No-tread the path which erst your fathers trod : From foes protect, with grateful care, Foes to your King, your Country, and your God! Shall we, whom Wedlock's bands entwine, While Love and Honour "blow War's blast;" Shall we, who've fondly watch'd each grace Now prematurely fix their doom, While murderous rites pollute the victim's tomb? The foes nor child nor matron spare: Foes to your King, your Country, and your God! The trumpet sounds! Ye British host, One dreadful phalanx, Britons, form: EPODE On the Siege of Acre, and British Triumphs in the East. FLY, By MR. BOWLES. I. son of Terror, fly! Back o'er the burning desert he is fled! In heaps the gory dead Gash'd in the trenches lie! His dazzling files no more Flash on the Syrian sands, As when from Egypt's ravag'd shore, Their The onward way the Gallic legions took, Whilst high on Acre's fuming tow'rs A thousand archers draw their bows! And the rent watch-tow'r echoes to the cry, Heard o'er the rolling surge," They ily, they fly!" "Winds of the wilderness sweep o'er their bands, "From yonder monuments* the dead "Our glorious march survey "To Acre-India!--In the sky "Let the banner invincible fly, "And our triumphs the trumps to the wilderness bray!" Shall Acre's+ feeble citadel, Victor, thy shatter'd hosts repel ? Insulting chief, despair A Briton meets thee there! See beneath the burning wall In reeking heaps th' assailants fall! Now the hostile fires decline, Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine! Now above the bastions gray The clouds of battle roll away; Where, with calm, yet glowing mien, Britain's victorious Youth is seen; He lifts his eye, His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high, III. Ancient Kishon,§ prouder swell, On whose banks they bow'd, they fell The mighty ones of yore, whilst, with pale dread, Pyramids. Inglorious Sisera fled! 3 M 4 + Acre, situated near Kishon and Carmel. Sir Sydney Smith. Hoary See Song of Deborah:-" The river Kishon, that ancient river: Oh, my soul thou hast trodden down strength. Hoary Carmel, witness thou, And lift in conscious pride thy brow; Baal's prophets cry'd in vain! They gash'd their flesh, and leap'd, and cry'd, From morn till ling'ring even-tide. Then stern Elijah on his foes, Strong in the might of Heav'n, arose !— They died:He, on the altars rent, As the blackning clouds and rain Came sounding from the western main, Stood, like the Lord of fate, alone and eminent. IV. What triumphs yet remain ? Was it a groan?—a hero* fell. On Egypt's plain More loud the shouts of battle swell! The ensign hail'd "invincible," in vain! Scander §, the conqueror of the world, ador'd Of Ammon, who the crown of glory won, And said, (when on the sandy solitude The hew-form'd city's || gleamy turrets rose) "Roll commerce here, till time shall close "The scene of things." Their course long ages keep; O'er wider seas The sails of commerce catch the breeze; Sir Ralph Abercrombie. + Lord Hutchinson. And Among the Egyptian antiquities now in the British Museum, there is a most singula: monument, of the rarest and most valuable marble, the green Brechia, rescued, by the activity of Mr. Clark, the celebrated traveller, from the French; and supposed by him, for many cogent reasons, to be the tomb of the founder of Alexandria. His arguments have great weight; but whether they are well founded or not, the circumstance is, at least, highly poetical, ** The Arabic name of Alexander. Alexandria, * England, And Britain's plain Holds of thy greatness, thy poor last remain- May she the paths of thy best* fame explore, THE WITCH OF LAPLAND. Written before a late storm. Partly in Imitation of Gray's "Descent of Odin." By MR. BOYD. PROSE the fiend of Gaul with speed, And over sea and land he flew, And claim a noble gift from me! Grant me a storm, and name your price. My pupil gives me large supplies." WITCH. And here it is on vellum fair, In letters blue, his backward prayer, WITCH. "Give me all thy plundered store, And, nerved anew by magic lays, "I know the hand, I hate the name," The Crone her crimson flag unfurl'd, Loud |