« ZurückWeiter »
Arabia's scorching fands he cross'd *,
To Freedom's adamantine fhrine;
And many a Tartar hord forlorn, aghast †,
He fnatch'd from under fell Oppreffion's wing; And taught, amidst the dreary waste,
Th' all-chearing hymns of Liberty to fing. He virtue finds, like precious ore,
Diffus'd thro' ev'ry baser mould;
E'en now he ftands on Calvis' rocky shore,
My lips by him chaftis'd to truth
Ne'er paid that homage which the heart denies.
Those sculptur'd halls my feet fhall never tread
And all the flowers of fpurious fancy blow,
Full often wreath'd around the mifcreant's brow:
*Arabia's fcorching fands, &c.] The Arabs, rather than refign their independency, have often abandoned their habitations, and encountered all the horrors of the defart.
And many a Tartar bord, &c.] From the tyranny of Jenghis-Khan, Timur-Bec, and other eaftern conquerors, whole tribes of Tartars were used to fly into the remoteft waftes of Cathay, where no army would follow them.
And turns the drofs of Corfica, &c.] The noble ftand made by Pafchal, Paoli and his affociates against the ufurpation of the French king, must endear them to all the fons of liberty and independence.
Wherever dimpling Falfhood, pert and vain,
In Fortune's car behold that minion ride,
And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling ftring;
Nature I'll court in her fequefter'd haunts,
By mountain, meadow, ftreamlet, grove, or cell,
And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-fwains;
The flender chord that fluttering life fuftains;
And Sleep unbrib'd his dews refreshing shed:
ODE TO A SINGING BIRD.
BY MR. RICHARDSON.
Thou that glad'st my lonesome hours
Pale Sickness, Want, Remorfe, and Pain,
The fiends ordain'd to tame the human foul,
Sweet foother of my mifery, fay,
Why doft thou clap thy joyous wing?
Thou should't, as well as he, receive?
The power to woo thy partner in the grove; To build where instinct points; where chance directs, to rove.
Perchance, unconfcious of thy fate,
And to the woes of bondage blind,
Then how relentless he,
And fit for every foul offence,
Who could bereave fuch innocence
Of life's beft bleffing, Liberty!
Who lur'd thee, guileful, to his treacherous fnare,
To live a tuneful flave, and diffipate his care!
Above thy mafter thou art blefs'd!
Then deign with me to live;
The falcon with infatiate maw,
With hooked bill and griping claw,
And every tabby foe fhall mew in vain,
The limpid fount, and temp'rate meal :
In chequer'd liv'ry robes the fields,
To thee officious will I bring;
A garland rich thy dwelling fhall entwine,
From drear Oblivion's gloomy cave
The powerful Mufe fhall wreft thy name,
And bid thee live beyond the grave;
This meed the knows thy merits claim :
She knows thy liberal heart
Is ever ready to dispense
The tide of bland Benevolence,
And Melody's foft aid impart ;
Is ready ftill to prompt the magick lay,
Which hushes all our griefs, and charms our pains away.
Erewhile, when brooding o'er my foul
If Fortune fhould be kind,
I'll often feek fome friend, diftrefs'd;
Then, tuneful moralift, I'll copy thee,
BY DR. DELAP.
H, ftay!-Thy wand oblivious o'er my eyes T
Yet wave, mild power of fleep!My prayer is vain!
She flies; the partial nurfe of Nature flies,
With all her foothing, vifionary train!
Then let me forth, and near yon flowering thorn
Tafte heaven's pure breath; while, rob'd in amber veft, Fresh from her watery couch, the youthful morn Steals on the flumbers of the drowzy east.
Lo! at her prefence, the ftrong arm of toil,
With glittering fickle mows the prime of May; While yon poor hirelings, for the mine's rude foil, Leave to their fleeping babes their cots of clay,
With sturdy ftep, they chearly whiftle o'er
To the deep caverns of that yawning moor,