Slave though I be, to Delia's eyes a slave,
My Delia's eyes endear the bands I wear;
The sigh she causes, well becomes the brave;
The pang she causes, 'tis ev'n bliss to bear.
See the poor native quit the Libyan shores,
Ah! not in love's delightful fetters bound:
No radiant smile his dying peace restores,
Nor love, nor fame, nor friendship, heals his wound.
Let vacant bards display their boasted woes;
Shall I the mockery of grief display?
No; let the Muse his piercing pangs disclose,
Who bleeds and weeps his sum of life away!
On the wild beach in mournful guise he stood,
Ere the shrill boatswain gave the hated sign;
He drop'd a tear unseen into the flood,

He stole one secret moment to repine.
Yet the Muse listen'd to the plaints he made,
Such moving plaints as Nature could inspire;
To me the Muse his tender plea convey'd,

But smooth'd and suited to the sounding lyre. "Why am I ravish'd from my native strand?

What savage race protects this impious gain? Shall foreign plagues infest this teeming land, [main? And more than sea-born monsters plough the "Here the dire locusts' horrid swarms prevail;

Here the blue asps with livid poison swell; Here the dry dipsa writhes his sinuous mail; Can we not here secure from envy dwell? "When the grim lion urg'd his cruel chase, When the stern panther sought his midnight prey; What fate reserv'd me for this Christian race?* O race more polish'd, more severe, than they!

* Spoken by a Savage.

"Ye prowling wolves! pursue my latest cries; Thou, hungry tiger! leave thy reeking den; Ye sandy wastes! in rapid eddies rise;

O tear me from the whips and scorns of men! 'Yet in their face superior beauty glows;

Are smiles the mien of rapine and of wrong? Yet from their lips the voice of mercy flows, And ev'n religion dwells upon their tongue. Of blissful haunts they tell, and brighter climes, Where gentle minds, convey'd by Death, repair; But stain'd with blood, and crimson'd o'er with crimes,

Say, shall they merit what they paint so fair? 'No: careless, hopeless of those fertile plains, Rich by our toils, and by our sorrows gay; They ply our labours and enhance our pains, And feign those distant regions to repay.

"For them our tusky elephant expires;

For them we drain the mine's embowell'd gold; Where rove the brutal nations' wild desires?Our limbs are purchas'd, and our life is sold!

"Yet shores there are, bless'd shores for us remain, And favour'd isles, with golden fruitage crown'd, Where tufted flowerets paint the verdant plain, Where every breeze shall med'cine every wound. "There the stern tyrant that embitters life

Shall, vainly suppliant, spread his asking hand; There shall we view the billows' raging strife, Aid the kind breast, and waft his boat to land.'

H 2

TAKING A VIEW OF THE COUNTRY FROM HIS

RETIREMENT, HE IS LED TO MEDITATE ON THE CHARACTER OF THE ANCIENT BRITONS. WRITTEN AT THE TIME OF A RUMOURED TAX UPON LUXURY, 1746.

THUS Damon sung What though unknown to praise,

Umbrageous coverts hide my Muse and me, Or mid the rural shepherds flow my days: Amid the rural shepherds I am free.

"To view sleek vassals crowd a stately hall, Say, should I grow myself a solemn slave? To find thy tints, O Titian! grace my wall, Forego the flowery fields my fortune gave? 'Lord of my time, my devious path I bend Through fringy woodland, or smooth-shaven lawn, Or pensile grove, or airy cliff ascend;

And hail the scene by nature's pencil drawn. Thanks be to Fate-though nor the racy vine, Nor fattening olive clothe the fields I rove; Sequester'd shades and gurgling founts are mine, And every sylvan grot the Muses love.

'Here if my vista point the mouldering pile, Where hood and cowl Devotion's aspect wore;

I trace the tottering relics with a smile,

To think the mental bondage is no more.

'Pleas'd if the glowing landscape wave with corn, Or the tall oaks, my country's bulwark, rise; Pleas'd if mine eye, o'er thousand vallies borne, Discern the Cambrian hills support the skies.

And see, Plinlimmon ! ev'n the youthful sight Scales the proud hill's ethereal cliffs with pain: Such, Caer-Caradoc! thy stupendous height,

Whose ample shade obscures the' Iernian main.

'Bleak, joyless regions! where by science fir'd, Some prying sage his lonely step may bend; There, by the love of novel plants inspir'd

Invidious view the clambering goats ascend.

'Yet for those mountains, clad with lasting snow, The free-born Briton left his greenest mead, Receding sullen from his mightier foe,

For here he saw fair Liberty recede.

Then if a chief perform'd a patriot's part, Sustain❜d her drooping sons, repell'd her foes; Above or Persian luxe or Attic art,

The rude majestic monument arose.

'Progressive ages caroll'd forth his fame,

Sires to his praise attun'd their children's tongue, The hoary druid fed the generous flame,

While in such strains the reverend wizard sung

"Go forth, my sons!-for what is vital breath,
Your gods expell'd, your liberty resign'd?
Go forth, my sons!-for what is instant death
To souls secure perennial joys to find?

"For scenes there are, unknown to war or pain, Where drops the balm that heals a tyrant's wound; Where patriots, bless'd with boundless freedom, reign,

With misletoe's mysterious garlands crown'd.

6

"Such are the names that grace your mystic songs,
Your solemn woods resound their martial fire;
To you, my sons! the ritual meed belongs,
If in the cause you vanquish or expire.

"Hark! from the sacred oak that crowns the groves What awful voice my raptur'd bosom warms! This is the favour'd moment Heaven approves, Sound the shrill trump; this instant sound, to arms."

Theirs was the science of a martial race,
To shape the lance or decorate the shield;
Ev'n the fair virgin stain'd her native grace
To give new horrors to the tented field.

Now for some cheek where guilty blushes glow,
For some false Florimel's impure disguise;
The listed youth nor War's loud signal know,
Nor Virtue's call, nor Fame's imperial prize.

• Then, if soft concord lull'd their fears to sleep, Inert and silent slept the manly car,

But rush'd horrific o'er the fearful steep,

If freedom's awful clarion breath'd to war.

* Now the sleek courtier, indolent and vain,
Thron'd in the splendid carriage, glides supine,
To taint his virtue with a foreign strain,
Or at a favourite's board his faith resign.

Leave then, O, Luxury! this happy soil;
Chase her, Britannia! to some hostile shore;
Or fleece the baneful pest with annual spoil*,
And let thy virtuous offspring weep no more.'

* Alludes to a tax upon luxury, then in debate.