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WHAT theme propitious to the lay;

What gallant hero fhall we choose,

Whose name the founding chord shall sway,
And fire the glowing mufe?

What chief in Britain's martial train,

Has fame with palm victorious crown'd,
Whofe deeds upon the embattled plain,
Her golden trump fhall ceafelefs found?
'Tis WOLFE-Beneath the spacious sky,
A hero of fublimer name,

The searchful muse shall ne'er descry

To confecrate with deathlefs fame.

II.

Where great ST. LAWRENCE rolls its awful flood,
He, daring, led Britannia's warrior-band,
Scal'd its proud banks, and pierc'd the defart wood,

That veils the horrors of the hoftile land.

Soon

Soon CANADA Confefs'd his warlike might,
If on the plain confpicuous he appear'd,
Or 'gainst Quebec's aspiring tow'ry height,
His thund'ring arm all-dreadfully he rear'd.

III.

Now lights his vengeance on the daftard foe-
So once Pelides, on the Trojan field,

(Whilft death stood glaring on his crimson'd fhield) Fill'd ev'ry trembling Dardan heart with woe. Thick as loud whirlwinds ftrew the fading leaves,

Along the autumnal plain,

Array'd in arms, he fell'd the Gallic chiefs;

A welt'ring breathless train.

IV.

What shall Britannia's wrath appease,
Or what restrain her flaming ire,
When foes disturb her facred peace,

And with just rage her champions fire?
What glorious deeds around thee beam'd,
O WOLFE! on Abram's purpled plain,

*

When the warm fanguin'd current stream'd
Of all the flow'r of Gallia flain?

* The plains near Quebec, where WOLFE engaged and routed the French, are called Abraham's Plains.

Nought

Nought but the trumpet's martial found,
The clang of polish'd arms,

The thund'ring fteed that beats the ground,
Could fill thy foul with charms!

V.

The deftin'd hour at length appears,
Celestial victory emits her ray,
And rids Britannia of her fears,
And echoes round propitious day :

The hills around

With joy refound,
And spread the golden tidings far;
The trident-bearing god

Mounting from his deep abode,

To Albion tells the aufpicious war;
Tells how, with ancient valour fraught,
Her fons refum'd paternal might;
How the intrepid Townshend fought,
And mighty Wolfe put hofts to flight!

VI.

But while fuperior to all fear,

With his bold ranks the hero drove,
O'er heaps of flain, in full career- .
A fhaft, commiffion'd from above,

Full

Full to his breast with fatal speed,

Took its unerring way,

Down fell great Wolfe amidft the dead,
And purpled where he lay-

" How goes

the fight?" he cries,

(For round his head

Grim death was spread

And dim'd his rolling eyes.)

A gen'rous friend reply'd,
"The foes are fled !"

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Such are the chiefs that merit fair renown,

And follow bold where glory leads the way! Such are the chiefs that grace a monarch's crown, And from the muse demand th' immortal lay! Chiefs that from Albion's billow-beaten fhore, Can rifque the perils of th' Atlantic flood, And dauntless ride thro' fields bedew'd with gore, To bathe their youthful arms in Gallic blood! Proud in the caufe of honour to expire,

To ftem the onset of the hoftile band; And dare the deep-mouth'd cannon's thund'rous fire, To crown with joy Britannia's happy land.

Tho'

Tho' Wolfe fhall fhine in flaming arms no more, Now thron'd in blifs above the cloudless skies; Cease, O ye fons of Britain, to deplore,

Whilst Brunswick reigns, yet other Wolfes shall rife!

LE GY

E L

то тНЕ

Memory of THEOPHILUS GREW,

A. M. Profeffor of Mathematics in the College of PHILADELPHIA.

W

HY will soft forrow thus o'erwhelm my foul,

And heart-felt anguish ev'ry thought control? To scenes of woe why will the muse retire, And cull fad-founding accents for the lyre? What shade neglected asks the gentle tear, To bathe in grief the long forgotten bier ?

'Tis GREW defcends unheeded to the grave, With no libation of Caftalia's wave.

What

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