E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train, And ranks her troops on Memory's ample plain; See! the firm leaders of my patriot line, See! Sidney, Raleigh, Hampden, Somers, shine. See Hough, superior to a tyrant's doom, Smile at the menace of the slave of Rome: Each soul whom truth could fire, or virtue move, Each breast strong panting with its country's love, All that to Albion gave their heart or head, That wisely counsell'd, or that bravely bled, All, all appear; on me they grateful smile, The well-earn'd prize of every virtuous toil To me with filial reverence they bring,

And hang fresh trophies o'er my honour'd spring. Ah! I remember well yon beechen spray : There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay;

'Twas there great Cato's form first met his eye, In all the pomp of free-born majesty ;

[awe,

My son," he cried, "observe this mien with

In solemn lines the strong resemblance draw; "The piercing notes shall strike each British ear; "Each British eye shall drop the patriot tear!

"And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain,

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Each youth shall spurn at Slavery's abject reign; "Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, "And speak, and act, and bleed, in Freedom's "cause."

The hero spoke; the bard assenting bow'd; The lay to Liberty and Cato flow'd;

While Echo, as she rov'd the vale along,
Join'd the strong cadence of his Roman song.

But, ah! how Stillness slept upon the ground, How mute attention check'd each rising sound, Scarce stole a breeze to wave the leafy spray, Scarce trill'd sweet Philomel her softest lay, When Locke walk'd musing forth! e'en now I view Majestic Wisdom thron'd upon his brow;

View Candour smile upon his modest cheek, And from his eye all Judgment's radiance break. "Twas here the sage his manly zeal express'd, Here stripp'd vain Falsehood of her gaudy vest;

Here Truth's collected beams first fill'd his mind,

Ere long to burst in blessings on mankind;

Ere long to shew to Reason's purged eye,

That Nature's first best gift was Liberty."

Proud of this wondrous son, sublime I stood (While louder surges swell'd my rapid flood); Then, vain as Niobe, exulting cried,

Ilissus! roll thy fam'd Athenian tide;

Tho' Plato's steps oft mark'd thy neighb'ring glade,
Tho' fair Lycæum lent its awful shade,
Tho' every Academic green impress'd

Its image full on thy reflecting breast,

Yet my pure stream shall boast as proud a name, And Britain's Isis flow with Attic fame.

Alas! how chang'd! where now that Attic boast? See! Gothic Licence rage o'er all my coast; See! Hydra Faction spread its impious reign, Poison each breast, and madden ev'ry brain: Hence frontless crowds, that, not content to fright The blushing Cynthia from her throne of night,

Blast the fair face of day; and, madly bold,
To Freedom's foes infernal orgies hold;
To Freedom's foes, ah! see the goblet crown'd,
Hear plausive shouts to Freedom's foes resound;
The horrid notes my refluent waters daunt,

The Echoes groan, the Dryads quit their haunt;
Learning, that once to all diffus'd her beam,
Now sheds, by stealth, a partial private gleam
In some loan cloister's melancholy shade,
Where a firm few support her sickly head,
Despis'd, insulted, by the barb'rous train, [plain,
Who scour, like Thracia's moon-struck rout, the
Sworn foes, like them, to all the Muse approves,
All Phœbus favours, or Minerva loves.

Are these the sons my fost'ring breast must rear, Grac❜d with my name, and nurtur'd by my care? Must these go forth from my maternal hand

To deal their insults through a peaceful land ;

And boast, while Freedom bleeds, and Virtue

groans,

That "Isis taught Rebellion to her sons?"

Forbid it, Heaven! and let my rising waves Indignant swell, and whelm the recreant slaves! In England's cause their patriot floods employ, As Xanthus delug'd in the cause of Troy.

Is this denied; then point some secret way Where far, far hence these guiltless streams may [spreads

stray;

Some unknown channel lend, where Nature
Inglorious vales, and unfrequented meads

There, where a hind scarce tunes his rustic strain,
Where scarce a pilgrim treads the pathless plain,
Content I'll flow; forget that e'er my tide
Saw yon majestic structures crown its side;
Forget that e'er my rapt attention hung
Or on the sage's or the poet's tongue;

Calm and resign'd my humbler lot embrace,
And, pleas'd, prefer oblivion to disgrace.

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