Ting'd the red annals of Maria's reign.

When from the tenderest breast each wayward prieft
Could banish mercy and implant a fiend!
When cruelty the funeral pyre uprear'd,

And bound religion there, and fir'd the bafe!
When the fame blaze, which on each tortur'd limb
Fed with luxuriant rage, in every face
Triumphant faith appear'd, and fmiling hope.
O bleft Eliza! from thy piercing beam

Forth flew this hated fiend, the child of Rome;
Driven to the verge of Albion, linger'd there,
Then with her James receding, caft behind
One angry frown, and fought more fervile climes.
Henceforth they ply'd the long-continued tafk
Of righteous havock, covering diftant fields
With the wrought remnants of the fhatter'd pile.
While through the land the mufing pilgrim fees
A tract of brighter green, and in the midft
Appears a mouldering wall, with ivy crown'd
Or Gothic turret, pride of ancient days!
Now but of ufe to grace a rural scene;
To bound our viftas, and to glad the fons
Of George's reign, referv'd for fairer times!

LOVE

AND

HONOU R.

Sed neque Medorum fylvæ, ditiffima terra

"Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Hæmus, "Laudibus Angligenûm certent : non Bactra, nec Indi, Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis."

L

ET the green olive glad Hesperian shores ;
Her tawny citron, and her orange-groves,
These let Iberia boast; but if in vain,
To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile,
The Briton labours, yet our native minds,
Our conftant bofoms, thefe, the dazzled world
May view with envy; thefe, Iberian dames
Survey with fixt efteem and fond defire.
Haplefs Elvira! thy difaftrous fate
May well this truth explain; nor ill adorn
The British lyre; then chiefly, if the Mufe,
Nor vain, nor partial, from the fimple guife
Of ancient record catch the pensive lay;
And in lefs groveling accents give to fame.
Elvira lovelieft maid! th' Iberian realm
Could boaft no purer breaft, no fprightlier mind,
No race more fplendent, and no form so fair.
Such was the chance of war, this peerless maid
In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil
Of British victors, victory's noblest pride!
She, fhe alone, amid the wailful train,
Of captive maids, affign'd to Henry's care;
Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!
T

He,

He, generous youth, with no penurious hand,
The tedious moments that unjoyous roll
Where freedom's chearful radiance fhines no more,
Effay'd to foften; confcious of the pang
That beauty feels, to wafte its fleeting hours
In fome dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'd,
Far from the haunts of men, or eye of day!
Sometimes, to cheat her bofom of its cares,
Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils
Himmelf had worn: the frowns of angry feas,
Or hoftile rage, or faithless friend, more fell
Than storm or foe: if haply the might find
Her cares diminish'd; fruitless fond essay!
Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe
The tender lute he gave: fhe not averse
Nor deftitute of skill, with willing hand
Call'd forth angelic ftrains; the facred debt
Of gratitude, she said; whose just commands
Still might her hand with equal pride obey!

Nor to the melting founds the nymph refus'd
Her vocal art; harmonious, as the strain
Of fome imprison'd lark, who, daily chear'd
By guardian cares, repays them with a fong:
Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty refign'd.

The fong, not artless, had she fram'd to paint
Difaftrous paffion; how, by tyrant laws
Of idiot custom sway'd, fome soft-ey'd fair
Lov'd only one: nor dar'd that love reveal!
How the foft anguish banish'd from her cheek
The damask rose full-blown; a fever came;

And

And from her bofom forc'd the plaintive tale.

Then, fwift as light, he fought the love-lorn maid,
But vainly fought her; torn by swifter fate
To join the tenants of the myrtle shade,
Love's mournful victims on the plains below.
Sometimes, as fancy spoke the pleasing task,
She taught her artful needle to display

The various pride of fpring then swift upfprung
Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rofe:
There might you sce, on gentle toils intent,
A train of busy loves; fome pluck the flower,
Some twine the garland, fome with grave grimace
Around a vacant warrior caft the wreath.
'Twas paint, 'twas life! and fure to piercing eyes
The warrior's face depictur'd Henry's mien.

Now had the generous chief with joy perus'd
The royal fcroll, which to their native home
Their ancient rights, uninjur'd, unredeem'd,
Reftor'd the captives. Forth with rapid hafte
To glad his fair Elvira's ear, he fprung;
Fir'd by the blifs he panted to convey;
But fir'd in vain! Ah! what was his amaze,
His fond diftrefs, when o'er her pallid face
Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand
Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flower!
Speechlefs fhe stood; at length with accents faint,
"Well may my native fhore, fhe faid, refound
"Thy monarch's praife; and ere Elvira prove

Of thine forgetful, flowers fhall cease to feel "The foltering breeze, and nature change her laws!"

And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd
The British hoft. Around the smiling youths
Call'd to their native fcenes, with willing hafte
Their fleet unmoor; impatient of the love
That weds each bofom to its native foil.
The patriot paffion ftrong in every clime,
How justly theirs, who find no foreign sweets
To diffipate their loves, or match their own.
Not fo Elvira! fhe, difaftrous maid,

Was doubly captive! power nor chance could loofe
The fubtle bands; the lov'd her generous foe.
She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry fmil'd,
Could term her native fhore; her native shore
By him deferted, fome unfriendly strand,
Strange, bleak, forlorn! a defert waste and wild.
The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd
The fwelling fails, the glittering transports wav'd
Their pennants gay, and halcyon's azure wing
With flight aufpicious skimm'd the placid main.
On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,
And chid th' officious wind, the tempting fea,
And wish'd a storm as merciless, as tore
Her labouring bofom. Fondly now the ftrove
To banish paffion; now the vassal days,
The captive moments, that so smoothly paft,
By many an art recall'd; now from her lute
With trembling fingers call'd the favourite founds
Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now effay'd
With mimic chains of filken fillets wove
To paint her captive ftate; if any fraud