4.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem, Me torquet mea mens confcia, pfallo, tremo; Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta coronâ,

Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods,

2.

Sage beneath a spreading oak

Sat the Druid, hoary chief, Ev'ry burning word he spoke, Full of rage and full of grief.

Princefs!

3.

Princefs! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,pili mo k

Tis because refentment ties

1

All the terrors of our tongues. wu. He H

43

Rome shall perish-write that word

In the blood that she has spilt ;

Perish hopeless and abhorr'd,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.

3.

Rome for empire far renown'd,

Tramples on a thousand states,

Soon her pride shall kifs the ground→→→
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.

.6.

Other Romans shall arife,

Heedlefs of a foldier's name,

Sounds, not arms, fhall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame.

7.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forefts of our land,

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

8.

Regions Cæfar never knew,

Thy pofterity shall sway,

Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they.

9.

Such the bards prophetic words,

Pregnant with celestial fire,

Bending as he swept the chords

Of his sweet but awful lyre.

10.

She with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bofom glow,
Rufh'd to battle, fought and died,
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

Ruffians,

II.

Ruffians, pittilefs as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due,

Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you.

HEROI S M.

THERE was a time when Ætna's filent fire

Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire,
When confcious of no danger from below,
She towr'd a cloud-capt pyramid of fnow.
No thunders fhook with deep inteftine found
The blooming groves that girdled her around,
Her unctuous olives and her purple vines,
(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines)
The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, affur'd,
In peace upon her floping fides matur'd.

When on a day, like that of the last doom,
A conflagration lab'ring in her womb,

She teem'd and heav'd with an infernal birth,
That shook the circling feas and folid earth.
Dark and voluminous the vapours rise,

And hang their horrors in the neighb'ring fkies,
While through the ftygian veil that blots the day,
In dazzling streaks the vivid light'nings play.
But oh what mufe, and in what pow'rs of fong,
Can trace the torrent as it burns along?
Havock and devastation in the van,

It marches o'er the proftrate works of man,
Vines, olives, herbage, forefts disappear,
And all the charms of a Sicilian year.

Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass,

See it an uninform'd and idle mafs,

Without a foil t'invite the tiller's care,

Or blade that might redeem it from despair.

Yet time at length (what will not time atchieve?) Cloaths it with earth, and bids the produce live,

Once