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There mighty nations shall enquire their doom,
The world's great oracle in times to come;
There kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen
Once more to bend before a British queen.
Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their woods,
And half thy forests rush into thy floods,
Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display,
To the bright regions of the rising day:
Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll,
Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole :
Or under southern skies exalt their sails,
Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales!
For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow;
The coral redden, and the ruby glow,
The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,
And Phoebus warm the ripening ore to gold.
The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind,
Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind;
Whole nations enter with each swelling tide,
And seas but join the regions they divide;
Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold,
And the new world launch forth to seek the old.
Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide,
And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side,
And naked youths and painted chiefs admire
Our speech, our color, and our strange attire!
Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to shore,
Till conquest cease, and slavery be no more!
Till the freed Indians, in their native groves,
Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves!
Peru once more a race of kings behold,
And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold!
Exiled by thee from earth to deepest hell,
In brazen bonds shall barbarous Discord dwell:
Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Care,
And mad Ambition, shall attend her there:
There purple Vengeance bathed in gore retires,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires:
There hateful Envy her own snakes shall fee!,
And Persecution mourn her broken wheel:
There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain,
And gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain.
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, And bring the scenes of opening fate to light: My humble Muse, in unambitious strains, Paints the green forests and the flowery plains, Where Peace descending bids her olives spring. And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise; Enough for me, that to the listening swains First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.
A NIGHT PIECE.
BY MISS CARTER.
WHILE night in solemn shade invests the polė, And calm reflection soothes the pensive soul; While reason, undisturb'd, asserts her sway, And life's deceitful colors fade away;
To thee, All-conscious Presence! I devote
This peaceful interval of sober thought:
Here all my better faculties confine;
And be this hour of sacred silence thine!
If, by the day's illusive scenes misled, My erring soul from virtue's path has stray'd; Snared by example, or by passion warm'd, Some false delight my giddy sense has charm'd; My calmer thoughts the wretched choice reprove, And my best hopes are center'd in thy love. Deprived of this, can life one joy afford? Its utmost boast a vain, unmeaning word.
But ah! how oft my lawless passions rove, And break those awful precepts I approve! Pursue the fatal impulse I abhor,
And violate the virtue I adore!
Oft, when thy better Spirit's guardian care
Warn'd my fond soul to shun the tempting snare,
My stubborn will his gentle aid repress'd,
And check'd the rising goodness in my breast:
Mad with vain hopes, or urged by false desires,
Still'd his soft voice, and quench'd his sacred fires.
With grief oppress'd, and prostrate in the dust, Shouldst thou condemn, I own thy sentence just. But, oh! thy softer titles let me claim,
And plead my cause by Mercy's gentle name.
Mercy! that wipes the penitential tear,
And dissipates the horrors of despair;
From righteous justice steals the vengeful hour,
Softens the dreadful attribute of
Disarms the wrath of an offended God,
And seals my pardon in a Savior's blood!
All-powerful Grace, exert thy gentle sway, And teach my rebel passions to obey; Lest lurking Folly, with insidious art, Regain my volatile, inconstant heart! Shall every high resolve Devotion frames Be only lifeless sounds and specious names? stray O, rather, while thy hopes and fears control, 'd, In this still hour, each motion of my soul, chart Secure its safety by a sudden doom,
e rep And be the soft retreat of sleep my tomb!
love. Calm let me slumber in that dark repose,
Till the last morn its orient beam disclose:
Then, when the great arch-angel's potent sound
Shall echo through creation's ample round,
Waked from the sleep of death, with joy survey
The opening splendors of eternal day!
In a Hermitage, at Ansley-Hall, in Warwickshire.
BY T. WARTON.
BENEATH this stony roof reclined,
I soothe to peace my pensive mind:
And, while to shade my lowly cave,
Embowering elms their umbrage wave;
And while the maple dish is mine,
The beechen cup unstain'd with wine:
I scorn the gay licentious crowd,
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud.
Within my limits lone and still,
The blackbird pipes in artless trill;
Fast by my couch, congenial guest,
The wren has wove her mossy nest;
From busy scenes and brighter skies,
To lurk with innocence she flies;
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell,
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.
At morn I take my custom'd round,
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound ;
And every opening primrose count
That trimly paints my blooming mount :
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude,
That grace my gloomy solitude,
I teach in winding wreaths to stray
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.
At eve, within yon studious nook,
I ope my brass-embossed book,
Portray'd with many a holy deed
Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed :
Then, as my taper waxes dim,
Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn;
And, at the close, the gleams behold
Of parting wings bedropp'd with gold.
While such pure joys my bliss create,
Who but would smile at guilty state?
Who but would wish his holy lot
In calm oblivion's humble grot?
Who but would cast his pomp away,
To take my staff and amice gray
And to the world's tumultuous stage
Prefer the blameless hermitage?