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Publifh'd as the Act directs, by Harrison & CMarch, 1,1781.
Page 303, line 5.
• Her roving thought no trace of reason bears:
To her rack'd mind, O Heav'n! thy peace impart !A loving parent bathes thy cheek with tears;'
• Harmodius holds thee to his breaking heart!'
To thee, I grateful kneel, O generous feer!
⚫ And Heaven, in battle, fhield thy dearest friend!
For me, who droop beneath Misfortune's shower,
Thoul't blush to hear-in forrow's darkest hour,
But to thy heart, that's fram'd of fofter mould, • What can to thee a wretch like me endear!
The fpring, the motive of thy love unfold;
Say, fay, for me why flows that friendly tear!
⚫ Yet foft awhile-methinks that hoary brow,
That plaintive voice-Ah, bear with my diftrefs!
• Or much remembrance is effac'd, or now,
A tender father's tear-dew'd cheek I prefs!"
On knees of gratitude I bless the skies,
That Amabella to herself restore !
Ah, wherefore doft thou joy! thy daughter dies:
Support me to yon couch-I can no more
I feel, I feel the pulfe of life retire!
Ah, deign to hear thy dying child reveal,
'Lock'd in her breast, she dar'd so long conceal!..
By thee unfanction'd, did I plight my love,
• Harmodius will to both a father prove.'
To him thy pardon thou canft ne'er proclaim!
Three fleeting hours had fcarcely call'd me bride, • When he was fummon'd to the martial plain; • And there-forgive these tears-in beauty's pride, • The much-lamented valiant youth was flain.
What tho' unworthy of thy care I prove,
To thy remembrance let thy child be dear; Thy kind compaffion let the daughter move,
When this weak frame shall press th' untimely bier.'
More would fhe fay-her voice began to fail,
From her faint eye life's lingering spark retir'd; The ripening cherry on her lip grew pale,
She heav'd a figh-and in that figh expir'd.
A BRITISH PHILIPPICK:
OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS, AND THE PRESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCC XXXVIII.
BY DR. AKENSIDE.
HENCE this unwonted tranfport in my breast?
Why glow my thoughts, and whither would the Mufe
Afpire with rapid wing? Her country's caufe
Demands her efforts; at that facred call
She fummons all her ardour, throws afide
The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump
And if one spark of honour or of fame,
One thought of publick virtue yet furvive,
And fire each British heart with British wrongs!
Come, then, the various powers of forceful fpeeches? All that can move, awaken, fire, tranfport; Come, the bold ardour of the Theban bard! Th' arouzing thunder of the patriot Greek! The soft perfuafion of the Roman fage! Come, all! and raife me to an equal height, A rapture worthy of my glorious caufe! Left my best efforts failing, fhould debafe
The facred theme; for with no common wing
The Muse attempts to foar. Yet, what need these }
Shall be my beft infpirers, raife my flight
Than Greek or Roman flame, exalt my foul.
Our ardent youth! no more should Britain's fons
The prayers, fighs, groans, (immortal infamy!)
And dare they, dare the vanquish'd fons of Spain
So foon forgot, the great, th
The swift-wing'd thunder of the British arm
Might give them up to Spaniards! Turn your eyes,