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Thus, when Bellona (ruthless maid!)
Her empire thro' the world has spread,
And death his flag has proud-difplay'd
O'er legions that in battle bled ;-
If PEACE, bedeck'd with olive robe,
(Refplendent nymph, fweet guest of heav'n)
Transfufe her balm around the globe,
A theme of joy to man is giv'n.
Then wake, O mufe! thy sweetest lays-
Returning peace demands thy praise;

And while the notes in varied cadence found,
Eye thou the Theban* Swan that foars o'er heav'nly
ground.

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If thou from Albion's fea-girt shore,
Advent'rous mufe wilt deign to rove,
Inclin'd remoteft realms t'explore
And foothe the favage foul to love;
Hither wave thy wand'ring pinion,
Here be fix'd thy last dominion,
Warbling in 'Sylvania's grove.
Bright-ey'd Euphrofyne! attend,

If genial PEACE can aught avail,
With all thy graceful charms defcend,
And o'er the youthful lyre prevail.
*Pindar.

+ For Pennsylvania.

Bounteous

Bounteous PEACE with lavish hand,
To ev'ry shore thy bleffings ftrew,
O veil the blood-polluted land,

And all thy grateful joys renew..
Thy blifsful pregnant reign restore,
And calm the breafts of angry Kings;
Thy horn of Amalthean store

Ope, and expand thy golden wings;
Till trade fecure her treasure beams;
And science re-affumes her shades ;
Till fhepherds quaff untainted ftreams,
And hinds enjoy their native glades;
Till the glad mufes ftrike the lyre,
And virtuous focial deeds infpire;

Till the loud drum no more fhall bid to arms prepare, Nor brazen trumpets breath horrid din of war.

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Aufpicious pow'r, whofe falutary ray

Form'd this new world, and rear'd her infant fame, Extend anew thy mitigating fway,

And quell the hero's battle-breathing flame.

Ye fragrant myrtles, ope your peaceful bow'rs, And charm the warrior with your pleasing scenes, Shield him with woodbine's aromatic flow'rs,

And for his fopha spread your velvet greens.

For

For him the flute mellifluous fhall blow
In Lydian mufic, founding foft and low,
And blooming beauty with attractive art,
Shall sweetly melt the tumults of his heart;
The nectar'd bowl with rofy garlands twin'd,
Shall waft his forrows to the vagrant wind,
While the victorious laurel of renown,

In verdant wreaths his manly brows fhall crown.

III.

Too long has war's terrific train,

(The barbed fpear and reeking blade)
Made nations rue their chieftains flain,
And fanguin'd every mufe's fhade.
From diftant Volga's rapid floods,
To Canada's high-tow'ring woods,
Has the deadly cannon bray'd.
From where th' effulgent god of day
Impearls Arabia's fpicy fields,
To where his fetting luftres play-
The world to British valor yields.
How has bold CLIVE, with martial toil,
O'er India born his conqu'ring lance,

For Brunswick gain'd the distant foil,
And dafh'd th' afpiring hopes of France?
Let Goree, rich with flaming ore,

Heroic KEPPEL's acts proclaim,

And

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Refound to future times his name.
O'er red Germania's hoftile waste,

Britannia's chiefs have conquering fhone.
Brave Elliot's warlike fates have grac'd
His Monarch's high illustrious throne;
And Granby's deeds the mufes claim
To fwell th' immortal trump of fame.

But victory enough has wav'd her glitt❜ring wand,
With British honors grac'd, o'er ev'ry proftrate

land!

IIII.

Witness ye plains bedew'd with gore,
So late ambitious Gallia's boast,
Where howling o'er the defert fhore,
Was feen the genius of the coaft.
Thus, leaning on her shatter'd fpear,
She wildly wail'd in deep despair,

Her fall'n tow'rs and vanquish'd hoft-
"As Niobe (when Juno's hate
Purfu'd to death her tender care)
I moan my offspring's hapless fate,
And vex with fighs the paffing air.
Not with less grief my bosom heaves,

Than did the breast of Hector's fire,

* Ivory.

E

When

When flain were all his Dardan chiefs,

And Ilium blaz'd with Grecian fire.

For lo! where heap'd with flaughter'd Gauls,
Is Louisburgh a ruin'd pile!

Her bulwarks and ftupendous walls
Are whelm'd in duft and ashes vile.
Imperial Lawrence heaves with woe,
Of many a Gallic chief the grave,
And as his purple billows flow,

To hoary Neptune's coral cave,
Tells how my vaunting troops, o'erthrown,
Britannia's matchlefs prowefs own;

Tells how Quebec, fo late for martial might renown'd,

Her rocky ramparts crufh'd, lies fmoaking on the ground.

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What force can Albion's warlike fons difmay, Dauntless who mingle in th' embattled plain? What toils difhearten, or what dangers ftay?

Not rocks, nor deferts, nor the boisterous main ! How torn my laurels, by her Wolfe's dread arm! O'er mountains huge, who chas'd my armed band, Rouz'd the fierce favage, with dire war's alarm, And hurl'd his thunder o'er my carnag'd land!

No more gay trophies fhall emblaze my name,
Nor Gallia's realms re-echo with my fame.

Loft

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