No! it never shall be,-that the Fair, our delight,
Shall dishonour'd go down to the grave;
All the Charities mingle, and urge to the fight,
In such cause e'en the darkness of death appears bright, And sacred's the dust of the brave.
No! it never shall be,-that they dare to defile
The fanes of the God we adore;
He for ages has guarded our much beloved Isle,
Has bid it with Freedom and Plenty to smile,
And revered be his name on our shore.
View the noble assemblage!—a Nation in Arms!
Should legions escape us at sea,
We'll rush on the foe, in thick danger find charms,
United-exulting in War's deep alarms,
Determin'd to die, or be free.
Then, Britons, arise! 'tis our Country demands
That we guard the loved Isle of the Waves!
"Tis the soil which our Forefathers nurtured with blood,
And each vein in our bosom shall pour its rich flood
Ere Britons submit to be slaves.
ASIA, ARTIFICE, and WATER,
THAT Artifice in Asia first began
Is plain, for woman there seducing man,
Did by that direful act such guilt convey
As floods of Water cannot wash away.
DRAWING OF A FAVOURITE TULIP
WHEN Winter's frosts to Summer's suns succeed, And chilling snow o'erspreads each verdant mead, Then may the colours Art doth here disclose,
Recal the pleasures that from Nature 'rose.
THEODOSIUS AND CONSTANTIA..
PROSTRATE before the shrine Constantia kneels,
And thus the sorrows of her heart reveals.
Hail messenger of God! in mercy sent
To cheer the wretched, sooth the penitent;
Behold, by agonizing passions torn,
A child of misery, wandering and forlorn:
Still warm in youth, still fresh in healthful bloom,
Who sees no refuge but the silent tomb;
Sad to the gay, and dreaded by the blest,
But ah! how friendly to the wretch distrest!
Imploring. Heaven's all free restoring grace,
I come repentant, and with sighs confess
How much I need thy ardent, pious prayer,
Thy sharp reproof, thy constant watchful care :
With poignant grief these lips shall now reveal
What still suppress'd they dare no more conceal;
a Vide Spectator, No. 164.
Long has it reign'd the tyrant of my breast,
And though a tyrant, still a welcomed guest.
Oft, when amid these sacred walls I rove,
And seem to yield to Heaven my virgin love,
An earthly object twines about my heart,
And robs devotion of her purer part.
In the young dawn of life's unclouded day,
While sportive pass'd each fleeting hour away,
As wandering through the verdant meads we stray'd
He pluckt sweet flowret's for his happy maid;
With these, well pleas'd, he'd wreathe my flowing hair,
Or deck my bosom with assiduous care:
Delighted thus, from day to day we'd roam,
Nor thought of anguish in the hour to come:
As rolling years their stated circuit ran,
And gave the promise of the future man,
The kindling passion that had yet no name,
Each gentle zephyr fann'd into a flame:
To welcome the returning spring we'd rove,
Or seek in summer's heat the sheltering grove :
By Iller's mountain stream together stray,
And watch the fervid sun's departing ray;
See the bright moon assume the sovereign power,
Gild the pale night, and give the cooler hour.
How sweet, but ah! how soon thus pass'd our youth,
Endear'd with mutual vows of lasting truth,
While all unskilled in deep, prophetic lore,
We form'd bright plans of happiness in store.
We own'd our loves, and hoped each parent's hand
Would aid our joys, and join the nuptial band;
But hoped in vain, no sympathies could move,
For age, alas! forgets what 'tis to love.
And pride of wealth, with pride of birth combined,
To chase the native feelings of the mind:
In vain we urged affection's magic power
Could cheer misfortune in her darkest hour;
For when I press'd my father's once kind hand,
He chid me from him with a stern command;
No tears could melt, no arguments prevail,
No friend his firm resolve could e'er assail :
He bid me for the hymeneal rites prepare
With one who in my heart possess'd no share;
Thus, thus impell'd, what could Constantia do?
One choice was left-to bid the world adieu:
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