; that mild, impartial law,
Which guarded all with juft and equal care;
The whole are vanifh'd into empty air:
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