Like POMPEY, WARREN fell in martial pride,
And great MONTGOMERY like SCIPIO died!
In GREENE, the hero, patriot, sage we see,
And LUCIUS, JUBA, CATO, shine in thee!
When Rome received her last decisive blow,
Had'st thou, immortal GATES, been Cæsar's foe,
All-perfect discipline had check'd his sway,
And thy superior conduct won the day.
Freedom had triumph'd on Pharsalian ground,
Nor Saratoga's heights been more renown'd!
Long as heroic deeds the soul enflame,
Eternal praise bold STARK will ever claim,
Who led thy glorious way, and gave thee half thy fame.
See persevering A-proudly scale
Canadia's alpine hills, a second HANNIBAL.
In Cæsar's days had such a daring mind
With WASHINGTON's serenity been join'd,
The tyrant then had bled, great Cato liv'd,
And Rome in all her majesty surviv'd.
What praise, what gratitude are due to thee,
Oh brave, experienced, all-accomplish'd LEE!
The sword, the pen thou dost alternate wield,
Nor JULIUS' self, to thee would blush to yield.
And while SEMPRONIUS?" bellowings stun the ear,.
I see the traitor C, his thunders hear.
But all was false, and hollow, tho' his tongue
Dropt manna," with the garb of reason hung.
Ere long the wily SYPHAX may advance,
And AFRIC faith be verify'd in FRANCE,
How long, deluded by that faithless pow'r,
Will ye dream on, nor seize the golden hour ?
In vain do ye rely on foreign aid,
By her own arm and heav'n's Columbia must be freed.
Rise then, my countrymen! for fight prepare,
Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war! For your griev'd country nobly dare to die, And empty all your veins for LIBERTY, No pent-up Utica contracts your pow'rs, But the whole boundless continent is yours! "Rouse up, for shame! your breth'ren slain in war, "Or groaning now in ignominious bondage, "Point at their wounds and chains, and cry "To battle! WASHINGTON impatient mourns "His scanty legions and demands your aid.
"Intrepid LEE still clanks his galling fetters! "MONTGOMERY complains that we are slow! "And WARREN's ghost stalks unreveng'd among us!"
On the gloomy prospects of 1776;
Written with allusion to part of the 11th chapter of Job.
CANST thou, by searching the OMNISCIENT find?
Or to perfection scan the ETERNAL MIND?
Vain aim its height the heav'n of heav'ns transcends,
Deeper than hell, the unfathom'd line descends!
'Tis longer than the earth's unmeasur'd plain,
And broader than th' illimitable maine.
If HE in wrath, shut up a guilty land,
Or fierce consume them with his red right hand :
Humbled in dust beneath almighty power,
Trembling they groan, bow prostrate, and adore:
Then, touch'd with pity, he their
prayer receives,
Repents him of the evil, and forgives.
Thus oft doth GoD-what pow'r can stay his hand,
Who his fix'd counsels question or withstand ?
He knows vain man! no thought escapes his eyes,
And canst thou stand if wrath eternal rise?
Yet dares proud dust presumptuously revolt,
To folly born, like the wild ass's colt.
Oh, then learn wisdom, much-enduring land!
Implore thy GOD to stay his wasting hand?
He'll not be deaf, if humbly thou prepare
'Thine heart, and stretch thine hands in fervent prayers.
If in them wrath or wickedness be found,
If pride, extortion, violence, abound,
Far, far remove them, let no guilty stain,
The tabernacle of thy GoD profane.
To him with filial confidence repair,
He'll lift thee up, nor suffer thee to fear.
Thy mis'ries shall be all forgot, or seem
Like gliding waters, or an empty dream.
Then shall thy light be as the morning ray,
Thine age more glorious than meridian day.
The Force of Nature.
'Twas on a cliff, whose rocky base
Baffled the briny wave,
Whose cultured heights their verdant store,
To many a tenant gave;
A mother, led by rustic cares,
Had wandered with her child,
Unwean'd the babe: yet on the grass
He frolick'd and he smil'd.
With what delight the mother glow'd
To mark her infant joy,
How oft would pause, amid her toil,
To view her beauteous boy.
At length, by other cares estrang'd,
Her thoughts the child forsook,
Careless, he wandered o'er the grass,
Nor drew his mother's look.
Cropt was each flower that caught his eye,
When wandering o'er the green;
He sought the cliff's uncertain edge,
And pleas'd, survey'd the scene.
'Twas then, the mother from her toil
Turn'd to behold her child-
The Urchin gone! her cheek was flush'dy
Her wandering eye was wild.
She saw him on the cliff's rude brink
Now careless peeping o,er,
He turn'd, and on his mother smil'd,
Then sported as before.
Sunk was her voice, 'twas vain to fly,
'Twas vain the brink to brave;
Oh Nature! it was thine alone
To prompt the means to save;
She tore the 'kerchief from her breast,
And laid her bosom bare:
He saw, delighted, left the cliff,
And sought the banquet there.
Now night serene, and solemn silence reign;
The stars' dim twinkling, shed a dubious light
On the smooth bosom of the swelling main,
And give its billows faintly to the sight.
The barque light-bounding, cuts the silver wave,
As the stern sailor plies the bending oar;
Sweet Echo leaves her solitary cave,
And murm❜ring winds along the pebbled shore:
While from the east a gentle evening breeze,
Wafting the fragrance of the varied year,
Wild and melodious, through the sighing trees,
Breaks, in soft whispers, on the charmed ear.
No jarring sound the tranquil hour alarms;
No clash of elements the mind assails;
No brazen trumpet harshly brays to arms,
Nor widow'd fair, her murder'd love bewails.
All Nature, lull'd in solemn stillness, seems
To cheer the mind which care and grief oppress
Mild and beneficent, Hope's star-light beams
Seen streaming forth, to soothe the soul's distress
Ah! what have I with scenes like this to do!
No placid calm my troubled bosom feels;
Me, rude Misfortune's eager fiends pursue,
No hope one scene of future joy reveals.
To me more dear the wildly-wasting storm
Howls dreadful; and the whirlwind's sullen roar,
Swelling with rage, each beauty to deform,
And earth to chaos once again restore.
Ah! why forever in my heart must reign
Unnumber'd cares, which time will ne'er assuage e?
Why must I find no short recess of pain,
Nor joy one moment, all my soul engage?
O thou, whose power the raging tempest sways,
Whose will alike the troubled mind can calm;
Deign hence to drive Despair's dull lurid blaze,
And o'er my soul to shed Religion's holy balm.
Port Folio.
SOME wit of old-such wits of old there were-
Whose hints show'd meaning, whose allusions, care,
By one brave stroke to mark all human kind,
Call'd clear blank paper every infant mind;
When still, as opening sense her dictates wrote
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot.
The thought was happy, pertinent, and true,
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I, (can you pardon my presumption ?) I,
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.
Various the papers, various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use.
Men are as various: and, if right I scan,
Each sort of paper represents some man.
Pray note the fop; half powder and half lace;
Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling-place;
He's the gilt paper, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire.
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