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Let the proud Soldan wound th’ Arcadian groves,
Or with rude lips th’ Aonian fount profane ; The muse no more by flow'ry LADON roves,
She seeks her THOMSON, on the British plain,
Tell not of realms by ruthless war dismay'd;
As hapless realms that war's oppression feel ! In vain may Austria boast her Noric blade,
If AUSTRIA bleed beneath her boasted steel.
Beneath her palm Idume vents her moan;
Raptur'd she once beheld its friendly shade! And hoary Memphis boasts her tombs alone,
The mournful types of mighty pow'r decay'd !
No crescent here displays its baneful horns ;
No turband host the voice of truth reproves ; Learning's free source the fage's breast adorns,
And poets, not inglorious, chaunt their loves.
Boast, favour'd Media, boast thy flow'ry stores ;
Thy thousand hues by chymic suns refin'd; 'Tis not the dress or mien
While*Greenville's breast cou'dvirtue's stores afford,
What envy'd flota bore so fair a freight ?
its lustre, and the gold its weight.
Thee GREENVILLE, thee with calmest courage fraught,
Thee the lov’d image of thy native shore ! Thee by the virtues arm’d, the graces taught,
When shall we cease to boast, or to deplore ?
Presumptuous war, which could thy life destroy,
What shall it now in recompence decree? While friends that merit every earthly joy,
Feel every anguilh ; feel—the loss of thee!
Bid me no more a fervile realm compare,
No more the muse of partial praise arraign; Britannia sees no foreign breast so fair,
And if the glory, glories not in vain.
& The Pinns л family vetera at far: - jeranga mi Worcestershire: of this For
بر رو دارم که از سه بار به بروز •
In memory of a * private family in WORCESTERSHIRE.
ROM a lone tow'r with revrend ivy crown'd,
The pealing bell awak'd a tender sigh; Still, as the village caught the waving sound,
A swelling tear distream'd from ev'ry eye.
So droop’d, I ween, each Briton's breast of old,
When the dull curfew spoke their freedom fled; For sighing as the mournful accent rolld,
Our hope, they cry'd, our kind support, is dead!
'Twas good PALEMON-near a shaded pool,
A groupe of ancient elms umbrageous rose ; The flocking rooks, by instincts native rule,
This peaceful scene, for their afylum, chose.
A few small spires, to Gothic fancy fair,
Amid the shades emerging, struck the view; 'Twas here his youth respir'd its earliest air ;
'Twas here his age breath'd out its last adieu.
The penns of HARBOROUGH; a place whose name in the Saxon language, alludes to an arme. And there is a tradition tha miftake that there was a battle fought, on the Downs adjoining, betwixt the BRITONS and the ROMANS.
One favour'd son engag'd his tenderest care ;
One pious youth his whole affection crown’d: In his
young breast the virtues sprung so fair, Such charms display'd, such sweets diffus’d around
But whilst gay transport in his face appears,
A noxious vapour clogs the poison’d sky; Blasts the fair crop-the fire is drown’d in tears,
And, scarce surviving, sees his Cynthio die!
O'er the pale corse we saw him gently bend;
Heart-chill’d with grief-my thread, he cry’d, is spun! “ If heav'n had meant I shou'd my life extend, Heav'n had presery'd my life's support, my fon.
Snatch'd in thy prime! alas the stroke were mild,
my frail form obey'd the fates' decree! Bleft were my lot, O Cynthio! O my child !
Had heav'n fo pleas’d, and I had dy'd for thee.”
Five Neepless nights he stem'd this tide of woes;
Five irksome suns he saw, thro' tears, forlorn! On his pale corse the sixth fad morning rose;
From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne.
'Twas on those * downs, by Roman hosts annoy'd,
Fought our bold fathers; rustic, unrefin'd! Freedom's plain fons, in martial cares employ'd ! They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their mind.
'Twas * HARBOROUGH Downs,
'Twas there, in happier times, this virtuous race,
Of milder merit, fix'd their calm retreat; War's deadly crimson had forsook the place,
And freedom fondly loy'd the chosen feat.
No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breast,
To swell with empty sounds a spotless name ; If fostring skies, the sun, the show'r were blest,
Their bounty spread; their field's extent the same.
Those fields, profuse of raiment, food, and fire,
They scorn'd to lessen, careless to extend ; Bade luxury, to lavish courts aspire,
And avarice, to city-breasts descend.
None, to a virgin's mind, prefer'd her dow'r;
To fire with vicious hopes a modest heir : The fire, in place of titles, wealth, or pow'r,
Align’d him virtue ; and his lot was fair..
They spoke of fortune, as some doubtful dame,
That sway'd the natives of a distant sphere; From lucre’s vagrant fons had learnt her fame,
But never wish'd to place her banners here.
Here youth's free spirit, innocently gay,
Enjoy'd the most that innocence can give; Those wholesome sweets, that border virtue's way ; Those cooling fruits, that we may taste and live. E 3