In vain-for foon thy barids fhall feel
The conquering force of Auftrian feel;

Again the peafant, gaily free,

Shall sport beneath thy fhades, delightful Italy!

V.

"See Charles, of long Imperial race! Suworrow, hardy Ruffia's boast! Whose veteran brows fresh laurels grace, Which thrive beneath his age's frost: His bands thy fated land o'erwhelm, While riding on my fpacious realm, Thee fcorning, and thy fubject Spain, Britannia foars aloft the emprefs of the main.

VI.

"Though Fraud and wavering Subtlety
Awhile may feem to prop thy state,
Nought fhall avert the fix'd decree,

And fhield thee from the shafts of Fate.
Even now fell Difcord binds thee low,
Confederate Europe fpeeds the blow,

To prove that France, in ruin hurl'd,
Can only by her fall give freedom to the world."

IMITATED FROM HORACE, ODE I. BOOK IV

Intermiffa Venus diu, rurfus bella moves.

[From the fame.]

AGAIN, reftlefs Goddess! attack me again?
Say whence the new pangs of my breaft?
Ah! fpare my confufion, ah! pity my pain,
And leave me to filence and reft.

Alas! now no longer in jolly condition,
With North, my old rival, I fit;

Where, bankrupts apart, by a joint coalition,
We conquer'd the forces of P-t.

Confider, great Queen, I approach to threefcore;
Then check your infidious advances :
Your favours on B-df-d or Sh-r-n pour,
Or the hot-headed youngster, Sir Fs.

Thee H-11-d admires, yet of Loughborough fad,
With T-r-y, the anti-feceder;

And Ego, the valiant, half merry, half mad,
Of club politicians the leader.

His foul fympathetic fhall hail thy bright form;
Then, Goddefs, to Hampstead repair;
The petulant Pleader will brave the rude ftorm,
And joyfully welcome you there.

Thy grim-vifag'd buft fhall be lifted en haut
By him and his "merry men all;"

While the old-fashion'd portraits of Justice and Co.
Shall vanish post-hafte from Guildhall.

Then the harp and the fiddle, the drum and the fife,
Shall echo fymphonious to thee;

And patriots exclaim, free from forrow and ftrife,
"Ca ira, à-la-mode de Paris."

But the frost of my bofom no rebel debate,
Nor Bacchus nor Venus, can thaw;
Remote from the buftle, I ponder the state
Of the "worst times that England e'er faw."

Again, reftlefs Goddess! I feel thee again ;
Why flows down my cheek the falt tear?
I hug thy tall fhadow, it laughs at my pain,
And vanishes ere I draw near.

From the Houfe to the Treas'ry it leads me a dance,
At St. Anne's plays me many a trick;
Conducts me to Maidstone, to Ireland, to France,
The Shakespeare, defpair, and-Old Nick.

THE

THE BRITISH STRIPLING'S WAR SONG.

[From the Morning Puft.]

YES, noble old warriof! this heart has beat high,
Since you told of the deeds which our countrymen
wrought;

Oh! lend me the fabre that hung by thy thigh,
And I, too, will fight as my forefathers fought.

Defpife not my youth, for my fpirit is steel'd,

And I know there is ftrength in the grafp of my hand; Yea, as firm as thy felf would I march to the field, And as proudly would die for my dear native land. In the fports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight, The found of the trumpet fufpended my breath, And my fancy ftill wander'd by day and by night, Amid battle, and tumult, and conqueft, and death. My own fhout of onset, when th' armies advance, How oft it awakes me from vifions of glory; When I meant to have leapt on the Hero of France,

And have dafl'd him to earth, pale and breathlefs, and gory.

As late through the city, with banners all streaming,
To the mufic of trumpets the warriors flew by,
With helmet and cimetar naked and gleaming,

On the proud trampling thunder-hoof'd fteeds did they fly.

I fped to yon heath that is lonely and bare,

For each nerve was unquiet, each pulse in alarm,

And huri'd my mock lance through the objectiefs air,
And in open-ey'd dream prov'd the strength of my arm.

Yes, noble old warrior! this heart has beat high,

Since you told of the deeds that our countrymen wrought : Oh! lend me the fabre that hung by thy thigh,

And I, too, will fight as my forefathers fought.

ADAMS AND LIBERTY.

THE BOSTON PATRIOTIC SONG.

WRITTEN BY THOMAS PAINE, A. M.

[From a New York Paper ]

Tune-" To Anacreon in Heaven."

YE fons of Columbia, who bravely have fought

For those rights which unftain'd from your fires had
defcended,

May you long taste the bleflings your valour has bought,
And your fons reap the foil which their fathers defended!
'Mid the reign of mild peace,
May your nation increase,

With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece !

CHORUS.

And no fon of Columbia fhall e'er be a flave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the fea rolls a wave.
In a clime, whofe rich vales feed the marts of the world,
Whofe fhores are unfhaken by Europe's commotion,
The trident of commerce should never be hurl'd,
To incenfe the legitimate pow'rs of the ocean.
But fhould pirates invade,
Though in thunder array'd,

Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade!
For no fon of Columbia fhall e'er be a flave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls a wave.

The fame of our arms-of our laws the mild sway,
Had juftly ennobled our nation in story,
Till the dark cloud of faction obfcur'd our young day,
And envelop'd the fun of American glory.
But let traitors be told,

Who their country have fold,

And barter'd their God for his image in gold,

That no fon of Columbia shall e'er be a flave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the fea rolls a wave.

While

While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And Society's bafe threats with wide diffolution;
May Peace, like the dove who return'd from the flood,
Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution.
But though peace is our aim,

Yet the boon we disclaim,

If bought by our fov'reignty, juftice, or fame.
For no fon of Columbia fhall e'er be a flave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the fea rolls a wave.

'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms,
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collifion;
Let them bring all the vasals of Europe in arms,
We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a division :
While with patriot pride,

To our laws we're allied,

No foe can fubdue us, no faction divide;

For no fon of Columbia fhall e'er be a flave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls a wave.

Our mountains are crown'd with imperial oak;
Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourish'd;
But long ere our nation fubmits to the yoke,

Not a tree fhall be left on the field where it flourish'd.
Should invafion impend,

Every grove would defcend,

From the hill-tops they fhaded, our fhores to defend ;
For no fon of Columbia fhall e'er be a flave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the fea rolls a wave.

Let our patriots destroy Anarch's peftilent worm;

Left our liberty's growth fliould be check'd by corrosion; Then let clouds thicken round us-we heed not the ftorm; Our realm fears no Shock but the earth's own explosion. Foes affail us in vain,

Though their fleets bridge the main,
For our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain.

For no fon of Columbia shall e'er be a slave,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls a wave.

Should