And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn, Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees, Increasing commerce and reviving art Renew the quarrel on the conqu'ror's part; And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, That wealth within is ruin at the door. What are ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes, say, But Etnas of the suff'ring world ye sway ? Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd robe, Deplores the wasted regions of her globe; And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar, To prove you there destroyers as ye are. O place me in some Heav'n-protected isle, Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile · Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, No crested warricur dips his plume in blood; Where Pow'r secures what Industry has won ; Where to succeed is not to be undone; A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain, In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign? ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE. GO-thou art all unfit to share The squirrel here his hoard provides The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn And here I wander eve and morn, Ah!-I could pity thee exil'd But thou canst taste no calm delight; I care not whether east or north, The angry muse thus sings thee forth, VOL. II. ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RECOVERY. I RANSACK'D for a theme of song, Through tomes of fable and of dream But none I found, or found them shar'd To modern times, with Truth to guide Thus, as the bee, from bank to bow'r, But rests on none, till that be found, Till, settling on the current year, 1 found the far-sought treasure near; A theme for poetry divine, A theme t' ennoble even mine, In nemorable eighty-nine. The spring of eighty-nine shall be That threaten'd England's trembling state One breath of Heaven, that cried-Restore! Then peace and joy again possess'd O Queen of Albion, queen of isles' Since all thy tears were chang'd to smiles, The eyes that never saw thee shine With joy not unallied to thine, Transports not chargeable with art Illume the land's remotest part, And strangers to the air of courts, If they who on thy state attend, Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 'Tis but the natural effect Of grandeur that ensures respect; HYMN, For the use of the Sunday School at Olney. Thanks for thy word and for thy day, And grant us, we implore, Never to waste, in sinful play Thy holy sabbaths more. Thanks that we hear-but O impart That we may listen with our heart, For if vain thoughts the minds engage What hope that at our heedless age, Our minds should e'er be free? |