What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage,
Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd!
For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains
Of happy swains,

Which now resound

Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures

bound,

Bear witness: there, oft let the farmer hail
The sacred orchard which imbow'rs his gate,
And shew to strangers passing down the vale,
Where Cav'ndish, Booth, and Osborne, sate,
When bursting from their country's chain,
Ev'n in the midst of deadly harms,

Of papal snares and lawless arms,

They plan'd for Freedom this her noblest reign.

VI. 1.

This reign, these laws, this public care,
Which Nassau gave us all to share,
Had ne'er adorn'd the English name,

Could Fear have silenced Freedom's claim:

* At Whittington, a village on the edge of Scarsdale, in Derbyshire, the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, with the Lord Delamere, privately concerted the plan of the Revolution. The house in which they met is at present a farm-house, and the country people distinguish the room where they sat by the name of the Plotting Parlour.

But Fear in vain attempts to bind
Those lofty efforts of the mind

Which social good inspires:

Where men, for this, assault a throne, Each adds the common welfare to his own; And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires.

VI. 2.

Say, was it thus, when late we view'd

Our fields in civil blood imbru'd?

When Fortune crown'd the barb'rous host,

And half th' astonish'd isle was lost?

Did one of all that vaunting train,
Who dare affront a peaceful reign,
Durst one in arms appear?

Durst one in counsels pledge his life?
Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife?

Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer ?

VI. 3.

Yet, Hastings! these are they

Who challenge to themselves thy country's love; The true, the constant, who alone can weigh What glory should demand, or liberty approve! But let their works declare them. Thy free pow'rs, The gen'rous pow'rs of thy prevailing mind, Not for the tasks of their confed'rate hours,

Lewd brawls, and lurking slander, were design'd.
Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise
Oft nobly sways

Ingenuous youth:

But sought from cowards and the lying mouth
Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone
For mortals fixeth that sublime award.
He from the faithful records of his throne
Bids the historian and the bard

Dispose of honour and of scorn;
Discern the patriot from the slave;
And write the good, the wise, the brave,
For lessons to the multitude unborn.

AN ODE

IN IMITATION OF ALCEUS.

[SIR W. JONES.]

WHAT constitutes a state?

Not high rais'd battlement or labour'd mound,

Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crown'd, Not bays and broad-arm'd ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride,

Not star'd and spangled courts,

Where low-brow'd baseness wafts perfume to pride. NO:-MEN, high-minded MEN,

With pow'rs as far above dull brutes endu❜d,

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rock, and brambles rude;

Men, who their duties know,

But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aim'd blow,

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain :

These constitute a state,

And sov'reign Law, that state's collected will,
O'er thrones and globes elate

Sits Empress, crowning good, repressing ill:
Smit by her sacred frown

The fiend, Discretion, like a vapour sinks,
And e'en th' all-dazzling Crown

Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.
Such was this heav'n lov'd isle,

Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore!
No more shall freedom smile?

Shall Britons languish, and be MEN no more?
Since all must life resign,

Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave,
'Tis folly to decline,

And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

Was it for this my gentle brother's heart Bore in our growing loves so warm a part! That soft indulgence deck'd his open brows, That smiles fraternal hail'd our mutual vows! And, as he kindly breath'd the parting sigh, Love's crystal fluid rushing to his eye,

Was it for this our blooming hopes he blest,
Seiz'd our twined hands, and clasp'd them to his breast
Ah! did he know his lov'd Louisa's fate,

What energy would nerve his rising hate!
Haste, my Lorenzo, to thy sister's aid!
With thy swift vengeance be her wrongs repaid!
Ye rising winds, his wandering sails restore!
Ye refluent waters, bear him to the shore!

And thou, vain bride! enjoy the meteor-ray,
The fancied sun-beam of thy nuptial day!
Stern Fury waits, to quench its transient light,
In deep, ensanguin'd, everlasting night!

Bleed, faithless, bleed!-Louisa's wrongs explored,
Shall frown relentless on her brother's sword!
—Rash, lost Louisa !— could'st thou bear the strife?
Throw on a fatal chance thy brother's life?
Or stretch, a victim to thy proud disdain,

Eugenio, pale, and bleeding on the plain?