Poems

Front matter

POEMS.

Hæc sat erit, Divæ, vestrum cecinisse poetam, Dum sedet, et gracili fiscellam texit hibisco. >>Virgil.

THE THIRD EDITION, CORRECTED.

Corsica

CORSICA.

8 A manly race Of unubmitting pirit, wie and brave; Who till thro' bleeding ages truggled hard To hold a generous undiminihed tate; Too much in vain! >>Thomson.

HAIL generous Corsica! unconquer'd ile! The fort of freedom; that amidt the waves Stands like a rock of adamant, and dares The wildet fury of the beating torm.

And are there yet, in this late fickly age (Unkindly to the tow'ring growths of virtue) Such bold exalted pirits? Men whoe deeds, To the bright annals of old Greece oppos'd, Would throw in hades her yet unrival'd name, And dim the lutre of her fairet page! And glows the flame of Liberty o trong In this lone peck of earth! this pot obcure, Shaggy with woods, and cruted o'er with rock, By laves urrounded, and by laves oppres'd! What then hould Britons feel? hould they not catch The warm contagion of heroic ardour, And kindle at a fire o like their own?

Such were the working thoughts which well'd the breat Of generous Boswel; when with nobler aim And views beyond the narrow beaten track By trivial fancy trod, he turn'd his coure From polih'd Gallia's oft delicious vales, From the grey reliques of imperial Rome, From her long galleries of laurel'd tone, Her chiel'd heroes, and her marble gods, (Whoe dumb majetic pomp yet awes the world,) To animated forms of patriot zeal; Warm in the living majety of virtue; Elate with fearles pirit; firm; reolv'd; By fortune unubdu'd; unaw'd by power.

How raptur'd fancy burns, while warm in thought I trace the pidtur'd landcape; while I kis With pilgrim lips devout, the acred oil Stain'd with the blood of heroes. Cyrnus, hail! Hail to thy rocky, deep indented hores, And pointed cliffs, which hear the chaing deep Inceant foaming round their haggy ides. Hail to thy winding bays, thy helt'ring ports And ample harbours, which inviting tretch Their hopitable arms to every ail: Thy numerous treams, that burting from the cliffs Down the teep channel'd rock impetuous pour With grateful murmur: on the fearful edge Of the rude precipice, thy hamlets brown And traw-roof'd cots, which from the level vale Scarce een, amongt the craggy hanging cliffs Seem like an eagle's net aerial built. Thy welling mountains, brown with olemn hade Of various trees, that wave their giant arms O'er the rough ons of freedom; lofty pines, And hardy fir, and ilex ever green, And preading chenut, with each humbler plant, And hrub of fragrant leaf, that cloathes their ides With living verdure; whence the clut'ring bee Extracts her golden dews: the hining box, And weet-leav'd myrtle, aromatic thyme, The prickly juniper, and the green leaf Which feeds the pinning worm; while glowing bright Beneath the various foliage, wildly preads The arbutus, and rears his carlet fruit Luxuriant, mantling o'er the craggy teeps; And thy own native laurel crowns the cene. Hail to thy avage forets, awful, deep: Thy tangled thickets, and thy crowded woods, The haunt of herds untam'd; which ullen bound From rock to rock with fierce unocial air, And wilder gaze, as concious of the power That loves to reign amid the lonely cenes Of unbroke nature: precipices huge, And tumbling torrents; trackles dearts, plains Fenc'd in with guardian rocks, whoe quarries teem With hining teel, that to the cultur'd fields And unny hills which wave with bearded grain Defends their homely produce. Liberty, The mountain Goddes, loves to range at large Amid uch cenes, and on the iron oil Prints her majetic tep. For thee he corns The green enamel'd vales, the velvet lap Of mooth avannahs, where the pillow'd head Of luxury repoes; balmy gales, And bowers that breathe of blis. For thee, when firt This ile emerging like a beauteous gem From the dark boom of the Tyrrhene main Rear'd its fair front, he mark'd it for her own, And with her pirit warm'd. Her genuine ons, A broken remnant, from the generous tock Of ancient Greece, from Sparta's ad remains, True to their high decent, preerv'd unquench'd The acred fire thro' many a barbarous age: Whom, nor the iron rod of cruel Carthage, Nor the dread ceptre of imperial Rome, Nor bloody Goth, nor grily Saracen, Nor the long galling yoke of proud Liguria, Could cruh into ubjection. Still unquell'd They roe uperior, burtlng from their chains, And claim'd man's dearet birthright, Liberty: And long, thro' many a hard unequal trife Maintain'd the glorious conflict; long withtood With ingle arm, the whole collected force Of haughty Genoa, and ambitious Gaul. And hall withtand it, trut the faithful Mue! It is not in the force of mortal arm, Scarcely in fate, to bind the truggling oul That gall'd by wanton power, indignant wells Againt: oppreion; breathing great revenge, Careles of life, determin'd to be free. And av'ring heaven approves: for ee the Man, Born to exalt his own, and give mankind A glimpe of higher natures: jut, as great; The oul of council, and the nerve of war; Of high unhaken pirit, temper'd weet With oft urbanity, and polih'd grace, And attic wit, and gay untudied miles: Whom heaven in ome propitious hour endow'd With every purer virtue: gave him all That lifts the hero, or adorns the man. Gave him the eye ublime; the earching glance Keen, canning deep, that mites the guilty oul As with a beam from heaven; on his brow Serene, and pacious front, et the broad eal Of dignity and rule; then mil'd benign On this fair pattern of a God below, High wrought, and breath'd into his welling breat The large ambitious wih to ave his country. Oh beauteous title to immortal fame! The man devoted to the public, tands In the bright records of uperior worth A tep below the kies: if he ucceed, The firt fair lot which earth affords, is his; And if he falls, he falls above a throne. When uch their leader, can the brave depair? Freedom the caue, and Paoli the chief! Succes to your fair hopes! a Britih Mue, Tho' weak and powerles, lifts her fervent voice, And breathes a prayer for your ucces. Oh could She catter bleings as the morn heds dews, To drop upon your heads! but patient hope Mut wait th' appointed hour; ecure of this, That never with the indolent and weak Will freedom deign to dwell; me mull be eiz'd By that bold arm that wretles for the bleing: 'Tis heaven's bet gift, and mut be bought with blood. When the torm thickens, when the combat burns, And pain and death in every horrid hape That can appall the feeble, prowl around, Then virtue triumphs; then her tow'ring form Dilates with kindling majety; her mien Breaths a diviner pirit, and enlarg'd Each preading feature, with an ampler port And bolder tone, exulting, rides the torm, And joys amidt the tempet. Then he reaps Her golden harvet; fruits of nobler growth And higher relih than meridian uns Can ever ripen; fair, heroic deeds, And godlike action. 'Tis not meats, and drinks, And balmy airs, and vernal uns, and howers That feed and ripen minds; 'tis toil and danger; And wretling with the tubborn gripe of fate; And war, and harp ditres, and paths obcure And dubious. The bold wimmer joys not o To feel the proud waves under him, and beat With trong repelling arm the billowy urge; The generous courer does not o exult To tos his floating mane againt the wind, And neigh amidt the thunder of the war, As virtue to oppoe her welling breat Like a firm hield againt the darts of fate. And when her ons in that rough chool have learn'd To mile at danger, then the hand that rais'd Shall huh the torm, and lead the hining train Of peaceful years in bright proceion on. Then hall the hepherd's pipe, the mue's lyre, On Cyrnus' hores be heard: her grateful ons With loud acclaim and hymns of cordial praie Shall hail their high deliverers; every name To virtue dear be from oblivion natch'd, And plac'd among the tars: but chiefly thine, Thine, Paoli, with weetet ound hall dwell On their applauding lips; thy acred name, Endear'd to long poterity, ome Mue, More worthy of the theme, hall conecrate To after-ages, and applauding worlds Shall bles the godlike man who av'd his country.

So vainly wih'd, o fondly hop'd the Mue: Too fondly hop'd. The iron fates prevail, And Cyrnus is no more. Her generous ons, Les vanquih'd than o'erwhelm'd, by numbers cruh'd, Admir'd, unaided fell. So trives the moon In dubious battle with the gathering clouds, And trikes a plendour thro' them; till at length Storms roll'd on torms involve the face of heaven And quench her truggling fires. Forgive the zeal That, too preumptuous, whiper'd better things And read the book of detiny amis. Not with the purple colouring of ucces Is virtue bet adorn'd: th' attempt is praie. There yet remains a freedom, nobler far Than kings or enates can detroy or give; Beyond the proud oppreor's cruel grap Seated ecure; uninjur'd; undetroy'd; Worthy of Gods: The freedom of the mind.

The Invitation, to Miss B—

The INVITATION:

To Miss B*****.

Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lycori, Hic nemus: hic ipo tecum conumerer ævo.

HEALTH to my friend, and long unbroken years, By torms unruffled and untain'd by tears: Wing'd by new joys may each white minute fly; Spring on her cheek, and unhine in her eye: O'er that dear breat, where love and pity prings, May peace eternal pread her downy wings: Sweet beaming hope her path illumine till, And fair ideas all her fancy fill. From glittering cenes which trike the dazzled ight With mimic grandeur and illuive light, From idle hurry, and tumultuous noie, From hollow friendhips, and from ickly joys, Will Delia, at the mue's call, retire To the pure pleaures rural cenes inpire? Will he from crowds and buy cities fly, Where wreaths of curling moke involve the ky, To taste the grateful hade of preading trees, And drink the pirit of the mountain breeze?

When winter's hand the rough'ning year deforms, And hollow winds foretel approaching torms, Then Pleaure, like a bird of paage, flies To brighter climes, and more indulgent kies: Cities and courts allure her prightly train, From the bleak mountain and the naked plain; And gold and gems with artificial blaze, Supply the ickly un's declining rays. But oon, returning on the wetern gale, She eeks the boom of the gray vale: There, wrapt in careles eae, attunes the lyre To the wild warblings of the woodland quire: The daiied turf her humble throne upplies, And early primroes around her rie. We'll follow where the miling goddes leads, Thro' tangled forets or enamel'd meads; O'er pathles hills her airy form we'll chae, In ilent glades her fairy footteps trace: Small pains there needs her footteps to purue, She cannot fly from friendhip, and from you. Now the glad earth her frozen zone unbinds, And o'er her boom breathe the wetern winds. Already now the now-drop dares appear, The firt pale bloom of th' unripen'd year; As Flora's breath, by ome transforming power, Had chang'd an icicle into a flower: Its name, and hue, the centles plant retains, And winter lingers in its icy veins. To thee ucceed the violet's duky blue, And each inferior flower of fainter hue; Till riper months the perfect year dicloe, And Flora cries exulting, See my Roe!

The Mue invites, my Delia hate away, And let us weetly wate the careles day. Here gentle ummits lift their airy brow; Down the green lope here winds the labouring plow; Here bath'd by frequent how'rs cool vales are een, Cloath'd with freh verdure, and eternal green; Here mooth canals, acros th' extended plain, Stretch their long arms, to join the ditant main: The ons of toil with many a weary troke Scoop the hard boom of the olid rock; Reitles thro' the tiff oppoing clay, With teady patience work their gradual way; Compel the genius of th' unwilling flood Thro' the brown horrors of the aged wood; 'Cros the lone wate the ilver urn they pour, And cheer the barren heath or ullen moor. The traveller with pleaing wonder ees The white ail gleaming thro' the duky trees; And views the alter'd landcape with urprie, And doubts the magic cenes which round him rie. Now, like a flock of wans, above his head Their woven wings the flying veels pread; Now meeting treams in artful mazes glide, While each unmingled pours a eparate tide; Now through the hidden veins of earth they flow, And viit ulphurous mines and caves below; The ductile treams obey the guiding hand, And ocial plenty circles round the land.

But nobler praie awaits our green retreats; The Mues here have fix'd their acred eats. Mark where its imple front yon manion rears, The nurery of men for future years! Here callow chiefs and embryo tatemen lie, And unfledg'd poets hort excurions try: While Merey's gentle current, which too long By fame neglected, and unknown to ong, Between his ruhy banks, (no poet's theme) Had crept inglorious, like a vulgar tream, Reflects th' acending eats with concious pride, And dares to emulate a claic tide. Soft muic breathes along each op'ning hade, And ooths the darning of his rough cacade. With myric lines his ands are figured o'er, And circles trac'd upon the letter'd hore. Beneath his willows rove th' inquiring youth, And court the fair majetic form of truth. Here nature opens all her ecret prings, And heav'n-born cience plumes her eagle-wings: Too long had bigot rage, with malice well'd, Cruh'd her trong pinions, and her flight witheld; Too long to check her ardent progres trove: So writhes the erpent round the bird of Jove; Hangs on her flight, retrains her tow'ring wing, Twits its dark folds, and points its venom'd ting. Yet till (if aught aright the Mue divine) Her riing pride hall mock the vain deign; On ounding pinions yet aloft hall oar, And thro' the azure deep untravel'd paths explore. Where cience miles, the Mues join the train; And gentlet arts and puret manners reign. Ye generous youth who love this tudious hade, How rich a field is to your hopes diplay'd! Knowledge to you unlocks the claic page; And virtue blooms for a better age. Oh golden days! oh bright unvalued hours! What blis (did ye but know that blis) were yours? With richet tores your glowing booms fraught, Perception quick, and luxury of thought; The high deigns that heave the labouring oul, Panting for fame, impatient of controul; And fond enthuiatic thought, that feeds On pictur'd tales of vat heroic deeds; And quick affections, kindling into flame At virtue's, or their country's honour'd name; And pirits light, to every joy in tune; And friendhip, ardent as a ummer's noon; And generous corn of vice's venal tribe; And proud didain of interet's ordid bribe; And concious honour's quick intinctive ene; And miles unforc'd; and eay confidence; And vivid fancy; and clear imple truth; And all the mental bloom of vernal youth.

How bright the cene to fancy's eye appears, Thro' the long perpective of ditant years, When this, this little group their country calls From academic hades and learned halls, To fix her laws, her pirit to utain, And light up glory thro' her wide domain! Their various tates in different arts diplay'd, Like temper'd harmony of light and hade, With friendly union in one mas hall blend, And this adorn the tate, and that defend. Thee the equeter'd hade hall cheaply pleae, With learned labour, and inglorious eae: While thoe, impell'd by ome reitles force, O'er eas and rocks hall urge their vent'rous coure; Rich fruits matur'd by glowing uns behold, And China's groves of vegetable gold; From every land the various harvet poil, And bear the tribute to their native oil: But tell each land (while every toil they hare, Firm to utain, and reolute to dare,) MAN is the nobler growth our realms upply, And SOULS are ripen'd in our northern ky.

Some penive creep along the helly hore; Unfold the ilky texture of a flower; With harpen'd eyes inpect an hornet's ting, And all the wonders of an inect's wing. Some trace with curious earch the hidden caue Of nature's changes, and her various laws; Untwit her beauteous web, dirobe her charms, And hunt her to her elemental forms: Or prove what hidden powers in herbs are found To quench dieae and cool the burning wound; With cordial drops the fainting head utain, Call back the flitting oul, and till the throbs of pain.

The patriot paion this hall trongly feel, Ardent, and glowing with undaunted zeal; With lips of fire hall plead his country's caue, And vindicate the majety of laws. This, cloath'd with Britain's thunder, pread alarms Thro' the wide earth, and hake the pole with arms. That, to the ounding lyre his deeds reheare, Enhrine his name in ome immortal vere, To long poterity his praie conign, And pay a life of hardhips by a line. While others, conecrate to higher aims, Whoe hallow'd booms glow with purer flames, Love in their heart, peruaion in their tongue, With words of peace hall charm the lit'ning throng, Draw the dread veil that wraps th' eternal throne, And launch our ouls into the bright unknown.

Here ceae my ong. Such arduous themes require A mater's pencil, and a poet's fire: Unequal far uch bright deigns to paint, Too weak her colours, and her lines too faint, My drooping Mue folds up her fluttering wing, And hides her head in the green lap of pring.

The Groans of the Tankard

The Groans of the Tankard.

Dulci digne mero!

OF trange events I ing, and portents dire; The wond'rous themes a reverent ear require: Tho' trange the tale, the faithful Mue believe, And what he ays with pious awe receive.

'Twas at the olemn, ilent, noon-tide hour, When hunger rages with depotic power, When the lean tudent quits his Hebrew roots For the gros nourihment of Englih fruits, And throws unfinih'd airy ytems by For olid pudding and ubtantial pye, When hungry poets the glad ummons own, And leave pare fat to dine with Gods alone; Our ober meal dipatch'd with ilent hate, The decent grace concludes the hort repat: Then, urg'd by thirt, we cat impatient eyes Where deep, capacious, vat, of ample ize, The tankard tood, replenih'd to the brink With the cool beverage blue-ey'd Naiads drink. But lo! a udden prodigy appears, And our chill'd hearts recoil with tartling fears; Its yawning mouth diclos'd the deep profound, And in low murmurs breath'd a ullen ound; Cold drops of dew did on the ides appear; No finger touch'd it, and no hand was near; At length th' indignant vae its ilence broke, Firt heav'd deep hollow groans, and then distinstly poke.

"How chang'd the cene! for what unpardon'd crimes "Have I urviv'd to thee degenerate times? "I, who was wont the fetal board to grace, "And 'midt the circle lift my honet face, "White o'er with froth, like Etna crown'd with now, "Which mantled o'er the brown abys below, "Where Ceres mingled with her golden tore "The richer poils of either India's hore, "The dulcet reed the Wetern ilands boat, "And picy fruit from Banda's fragrant coat. "At olemn feats the nectar'd draught I pour'd, "And often journey'd round the ample board: "The portly Alderman, the tately Mayor, "And all the furry tribe my worth declare; "And the keen Sportman oft, his labours done, "To me retreating with the etting un, "Deep draughts imbib'd, and conquer'd land and ea, "And overthrew the pride of France—by me.

"Let meaner clay contain the limpid wave, "The clay for uch an office nature gave; NorthandSouthCh9"Let China's earth, enrich'd with coloured tains, "Pencil'd with gold, and treak'd with azure veins, "The grateful flavour of the Indian leaf, "Or Mocho's unburnt berry glad receive; "The nobler metal claims more generous ue, "And mine hould flow with more exalted juice. "Did I for this my native bed reign, "In the dark bowels of Potoi's mine? "Was I for this with violence torn away, "And drag'd to regions of the upper day? "For this the rage of torturing furnace bore, "From foreign dros to purge the bright'ning ore? "For this have I endur'd the fiery tet, "And was I tamp'd for this with Britain's lofty cret?

"Unblet the day, and luckles was the hour "Which doom'd me to a Prebyterian's power: "Fated to erve the Puritanic race, "Whoe lender meal is horter than their grace; "Whoe moping ons no jovial orgies keep; "Where evening brings no ummons but to leep; "No Carnival is even Chritmas here, "And one long Lent involves the meagre year. "Bear me, ye pow'rs! to ome more genial cene, "Where on oft cuhions lolls the gouty Dean, "Or roy Prebend, with cherubic face, "With double chin, and paunch of portly grace, "Who lull'd in downy lumbers hall agree "To own no inpiration but from me. "Or to ome pacious manion, Gothic, old, "Where Comus' prightly train their vigils hold; "There oft exhauted, and replenih'd oft, "Oh! let me till upply th' eternal draught; "Till care within the deep abys be drown'd, "And thought grows giddy at the vat profound."

More had the goblet poke, but lo! appears An ancient Sybil urrow'd o'er with years. Her apect our, and tern ungracious look With udden damp the concious veel truck: Chill'd at her touch its mouth it lowly clos'd, And in long ilence all its griefs repos'd: Yet till low murmurs creep along the ground, And the air vibrates with the ilver ound.

On the Backwardness of the Spring 1771

Backwardnes of the Spring 1771.

Etatem increpitans eram, zephyroque morantes.

IN vain the prightly un renews his coure, Climbs up th' acending igns and leads the day, While long embattled clouds repel his force, And lazy vapours choke the golden ray.

In vain the pring proclaims the new-born year; No flowers beneath her lingering footteps pring, No roy garland binds her flowing hair, And in her train no feather'd warblers ing.

Her opening breat is tain'd with frequent howers, Her treaming trees bath'd in chilling dews, And ad before her move the penive hours, Whoe flagging wings no breathing weets diffue.

Like ome lone pilgrim, clad in mournful weed, Whoe wounded boom drinks her falling tears, On whoe pale cheek relentles orrows feed, Whoe dreary way no prightly carol cheers.

Not thus he breath'd on Arno's purple hore, And call'd the Tucan Mues to her bowers; Not this the robe in Enna's vale he wore, When Ceres' daughter fill'd her lap with flowers.

Clouds behind clouds in long ucceion rie, And heavy nows oppres the pringing green; The dazzling wate fatigues the aching eyes, And fancy droops beneath th' unvaried cene.

Indulgent nature looe this frozen zone; Thro' opening kies let genial un-beams play; Diolving nows hail their glad impule own, And melt upon the boom of the May.

Verses written in an Alcove

VERSES written in an Alcove.

Jam Cytherea choros ducit Venus imminente Luna.

NOW the moon-beam's trembling lutre Silvers o'er the dewy green, And in oft and hadowy colours Sweetly paints the checquer'd cene.

Here between the opening branches Streams a flood of often'd light, There the thick and twited foliage Spreads the browner gloom of night.

This is ure the haunt of fairies, In yon cool alcove they play; Care can never cros the threhold, Care was only made for day.

Far from hence be noiy clamour, Sick digut and anxious fear; Pining grief and wating anguih Never keep their vigils here.

Tell no tales of heeted pectres Riing from the quiet tomb; Fairer forms this cell hall viit, Brighter viions gild the gloom.

Choral ongs and prightly voices Echo from her cell hall call; Sweeter, weeter than the murmur Of the ditant water-fall.

Every ruder gut of paion Lull'd with muic dies away, Till within the charmed boom None but oft affections play:

Soft, as when the evening breezes Gently tir the poplar grove; Brighter than the mile of ummer, Sweeter than the breath of love.

Thee, th' inchanted Mue hall follow, Lissy! to the rutic cell, And each careles note repeating Tune them to her charming hell.

Not the Mue who wreath'd with laurel Solemn talks with tragic gait, And in clear and lofty viion Sees the future births of fate;

Not the maid who crown'd with cypres Sweeps along in cepter'd pall, And in ad and olemn accents Mourns the creted hero's fall;

But that other miling iter, With the blue and laughing eye, Singing, in a lighter meaure, Strains of woodland harmony:

All unknown to fame and glory, Eay, blithe and debonair, Crown'd with flowers, her careles trees Looely floating on the air.

Then, when next the tar of evening Softly heds the ilent dew, Let me in this rutic temple, Lissy! meet the Mue and you.

The Mouse's Petition

The MOUSE's PETITION,

Found in the Trap where he had been confin'd all Night.

Parcere ubjectis, & debellare uperbos.

OH! hear a penive prioner's prayer, For liberty that ighs; And never let thine heart be hut Againt the wretch's cries. For here forlorn and ad I it, Within the wiry grate; And tremble at th' approaching morn, Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breat with freedom glow'd, And purn'd a tyrant's chain, Let not thy trong oppreive force A free-born moue detain.

Oh! do not tain with guiltles blood Thy hopitable hearth; Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd A prize o little worth.

The catter'd gleanings of a feat My frugal meals upply; But if thine unrelenting heart That lender boon deny, The cheerful light, the vital air, Are bleings widely given; Let nature's commoners enjoy The common gifts of heaven.

The well taught philoophic mind To all compaion gives; Casts round the world an equal eye, And feels for all that lives.

If mind, as ancient ages taught, A never dying flame, Still hifts thro' matter's varying forms, In every form the same,

Beware, let in the worm you cruh A brother's oul you find; And tremble lest thy luckles hand Dilodge a kindred mind. Or, if this tranient gleam of day Be all of life we hare, Let pity plead within thy breat, That little all to pare.

So may thy hopitable board With health and peace be crown'd; And every charm of heartfelt ease Beneath thy roof be found.

So when detruction lurks uneen, Which men like mice may hare, May ome kind angel clear thy path, And break the hidden nare.

To Mrs. P—, with Drawings of Birds and Insects

To Mrs. P--------,

With ome Drawings of Birds and Insects.

The kindred arts to pleae thee hall conpire, One dip the pencil, and one tring the lyre. >>Pope.

AMANDA bids; at her command again I eize the pencil, or reume the pen; No other call my willing hand requires, And friendhip, better than a Mue inpires.

Painting and poetry are near allied; The kindred arts two iter Mues guide; This charms the eye, that teals upon the ear; There ounds are tun'd; and colours blended here. This, with a ilent touch enchants our eyes, And bids a gayer brighter world arie: That, les allied to ene, with deeper art Can pierce the cloe recees of the heart; By well et yllables, and potent ound, Can roue, can chill the breat, can ooth, can wound; To life adds motion, and to beauty oul, And breathes a pirit through the finih'd whole: Each perfects each, in friendly union join'd; This gives Amanda's form, and that her mind.

But humbler themes my artles hand requires, Nor higher than the feather'd tribe apires. Yet who the various nations can declare That plough with buy wing the peopled air? Thee cleave the crumbling bark for inect food; Thoe dip their crooked beak in kindred blood; Some haunt the ruhy moor, the lonely woods; Some bathe their ilver plumage in the floods; Some fly to man, his houhold gods implore, And gather round his hopitable door; Wait the known call, and find protection there From all the leer tyrants of the air. The tawny Eagle eats his callow brood High on the cliff, and feats his young with blood. On Snowden's rocks, or Orkney's wide domain, Whoe beetling cliffs o'erhang the wetern main, The royal bird his lonely kingdom forms Amidt the gathering clouds, and ullen torms: Thro' the wide wate of air he darts his ight And holds his ounding pinions pois'd for flight; With cruel eye premeditates the war, And marks his detin'd victim from afar: Decending in a whirlwind to the ground, His pinions like the ruh of waters ound; The fairet of the fold he bears away, And to his net compels the truggling prey. He corns the game by meaner hunters tore, And dips his talons in no vulgar gore.

With lovelier pomp along the gray plain The ilver Pheasant draws his hining train. Once on the painted banks of Ganges' tream, He pread his plumage to the unny gleam: But now the wiry net his flight confines, He lowers his purple cret, and inly pines. To claim the vere, unnumber'd tribes appear That well the muic of the vernal year: Seiz'd with the pirit of the kindly pring They tune the voice, and leek the gloy wing: With emulative trife the notes prolong And pour out all their little ouls in ong. When winter bites upon the naked plain, Nor food nor helter in the groves remain; By intinct led, a firm united band, As marhal'd by ome kilful general's hand, The congregated nations wing their way In duky columns o'er the trackles ea; In clouds unnumber'd annual hover o'er The craggy Bas, or Kilda's utmot hore: Thence pread their ails to meet the outhern wind, And leave the gathering tempet far behind; Purue the circling un's indulgent ray, Coure the wift eaons, and o'ertake the day.