But come, thou habitant of heav'n!

Inspirer of each gallant deed ;
Virtue, bright queen, to whom ʼtis given

The soul for purer joys to breed;
High-archid, o'er yon cerulean plain,
Sublimely shines thy sacred fane,

The graces wait its portals nigh,
Which perfect shall endure thro’ vast eternity.

Come, and thy gracious aid impart,

Each perishing pursuit to tame;
O root out folly from my heart,

And thou the full possession claim.
Each roving wish, each vain desire,
O purge with thy celestial fire;

What is the world's, the people's gaze ?
Hence with the bubble fame,and idle breath of praise!

Whether, adown the stream of time,

I pass with easy prosp'rous fails ;
Or o'er its waves I painful climb,

Forlorn and toss'd by stormy gales;
Still let me check the wanton breeze,
Nor be absorb’d in Nothful ease;

But stedfast steer, when tempests rise
That rend my shatter'd bark,or mount it to the skies.


So come what will, the adverse scene,

Or fortune's gay alluring smile,
Still shall I keep my soul serene,

Superior to all sinful guile;
Then, whether Fate's resistless shears,
Shall clip my thread in ripen'd years ;

Or, in my Prime, my doom be spoke,
Undaunted shall I yield, and fearless meet the stroke.

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S T A N Z A S,

On the Successes of his MAJESTY's Arms, and the

Greatness of the English NATION; 1762.



AIL sacred muse ! thou harbinger of fame,

To Britain's glory found the lofty rhine ; A pleasing task her greatness to proclaim,

And stamp her honours on the page of time.


For sure, the praises of her warlike train,

To the harmonious deathless lyre belong; For them, sweet Clio, raise the rapt'rous strain,

And the rich tide of music pour along.


As when the monarchs of the bestial race,

Triumphant, rove the sterile Lybian fand; The tyger fierce, and lordly pard they chase,

Nor dare the trembling Alocks their rage withstand;


Or, as the sovereigns of the briny Mood,

From shore to shore, imperial, cleave their way ; Before them fly the fearful finny brood, And all confess their wide-extended sway;


So when Britannia lifts her glitt'ring spear,

Her ensigns blazing o'er th'embattl'd field ; Heart-struck with awe, and chill'd with instant

Her foes inglorious fly, or trembling yield.


Or if some Blake her navies, vengeful, lead

O’er the wide bosom of the surging wave ; At her red flag, her en’mies, filld with dread,

Shrink to their ports, or find a wat’ry grave.


Not Carthage old, for opulence renown'd,

Nor Tyre, long noted for her purple dye ; Nor aught that in th' historic


is found, With Britain's ille in wealth and strength can vie.


Her's is fair COMMERCE to earth's distant end,

Whether rich India yields her spicy store, Or Persian looms their filken beauties blend,

Or mines Peruvian give the glittring ore.

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True to her ports, her num'rous vessels bear

The costly freight from each prolific soil ; Soft Persia's filks, and India's spice, we share,

And gold Peruvian gain without the toil.


Well doth Britannia the fair path pursue,

Which ancient Rome with glory trod before ; Abroad, each haughty tyrant to subdue,

At home, t'encrease each happy subject's store,


Won by the valour of her martial bands,

Lo! this new world boasts her auspicious name ; Scant are the tracts the lordly Gaul commands,

And leffen'd proud Iberia's ample claim.




fair isles that grace the western main, Like gems bespangling Neptune's azure vest, Or stars that deck the blue etherial plain,

The feats of British heroes are con fest.

XIII. Struck

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