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And shrub of fragrant leaf, that clothes their sides
CORSICA.

With living verdure; whence the clustering bee
Extracts her golden dews : the shining box

And sweet-leaved myrtle, aromatic thyme,
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1760

The prickly juniper, and the green leaf

Which feeds the spinning worm; while glowing
A manly race
Of unsubunitting spirit, wise and brave ;

bright
Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard

Beneath the various foliage, wildly spreads
To hold a generous undiminish'd state;

The arbutus, and rears his scarlet fruit
Too much in vain

Luxuriant, mantling o'er the craggy steeps ;
THOMSON.

And thy own native laurel crowns the scene. Hail, generous Corsica! unconquer'd isle !

Hail to thy savage forests, awful, deep; The fort of freedom; that amidst the waves

Thy tangled thickets, and thy crowded woods, Stands like a rock of adamant, and dares

The haunt of herds untamed; which sullen bound The wildest sury of the beating storm.

From rock to rock with fierce unsocial air, And are there yet, in this late sickly age,

And wilder gaze, as conscious of the power Unkindly to the towering growths of virtue,

That loves to reign amid the lonely scenes Such bold exalted spirits ? Men whose deeds,

Of unquellid nature : precipices huge, To the bright annals of old Greece opposed,

And tumbling torrents ; trackless deserts, plains Would throw in shades her yet unrivallid name,

Fenced in with guardian rocks, whose quarries And dim the lustre of her fairest page! And glows the flame of Liberty so strong

With shining steel, that to the cultured fields In this lone speck of earth! this spot obscure,

And sunny hills which wave with bearded grain, Shaggy with woods, and crusted o'er with rock,

Defends their homely produce. Liberty, By slaves surrounded, and by slaves oppress'd!

The mountain goddess, loves to range at large What then should Britons feel ?—should they not Amid such scenes, and on the iron soil catch

Prints her majestic step. For these she scorns The warm contagion of heroic ardour,

The green enamell’d vales, the velvet lap And kindle at a fire so like their own?

Of smooth savannahs, where the pillow'd head Such were the working thoughts which swell's Of luxury reposes ; balmy gales, the breast

And bowers that breathe of bliss. For these. of generous Boswell; when with nobler aim

when first And views beyond the narrow beaten track This isle emerging like a beauteous gem By trivial fancy trod, he turn’d his course

From the dark bosom of the Tyrrhene main, From polish'd Gallia's soft delicious vales, Rear'd its fair front, she mark'd it for her own, From the gray relics of imperial Rome,

And with her spirit warm’d. Her genuine sons, From her long galleries of laurelld stone, A broken remnant, from the generous stock Her chisellid heroes and her marble gods,

Of ancient Greece, from Sparta's sad remains, Whose dumb majestic pomp yet awes the world, True to their high descent, preserved unquench'd To animated forms of patriot zeal;

The sacred fire through many a barbarous age : Warm in the living majesty of virtue ;

Whom, nor the iron rod of cruel Carthage,
Elate with fearless spirit; firm; resolved ; Nor the dread sceptre of imperial Rome,
By fortune nor subdued, nor awed by power. Nor bloody Goth, nor grisly Saracen,
How raptured fancy burns, while warm in Nor the long galling yoke of proud Liguria,
thought

Could crush into subjection. Still unquell'd
I trace the pictured landscape ; while I kiss They rose superior, bursting from their chains,
With pilgrim lips devout the sacred soil

And claim'd man's dearest birthright, liberty : Stain'd with the blood of heroes. Cyrnus, hail! And long, through many a hard unequal strife, Hail to thy rocky, deep indented shores,

Maintain'd the glorious conflict; long withstoud, And pointed clifts, which hear the chafing deep With single arm, the whole collected force Incessant foaming round thy shaggy sides. Or haughty Genoa, and ambitious Gan). Hail to thy winding bays, thy sheltering ports, And shall withstand it-Trust the faithful muse' And ample harbours, which inviting stretch It is not in the force of mortal arm, Their hospitable arms to every sail :

Scarcely in fate, to bind the struggling soul Thy numerous streams, that bursting from the That gall’d by wanton power, indignant swells cliffs

Against oppression ; breathing great revenge, Down the steep channell’d rock impetuous pour Careless of life, determined to be free. With grateful murmur: on the fearful edge And favouring Heaven approves : for see the or the rude precipice, thy hamlets brown And straw-roof'd cots, which from the level vale Born to exalt his own, and give mankind Scarce seen, amongst the craggy hanging cliffs A glimpse of higher natures : just, as great; Seem like an eagle's nest aërial built.

The soul of council, and the nerve of war, Thy swelling mountains, brown with solemn Of high unshaken spirit, temper'd sweet shade

With soft urbanity, and polish'd grace, of various trees, that wave their giant arms And attic wit, and gay unstudied smiles : O'er the rough sons of freedom; lofty pines, Whom Heaven in some propitious hour endow'd And hardy fir, and ilex ever green,

With every purer virtue : gave him all And spreading chestnut, with each humbler plant, | That lifts the hero, or adorns the man.

man,

Gave him the eye sublime; the searching glance, To after-ages, and applauding worlds
Keen, scanning deep, that smites the guilty soul Shall bless the godlike man who saved his country.
As with a beam from heaven: on his brow
Serene, and spacious front, set the broad seal
Of dignity and rule; then smiled benign

So vainly wish'd, so fondly hoped the muse :
On this fair pattern of a God below, (breast

Too fondly hoped. The iron fates prevail, High wrought, and breathed into his swelling And Cyrus is no more. Her generous sons, The large ambitious wish to save his country.

Less vanquish'd than o'erwhelm'd, by numbers

crush'd, O beauteous title to immortal fame! The man devoted to the public, stands

Admired, unaided fell. So strives the moon In the bright records of superior worth,

In dubious battle with the gathering clouds, A step below the skies : if he succeed,

And strikes a splendour through them; till at The first fair lot which earth affords, is his ;

length And if he falls, he falls above a throne.

Storms rolled on storms involve the face of heaven When such their leader, can the brave despair ?

And quench her struggling fires. Forgive the zeal Freedom the cause, and Paoli the chief!

That, too presumptuous, whisper'd better things, Success to your fair hopes? A British muse,

And read the book of destiny amiss. Though weak and powerless, lifts her fervent Not with the purple colouring of success voice,

Is virtue best adorn'd: th' attempt is praise. And breathes a prayer for your success. O could

There yet remains a freedom, nobler far She scatter blessings as the morn sheds dows,

Than kings or senates can destroy or give ; To drop upon your heads! But patient hope

Beyond the proud oppressor's cruel grasp Must wait th' appointed hour; secure of this,

Seated secure, uninjured, undestroy'd ;
That never with the indolent and weak

Worthy of gods :—the freedom of the mind.
Will Freedom deign to dwell ; she must be seized
By that bold arm that wrestles for the blessing :
*Tis Heaven's best prize, and must be bought with

blood.
When the storm thickens, when the combat burns,

THE MOUSE'S PETITION.
And pain and death in every horrid shape
That can appal the feeble, prowl around,

O HEAR a pensive prisoner's prayer,
Then Virtue triumphs ; then her towering form

For liberty that sighs : Dilates with kindling majesty ; her mien

And never let thine heart be shut
Breathes a diviner spirit, and enlarged

Against the wretch's cries !
Each spreading feature, with an ampler port
And bolder tone, exulting, rides the storm,

For here forlorn and sad I si:
And joys arnidst the tempest. Then she reaps

Within the wiry grate ; Her golden harvest ; fruits of nobler growth

And tremble at th' approaching morn,
And higher relish than meridian suns

Which brings impending fate.
Can ever ripen; fair, heroic deeds,
And godlike action. 'Tis not meats and drinks,

If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And balmy airs, and vernal suns and showers,

And spurn'd a tyrant's chain, That feed and ripen minds; 'tis toil and danger;

Let not thy strong oppressive force
And wrestling with the stubborn gripe of fate ;

A free-born mouse detain !
And war, and sharp distress, and paths obscure
And dubious. The bold swimmer joys not so

O do not stain with guiltless blood
To feel the proud waves under him, and beat

Thy hospitable hearth ; With strong repelling arm the billowy surge ;

Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd The generous courser does not so exult

A prize so little worth. To toss his floating mane against the wind,

The scatter'd gleanings of a feast And neigh amidst the thunder of the war,

My frugal meals supply ; As Virtue to oppose her swelling breast

But if thine unrelenting heart Like a firm shield against the darts of fate.

That slender boon deny, And when her sons in that rough school have leara'd

The cheerful light, the vital air, To smile at danger, then the hand that raised,

Are blessings widely given; Shall hush the storm, and lead the shining train Let Nature's commoners enjoy of peaceful years in bright procession on.

The common gifts of heaven.
Then shall the shepherd's pipe, the muse's lyre,
On Cyrnus' shores be heard : her grateful sons The well-taught philosophic mind
With loud acclaim and hymns of cordial praise

To all compassion gives;
Shall hail their high deliverers ; every name

Casts round the world an equal eye
To virtue dear be from oblivion snatched

And feels for all that lives.
And placed among the stars : but chiefly thine,
Thme, Paoli, with sweetest sound shall dwell
On their applauding lips; thy sacred name,

.Found in the trap where he had been confined all Endeard to long posterity, some muse,

night by Dr. Priestley, for the sake of thaking expert. More worthy of the theme, shall consecrate ments with different kinds of air.

D

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lf mind,-as ancient sages taught,

Happy old man who stretch'd beneath the shade A never-dying flame,

or large grown trees, or in the rustic porch Btill shifts through matter's varying forms, With woodbine canopied, where linger yet In every form the same;

The hospitable virtues, calm enjoy'st

Nature's best blessings all ;-a healthy age
Beware, lest in the worm you crush,

Ruddy and vigorous, native cheerfulness,
A brother's soul you find ;

Plain-hearted friendship, simple piety,
And tremble lest thy luckless hand

The rural manners and the rural joys
Dislodge a kindred mind.

Friendly to life. O rude of speech, yet rich

In genuine worth, not unobserved shall pass Or, if this transient gleam of day

Thy bashful virtues! for the muse shall mark,
Be all of life we share,

Detect thy charities, and call to light
Let pity plead within thy breast

Thy secret deeds of mercy; while the poor,
That little all to spare.

The desolate, and friendless, at thy gate,

A numerous family, with better praise
So may thy hospitable board

Shall hallow in their hearts ihy spotless name
With health and peace be crown'd;
And every charm of heartfelt ease
Beneath thy roof be found,

Such were the dames of old heroic days,
So when destruction lurks unseen,

Which faithful story yet delights to praise ;
Which men, like mice, may share,

Who, great in useful works, hung o'er the loom,

The mighty mothers of immortal Rome :
May some kind angel clear thy path,

Obscure, in sober dignity retired,
And break the hidden snare.

They more deserved than sought to be admired;
The household virtues o'er their honour'd head
Their simple grace and modest lustre shed :

Chaste their attire, their feet unused to roam,
CHARACTERS.

They loved the sacred threshold of their home ,

Yet true to glory, fann'd the generous flame, O BORN to soothe distress and lighten care,

Bade lovers, brothers, sons aspire to fame; Lively as soft, and innocent as fair!

In the young bosom cherish'd Virtue's seed, Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought

The secret springs of many a godlike deed.

So the fair stream in some sequester'd glade So rarely found, and never to be taught; Of winning speech, endearing, artless, kind,

With lowly state glides silent through the shade, The loveliest pattern of a female mind;

Yet by the smiling meads her urn is blest, Like some fair spirit from the realms of rest,

With freshest flowers her rising banks are drest, With all her native heaven within her breast;

And groves of laurel by her sweetness fed,
So pure, so good, she scarce can guess at sin,

High o'er the forest lift their verdant head.
But thinks the world without like that within;
Such melting tenderness, so fond to bless,
Her charity almost become excess.

Is there whom genius and whom taste adorn

With rare but happy union ; in whose breast Wealth may be courted, Wisdom be revered, And Beauty praised, and brutal Strength be fear’d; With stores of various knowledge, dwell the

Calm, philosophic, thoughtful, largely fraught But Goodness only can affection move,

powers And love must owe its origin to love

That trace out secret causes, and unveil
Great Nature's awful face? Is there whose houn

Of still domestic leisure breathe the soul
Mam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit,
Componit, furtim, subsequiturque decor.

Of friendship, peace, and elegant delight

TIBUL. Beneath poetic shades, where leads the muse OF gentle manners, and of taste refined,

Through walks of fragance, and the fairy groves With all the graces of a polish'd mind;

Where young ideas blossom ?-Is there one

Whose tender hand, lenient of human woes, Clear sense and truth still shone in all she spoke,

Wards off the dart of death, and smooths the couch And from her lips no idle sentence broke.

Of torturing anguish? On so dear a name
Each nicer elegance of art she knew;
Correctly fair, and regularly true.

May blessings dwell, honour and cordial praise ;

Nor heed he be a brother to be loved.
Her ready fingers plied with equal skill
The pencil's task, the needle, or the quill ;
So poiged her feelings, so composed her soul,

CHAMPION of Truth, alike through Nature's field, So subject all to reason's calm control,

And where in sacred leaves she shines reveal'd, One only passion, strong and unconfined,

Alike in both, eccentric, piercing, bold,
Disturbid the balance of her even mind
In every word, and look, and thought confest -

Like his own lightnings, which no chains can

hold ; One passion ruled despotic in her breast, But that was love; and love delights to bless

Neglecting caution, and disdaining art,

He seeks no armour for a naked heart :-
The generous transports of a fond excess.

Pursue the track thy ardent genius shows,
That like the sun illumines where it goes •

Travel the various map of Science o'er,

A mass of heterogeneous matter,
Record past wonders, and discover more ;

A chaos dark, nor land nor water ;-
Pour thy free spirit o'er the breathing page, New books, like new-born infants, stand,
And wake the virtue of a careless age.

Waiting the printer's clothing hand ;-
But O forgive, if touched with fond regret Others, a motley ragged brood,
Fancy recalls the scenes she can't forget, Their limbs unfashion'd all, and rude,
Recalls the vacant smile, the social hours

Like Cadmus' half-form'd men appear; Which charm'd us once, for once those scenes One rears a helm, one lifts a spear, were ours!

And feet were lopp'd and fingers torn
And while thy praises through wide realms extend, Before their fellow limbs were born ;
We sit in shades, and mourn the absent friend. A leg began to kick and sprawl
So where th' impetuous river sweeps the plain, Before the head was seen at all,
Itself a sea, and rushes to the main ;

Which quiet as a mushroom lay
While its firm banks repel conflicting tides, Till crumbling hillocks gave it way ;
And stately on its breast the vessel glides; And all, like controversial writing,
Admiring much the shepherd stands to gaze, Were born with teeth, and sprung up fighting
Awe-struck, and mingling wonder with his praise ;

“ But what is this," I hear you cry,
Yet more he loves its winding path to trace “ Which saucily provokes my eye?"-
Through beds of flowers, and Nature's rural face, A thing unknown, without a name,
While yet a stream the silent vale is cheer'd, Born of the air and doom'd to flame.
By many a recollected scene endear'd,
Where trembling first beneath the poplar shade
He tuned his pipe, to suit the wild cascade.

ON A LADY'S WRITING.

Her even lines her steady temper show, AN INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE IN Neat as her dress, and polish'd as her brow; R. PRIESTLEY'S STUDY.

Strong as her judgment, easy as her air ;

Correct though free, and regular though fair: A MAP of every country known,

And the same graces o'er her pen preside, With not a foot of land his own.

That form her manners and her footsteps guide A list of folks that kick'd a dust On this poor globe, from Ptol. the First ; He hopes,-indeed it is but fair, Some day to get a corner there.

ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE. A group of all the British kings, Fair emblem! on a packthread swings.

In vain fair Auburn weeps her desert plains, The fathers, ranged in goodly row,

She moves our envy who so well complains ; A decent, venerable show,

In vain has proud oppression laid her low, Writ a great while ago, they tell us,

So sweet a garland on her faded brow. And many an inch o'ertop their fellows.

Now, Auburn, now absolve impartial fate, A Juvenal to hunt for mottoes ;

Which if it made thee wretched, makes thee great And Ovid's tales of nymphs and grottoes.

So, unobserved, some humble plant may bloom, The meek-robed lawyers, all in white;

Till crush'd it fills the air with sweet perfumo; Pure as the lamb,—at least to sight.

So, had thy swains in ease and plenty slept, A shelf of bottles, jar and phial,

Thy poet had not sung, nor Britain wept. By which the rogues he can defy all,

Nor let Britannia mourn her drooping bay, All fill'd with lightning keen and genuine,

Unhonour'd genius, and her swift decay ; And many a little imp he'll pen you in;

O patron of the poor! it cannot be, Which, like Le Sage's sprite, let out

While one-one poel yet remains like thee! Among the neighbours makes a rout;

Nor can the muse desert our favour'd isle, Brings down the lightning on their houses,

Till thou desert the muse and scorn her smile
And kills their geese, and frights their spouses.
A rare thermometer, by which
He settles to the nicest pitch,
The just degrees of heat, 10 raise
Sermons, or politics, or plays.

HYMN TO CONTENT.
Papers and books, a strange mix’d olio,
From shilling touch to pompous folio;

.....natura beatis Answer, remark, reply, rejoinder,

Omnibus esse dedit, si quis cognoverit uti.

CLAUDIAN. Fresh from the mint, all stamp'd and coin'd here ; Like new-made glass, set by to cool,

O ruou, the nymph with placid eye! Before it bears the workman's tool.

O seldom found, yet ever nigh! A blotted proof-sheet, wet from Bowling.

Receive my temperate vow: -"How can a man his anger hold in ?"

Not all the storms that shake the pole Forgotten rhymes, and college themes,

Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, 'Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes ;

And smooth unalter'd brow.

O come, in simple vest array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd,

To bless my longing sight;
Thy mien composed, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,

And chaste subdued delight. No more by varying passions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet

To find thy hermit cell ; Where in some pure and equal sky, Beneath thy soft indulgent eye,

The modest virtues dwell.

Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,

And clear undaunted eye ;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening through this vale of tears

A vista to the sky.

There Health, through whose calm bosom glide
The temperate joys in even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild unvarying cheek

To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage

With settled smiles to meet :
(nured to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek submitted head,

And kiss'd thy sainted feet.
But thou, O nymph retired and coy!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy

To tell thy tender tale ?
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose, and violet blossom round,

And lily of the vale.
say what soft propitious hour
I best may chuose to hail thy power,

And court thy gentle sway? When Autumn friendly to the muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,

And shed thy milder day.

Or pierced some fond unguarded heart
With now and then a random dart;
But heroes scorned the idle boy,
And love was but a shepherd's toy.
When Venus, vex'd to see her child
Amid the forests thus run wild,
Would point him out some nobler gamt
Gods and godlike men to tame.
She seized the boy's reluctant hand,
And led him to the virgin band,
Where the sister muses round
Swell the deep majestic sound;
And in solemn strains unite,
Breathing chaste, severe delight;
Songs of chiefs and heroes old,
In unsubmitting virtue bold!;
Of even valour's temperate heat,
And toils to stubborn patience sweet;
Of nodding plumes and burnish'd arms
And glory's bright terrific charms.

The potent sounds like lightning dart
Resistless through the glowing heart;
Of power to lift the fixed soul
High o'er Fortune's proud control ;
Kindling deep, prophetic musing;
Love of beauteous death infusing ;
Scorn, and unconquerable hate
Of tyrant pride's unhallow'd state.
The boy abash'd, and half afraid,
Beheld each chaste immortal maid :
Pallas spread her Egis there ;
Mars stood by with threatening air;
And stern Diana's icy look
With sudden chill his bosom struck.

“Daughters of Jove, receive the child,"
The queen of beauty said, and smiled ;-
Her rosy breath perfumed the air,
And scatter'd sweet contagion there
Relenting Nature learn'd to languish,
And sicken'd with delightful anguish:
“ Receive him artless yet and young ;
Refine his air, and smooth his tongue :
Conduct him through your favourite bowen
Enrich'd with fair perennial flowers,
To solemn shades and springs that lie
Remote from each unhallow'd eye ;
'Teach him to spell those mystic names
That kindle bright immortal flames :
And guide his young unpractised feet
To reach coy Learning's lofty seat."

Ah, luckless hour! mistaken maids,
When Cupid sought the muses' shades !
of their sweetest notes beguiled,
By the sly insiduous child;
Now of power his darts are found
Twice ten thousand times to wound.
Now no more the slacken'd strings
Breathe of high immortal things,
But Cupid tunes the Muse's lyre
To languid notes of soft desire.
In every clime, in every tongue,
"Tis love inspires the poet's song.
Hence Sappho's soft infectious page ;
Monimia's wo; Othello's rage ;
Abandon'd Dido's fruitless prayer ;
And Eloisa's long despair ;
The garland, blest with many a vow,
For haughty Sacharissa's brow;

When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,

And every storm is laid ;-
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice

Low whispering through the shade.

THE ORIGIN OF SONG-WRITING.

blic indocto primum se exercuit arcu; Hei mihi quam docms nunc habet ille manus !

TIBUL.

WHEN Cupid, wanton boy! was young,
His wings unfledged, and rude his tongue,
He loiter'd in Arcadian bowers,
And hid his bow in wreaths of flowers ;

Addressed to the Author of Essays on Song.writing.

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