For them our tusky elephant expires;

For them we drain the mine's embowel'd gold; Where rove the brutal nations' wild desires ?--

Our limbs are purchased, 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 medicine 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.'

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 silvan 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. 'Pleased if the glowing landscape wave with corn, Or the tall oaks, my country's bulwark, rise; Pleased if mine eye, o'er thousand valleys borne, Discern the Cambrian hills support the skies. And see, Plinlimmon! e'en the youthful sight Scales the proud hill's etherial cliffs with pain: Such, Caer-Caradoc! thy stupendous height,

Whose ample shade obscures the' Iernian main. 'Bleak, joyless regions! where, by Science fired, Some prying sage his lonely step may bend; There, by the love of novel plants inspired, *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 attuned 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 mistletoe's mysterious garlands crown'd.

"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 raptured 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; E'en 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 breathed to war.

New the sleek courtier, indolent and vain, Throned 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.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR

WHEN THE RIGHTS OF

SEPULTURE WERE SO FREQUENTLY VIOLATED.

SAY, gentle Sleep! that lovest the gloom of night, Parent of dreams! thou great magician! say, Whence my late vision thus endures the light, Thus haunts my fancy through the glare of day. The silent Moon had scaled the vaulted skies, And anxious Care resign'd my limbs to rest; A sudden lustre struck my wondering eyes,

And Silvia stood before my couch confess'd,

Ah! not the nymph so blooming and so gay, That led the dance beneath the festive shade, But she that, in the morning of her day,

Entomb'd beneath the grass-green sod was laid. No more her eyes their wonted radiance cast,

No more her breast inspired the lover's flame; No more her cheek the Pæstan rose surpass'd, Yet seem'd her lips' etherial smile the same,

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

Nor such her hair as deck'd her living face,
Nor such her voice as charm'd the listening
crowd;

Nor such her dress as heighten'd every grace;
Alas! all vanish'd for the mournful shroud.
Yet seem'd her lips' etherial charm the same;
That dear distinction every doubt removed;
Perish the lover whose imperfect flame

Forgets one feature of the nymph he loved!
'Damon, (she said) mine hour allotted flies;
Oh! do not waste it with a fruitless tear:
Though grieved to see thy Silvia's pale disguise,
Suspend thy sorrow, and attentive hear.

'So may thy Muse with virtuous fame be bless'd! So be thy love with mutual love repaid! So may thy bones in sacred silence rest!

Fast by the relics of some happier maid!

Thou know'st how, lingering on a distant shore, Disease invidious nipp'd my flowery prime; And, oh! what pangs my tender bosom tore, To think I ne'er must view my native clime! 'No friend was near to raise my drooping head, No dear companion wept to see me die; Lodge me within my native soil; (I said) "There my fond parents' honour'd relics lie. Though now debarr'd of each domestic tear, Unknown, forgot, I meet the fatal blow; There many a friend shall grace my woful bier, And many a sigh shall rise and tear shall flow." 'I spoke, nor Fate forebore his trembling spoil; Some venal mourner lent his careless aid, And soon they bore me to my native soil, Where my fond parents' dear remains were laid.