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HAIL, generous Corsica! unconquer'd isle!
The fort of freedom; that amidst the waves
Stands like a rock of adamant, and dares
The wildest fury of the beating storm.

And are there yet, in this late sickly age,
Unkindly to the towering growths of virtue,
Such bold exalted spirits? Men whose deeds,
To the bright annals of old Greece opposed,
I Would throw in shades her yet unrivall'd name,
And dim the lustre of her fairest page!
And glows the flame of Liberty so strong
In this lone speck of earth! this spot obscure,
Shaggy with woods, and crusted o'er with rock,
By slaves surrounded, and by slaves oppress'd!
What then should Britons feel?-should they not

catch

The warm contagion of heroic ardour,

And kindle at a fire so like their own?

And shrub of fragrant leaf, that clothes their sides
With living verdure; whence the clustering bee
Extracts her golden dews: the shining box
And sweet-leaved myrtle, aromatic thyme,
The prickly juniper, and the green leaf

Which feeds the spinning worm; while glowing
bright

Beneath the various foliage, wildly spreads
The arbutus, and rears his scarlet fruit
Luxuriant, mantling o'er the craggy steeps;
And thy own native laurel crowns the scene.
Hail to thy savage forests, awful, deep;
Thy tangled thickets, and thy crowded woods,
The haunt of herds untamed; which sullen bound
From rock to rock with fierce unsocial air,
And wilder gaze, as conscious of the power
That loves to reign amid the lonely scenes
Of unquell'd nature: precipices huge,
And tumbling torrents; trackless deserts, plains
Fenced in with guardian rocks, whose quarries

teem

With shining steel, that to the cultured fields
And sunny hills which wave with bearded grain,
Defends their homely produce. Liberty,
The mountain goddess, loves to range at large
Amid such scenes, and on the iron soil
Prints her majestic step. For these she scorns
The green enamell'd vales, the velvet lap
Of smooth savannahs, where the pillow'd head

Such were the working thoughts which swell'd Of luxury reposes; balmy gales,

the breast

Of generous Boswell; when with nobler aim
And views beyond the narrow beaten track
By trivial fancy trod, he turn'd his course
From polish'd Gallia's soft delicious vales,
From the gray relics of imperial Rome,
From her long galleries of laurell'd stone,
Her chisell'd heroes and her marble gods,
Whose dumb majestic pomp yet awes the world,
To animated forms of patriot zeal;
Warm in the living majesty of virtue;
Elate with fearless spirit; firm; resolved;
By fortune nor subdued, nor awed by power.

And bowers that breathe of bliss. For these.

when first

This isle emerging like a beauteous gem
From the dark bosom of the Tyrrhene main.
Rear'd its fair front, she mark'd it for her own,
And with her spirit warm'd. Her genuine sons,
A broken remnant, from the generous stock
Of ancient Greece, from Sparta's sad remains,
True to their high descent, preserved unquench'd
The sacred fire through many a barbarous age :
Whom, nor the iron rod of cruel Carthage,
Nor the dread sceptre of imperial Rome,
Nor bloody Goth, nor grisly Saracen,

How raptured fancy burns, while warm in Nor the long galling yoke of proud Liguria,

thought

I trace the pictured landscape; while I kiss
With pilgrim lips devout the sacred soil
Stain'd with the blood of heroes. Cyrnus, hail!
Hail to thy rocky, deep indented shores,
And pointed cliffs, which hear the chafing deep
Incessant foaming round thy shaggy sides.
Hail to thy winding bays, thy sheltering ports,
And ample harbours, which inviting stretch
Their hospitable arms to every sail :

Could crush into subjection. Still unquell'd
They rose superior, bursting from their chains,
And claim'd man's dearest birthright, liberty:
And long, through many a hard unequal strife.
Maintain'd the glorious conflict; long withstoud,
With single arm, the whole collected force
Of haughty Genoa, and ambitious Gaul.
And shall withstand it-Trust the faithful muse'
It is not in the force of mortal arm,
Scarcely in fate, to bind the struggling soul

Thy numerous streams, that bursting from the That gall'd by wanton power, indignant swells cliffs

Down the steep channell'd rock impetuous pour
With grateful murmur: on the fearful edge
Of the rude precipice, thy hamlets brown

And straw-roof'd cots, which from the level vale
Scarce seen, amongst the craggy hanging cliffs
Seem like an eagle's nest aërial built.

Thy swelling mountains, brown with solemn
shade

Of various trees, that wave their giant arms
O'er the rough sons of freedom; lofty pines,
And hardy fir, and ilex ever green,

Against oppression; breathing great revenge,
Careless of life, determined to be free.
And favouring Heaven approves: for see the

man,

Born to exalt his own, and give mankind
A glimpse of higher natures: just, as great;
The soul of council, and the nerve of war;
Of high unshaken spirit, temper'd sweet
With soft urbanity, and polish'd grace,
And attic wit, and gay unstudied smiles:
Whom Heaven in some propitious hour endow'd
With every purer virtue: gave him all

And spreading chestnut, with each humbler plant, That lifts the hero, or adorns the man.

Gave him the eye sublime; the searching glance, | To after-ages, and applauding worlds

[breast

Keen, scanning deep, that smites the guilty soul As with a beam from heaven: on his brow Serene, and spacious front, set the broad seal Of dignity and rule; then smiled benign On this fair pattern of a God below, High wrought, and breathed into his swelling The large ambitious wish to save his country. O beauteous title to immortal fame! The man devoted to the public, stands In the bright records of superior worth, A step below the skies: if he succeed, The first fair lot which earth affords, is his; And if he falls, he falls above a throne. When such their leader, can the brave despair? Freedom the cause, and Paoli the chief! Success to your fair hopes? A British muse, Though weak and powerless, lifts her fervent

voice,

And breathes a prayer for your success. O could
She scatter blessings as the morn sheds dews,
To drop upon your heads! But patient hope
Must wait th' appointed hour; secure of this,
That never with the indolent and weak
Will Freedom deign to dwell; she must be seized
By that bold arm that wrestles for the blessing:
Tis Heaven's best prize, and must be bought with

blood.

When the storm thickens, when the combat burns,
And pain and death in every horrid shape
That can appal the feeble, prowl around,
Then Virtue triumphs; then her towering form
Dilates with kindling majesty; her mien
Breathes a diviner spirit, and enlarged
Each spreading feature, with an ampler port
And bolder tone, exulting, rides the storm,
And joys amidst the tempest. Then she reaps
Her golden harvest; fruits of nobler growth
And higher relish than meridian suns
Can ever ripen; fair, heroic deeds,
And godlike action. "Tis not meats and drinks,
And balmy airs, and vernal suns and showers,
That feed and ripen minds; 'tis toil and danger;
And wrestling with the stubborn gripe of fate;
And war, and sharp distress, and paths obscure
And dubious. The bold swimmer joys not so
To feel the proud waves under him, and beat
With strong repelling arm the billowy surge;
The generous courser does not so exult
To toss his floating mane against the wind,
And neigh amidst the thunder of the war,
As Virtue to oppose her swelling breast
Like a firm shield against the darts of fate.
And when her sons in that rough school have
learn'd

To smaile at danger, then the hand that raised,
Shall hush the storm, and lead the shining train
Of peaceful years in bright procession on.
Then shall the shepherd's pipe, the muse's lyre,
On Cyrnus' shores be heard: her grateful sons
With loud acclaim and hymns of cordial praise
Shall hail their high deliverers; every name
To virtue dear be from oblivion snatched
And placed among the stars: but chiefly thine,
Thme, Paoli, with sweetest sound shall dwell
On their applauding lips; thy sacred name,
Endear'd to long posterity, some muse,
More worthy of the theme, shall consecrate

Shall bless the godlike man who saved his country.

So vainly wish'd, so fondly hoped the muse :
Too fondly hoped. The iron fates prevail,
And Cyrnus is no more. Her generous sons,
Less vanquish'd than o'erwhelm'd, by numbers
crush'd,

Admired, unaided fell. So strives the moon

In dubious battle with the gathering clouds,
And strikes a splendour through them; till at
length

Storms rolled on storms involve the face of heaven
And quench her struggling fires. Forgive the zeal
That, too presumptuous, whisper'd better things,
And read the book of destiny amiss.
Not with the purple colouring of success
Is virtue best adorn'd: th' attempt is praise.
There yet remains a freedom, nobler far
Than kings or senates can destroy or give;
Beyond the proud oppressor's cruel grasp
Seated secure, uninjured, undestroy'd ;
Worthy of gods :-the freedom of the mind.

THE MOUSE'S PETITION.

O HEAR a pensive prisoner's prayer,
For liberty that sighs:
And never let thine heart be shut
Against the wretch's cries!

For here forlorn and sad I sit

Within the wiry grate;
And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain!

O do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize so little worth.

The scatter'd gleanings of a feast
My frugal meals supply;
But if thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,-

The cheerful light, the vital air,

Are blessings widely given;
Let Nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.

The well-taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eye
And feels for all that lives.

Found in the trap, where he had been confined all night by Dr. Priestley, for the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air.

D

if mind, as ancient sages taught,

A never-dying flame,

Still shifts through matter's varying forms In every form the same;

Beware, lest in the worm you crush,

A brother's soul you find ; And tremble lest thy luckless hand Dislodge a kindred mind.

Or, if this transient gleam of day Be all of life we share,

Let pity plead within thy breast That little all to spare.

So may thy hospitable board

With health and peace be crown'd; And every charm of heartfelt ease

Beneath thy roof be sound,

So when destruction lurks unseen, Which men, like mice, may share, May some kind angel clear thy path, And break the hidden snare.

CHARACTERS.

O BORN to soothe distress and lighten care,
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair!
Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought
So rarely found, and never to be taught;
Of winning speech, endearing, artless, kind,
The loveliest pattern of a female mind;
Like some fair spirit from the realms of rest,
With all her native heaven within her breast;
So pure, so good, she scarce can guess at sin,
But thinks the world without like that within;
Such melting tenderness, so fond to bless,
Her charity almost become excess.
Wealth may be courted, Wisdom be revered,
And Beauty praised, and brutal Strength be fear'd;
But Goodness only can affection move,
And love must owe its origin to love

Illam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit,
Componit, furtim, subsequiturque decor.
TIBUL.

Or gentle manners, and of taste refined,
With all the graces of a polish'd mind;
Clear sense and truth still shone in all she spoke,
And from her lips no idle sentence broke.
Each nicer elegance of art she knew ;
Correctly fair, and regularly true.

Her ready fingers plied with equal skill
The pencil's task, the needle, or the quill;
So poised her feelings, so composed her soul,
So subject all to reason's calm control,-
One only passion, strong and unconfined,
Disturb'd the balance of her even mind
In every word, and look, and thought confest-
One passion ruled despotic in her breast,
But that was love; and love delights to bless
The generous transports of a fond excess.

HAPPY old man! who stretch'd beneath the shade
Of large grown trees, or in the rustic porch
With woodbine canopied, where linger yet
The hospitable virtues, calm enjoy'st
Nature's best blessings all ;-a healthy age
Ruddy and vigorous, native cheerfulness,
Plain-hearted friendship, simple piety,
The rural manners and the rural joys
Friendly to life. O rude of speech, yet rich
In genuine worth, not unobserved shall pass
Thy bashful virtues! for the muse shall mark,
Detect thy charities, and call to light
Thy secret deeds of mercy; while the poor,
The desolate, and friendless, at thy gate,
A numerous family, with better praise
Shall hallow in their hearts thy spotless name

SUCH were the dames of old heroic days,
Which faithful story yet delights to praise;
Who, great in useful works, hung o'er the loom,-
The mighty mothers of immortal Rome:
Obscure, in sober dignity retired,
They more deserved than sought to be admired;
The household virtues o'er their honour'd head
Their simple grace and modest lustre shed:
Chaste their attire, their feet unused to roam,
They loved the sacred threshold of their home;
Yet true to glory, fann'd the generous flame,
Bade lovers, brothers, sons aspire to fame;
In the young bosom cherish'd Virtue's seed,
The secret springs of many a godlike deed.
So the fair stream in some sequester'd glade
With lowly state glides silent through the shade,
Yet by the smiling meads her urn is blest,
With freshest flowers her rising banks are drest,
And groves of laurel by her sweetness fed,
High o'er the forest lift their verdant head.

Is there whom genius and whom taste adorn
With rare but happy union; in whose breast
Calm, philosophic, thoughtful, largely fraught
With stores of various knowledge, dwell the

powers

That trace out secret causes, and unveil
Great Nature's awful face? Is there whose hours
Of still domestic leisure breathe the soul
Of friendship, peace, and elegant delight
Beneath poetic shades, where leads the muse
Through walks of fragance, and the fairy groves
Where young ideas blossom ?-Is there one
Whose tender hand, lenient of human woes,
Wards off the dart of death, and smooths the couch
Of torturing anguish? On so dear a name
May blessings dwell, honour and cordial praise;
Nor heed he be a brother to be loved.

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Travel the various map of Science o'er,
Record past wonders, and discover more;
Pour thy free spirit o'er the breathing page,
And wake the virtue of a careless age.
But O forgive, if touched with fond regret
Fancy recalls the scenes she can't forget,
Recalls the vacant smile, the social hours

A mass of heterogeneous matter,

A chaos dark, nor land nor water;-
New books, like new-born infants, stand,
Waiting the printer's clothing hand ;-
Others, a motley ragged brood,
Their limbs unfashion'd all, and rude,
Like Cadmus' half-form'd men appear;

Which charm'd us once, for once those scenes One rears a helm, one lifts a spear,

were ours!

And while thy praises through wide realms extend,
We sit in shades, and mourn the absent friend.
So where th' impetuous river sweeps the plain,
Itself a sea, and rushes to the main;
While its firm banks repel conflicting tides,
And stately on its breast the vessel glides;
Admiring much the shepherd stands to gaze,
Awe-struck, and mingling wonder with his praise;
Yet more he loves its winding path to trace
Through beds of flowers, and Nature's rural face,
While yet a stream the silent vale is cheer'd,
By many a recollected scene endear'd,
Where trembling first beneath the poplar shade
He tuned his pipe, to suit the wild cascade.

And feet were lopp'd and fingers torn
Before their fellow limbs were born;
A leg began to kick and sprawl
Before the head was seen at all,
Which quiet as a mushroom lay
Till crumbling hillocks gave it way;
And all, like controversial writing,
Were born with teeth, and sprung up fighting
"But what is this," I hear you cry,
"Which saucily provokes my eye?"—
A thing unknown, without a name,
Born of the air and doom'd to flame.

ON A LADY'S WRITING.

HER even lines her steady temper show,

AN INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE IN Neat as her dress, and polish'd as her brow;

R. PRIESTLEY'S STUDY.

A MAP of every country known, With not a foot of land his own.

A list of folks that kick'd a dust

On this poor globe, from Ptol. the First;
He hopes, indeed it is but fair,-
Some day to get a corner there.
A group of all the British kings,
Fair emblem! on a packthread swings.
The fathers, ranged in goodly row,
4 decent, venerable show,
Writ a great while ago, they tell us,
And many an inch o'ertop their fellows.
A Juvenal to hunt for mottoes;
And Ovid's tales of nymphs and grottoes.
The meek-robed lawyers, all in white;
Pure as the lamb,—at least to sight.
A shelf of bottles, jar and phial,
By which the rogues he can defy all,-
All fill'd with lightning keen and genuine,
And many a little imp he'll pen you in;
Which, like Le Sage's sprite, let out

Among the neighbours makes a rout;

Brings down the lightning on their houses,

And kills their geese, and frights their spouses.

A rare thermometer, by which

He settles to the nicest pitch,

The just degrees of heat, to raise

Strong as her judgment, easy as her air;
Correct though free, and regular though fair:
And the same graces o'er her pen preside,
That form her manners and her footsteps guide

ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

In vain fair Auburn weeps her desert plains,
She moves our envy who so well complains;
In vain has proud oppression laid her low,
So sweet a garland on her faded brow.
Now, Auburn, now absolve impartial fate,
Which if it made thee wretched, makes thee great
So, unobserved, some humble plant may bloom,
Till crush'd it fills the air with sweet perfume;
So, had thy swains in ease and plenty slept,
Thy poet had not sung, nor Britain wept.
Nor let Britannia mourn her drooping bay,
Unhonour'd genius, and her swift decay;

patron of the poor! it cannot be,
While one-one poet yet remains like thee!
Nor can the muse desert our favour'd isle,
Till thou desert the muse and scorn her smile

Sermons, or politics, or plays.

Papers and books, a strange mix'd olio,

From shilling touch to pompous folio;

Answer, remark, reply, rejoinder,

Fresh from the mint, all stamp'd and coin'd here; Like new-made glass, set by to cool,

Before it bears the workman's tool.

A blotted proof-sheet, wet from Bowling.
How can a man his anger hold in?"—
Forgotten rhymes, and college themes,
Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes ;—

HYMN TO CONTENT.

......natura beatis

Omnibus esse dedit, si quis cognoverit uti.
CLAUDIAN.

O THOU, the nymph with placid eye!
O seldom found, yet ever nigh!

Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,
And smooth unalter'd brow.

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Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage

With settled smiles to meet:
Inured to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek submitted head,
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.

But thou, O nymph retired and coy!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy

To tell thy tender tale?
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose, and violet blossom round,

And lily of the vale.

O say what soft propitious hour
I best may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway?
When Autumn friendly to the muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day.

When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,

And every storm is laid ;-
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice

Low whispering through the shade.

THE ORIGIN OF SONG-WRITING."
Illic indocto primum se exercuit arcu;
Hei mihi quam docas nunc habet ille manus!
TIBUL.

WHEN Cupid, wanton boy! was young,
His wings unfledged, and rude his tongue,
He loiter'd in Arcadian bowers,
And hid his bow in wreaths of flowers;

Addressed to the Author of Essays on Song-writing.

Or pierced some fond unguarded heart
With now and then a random dart;
But heroes scorned the idle boy,
And love was but a shepherd's toy.
When Venus, vex'd to see her child
Amid the forests thus run wild,
Would point him out some nobler game
Gods and godlike men to tame.
She seized the boy's reluctant hand,
And led him to the virgin band,
Where the sister muses round
Swell the deep majestic sound;
And in solemn strains unite,
Breathing chaste, severe delight;
Songs of chiefs and heroes old,
In unsubmitting virtue bold!;
Of even valour's temperate heat,
And toils to stubborn patience sweet;
Of nodding plumes and burnish'd arms
And glory's bright terrific charms.

The potent sounds like lightning dart
Resistless through the glowing heart;
Of power to lift the fixed soul
High o'er Fortune's proud control;
Kindling deep, prophetic musing;
Love of beauteous death infusing;
Scorn, and unconquerable hate
Of tyrant pride's unhallow'd state.
The boy abash'd, and half afraid,
Beheld each chaste immortal maid:
Pallas spread her Egis there;
Mars stood by with threatening air;
And stern Diana's icy look

With sudden chill his bosom struck.

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"Daughters of Jove, receive the child,"
The queen of beauty said, and smiled;—
Her rosy breath perfumed the air,
And scatter'd sweet contagion there
Relenting Nature learn'd to languish,
And sicken'd with delightful anguish :-
Receive him artless yet and young;
Refine his air, and smooth his tongue :
Conduct him through your favourite bowers
Enrich'd with fair perennial flowers,
To solemn shades and springs that lie
Remote from each unhallow'd eye;
'Teach him to spell those mystic names
That kindle bright immortal flames :
And guide his young unpractised feet
To reach coy Learning's lofty seat."

Ah, luckless hour! mistaken maids,
When Cupid sought the muses' shades!
Of their sweetest notes beguiled,
By the sly insiduous child;
Now of power his darts are found
Twice ten thousand times to wound.
Now no more the slacken'd strings
Breathe of high immortal things,
But Cupid tunes the Muse's lyre
To languid notes of soft desire.
In every clime, in every tongue,
"Tis love inspires the poet's song.
Hence Sappho's soft infectious page;
Monimia's wo; Othello's rage;
Abandon'd Dido's fruitless prayer;
And Eloisa's long despair;

The garland, blest with many a vow,

For haughty Sacharissa's brow;

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