Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom, That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought Of joy or peace can enter; see the gates Harth-creaking open; what an hideous void, Dark as the yawning grave! while still as death A frightful filence reigns: There on the ground Behold your brethren chain'd like beafts of prey: There mark your numerous glories, there behold The look that speaks unutterable woe;
The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye With famine funk, the deep heart-bursting groan Supprefs'd in filence; view the loathfome food, Refus'd by dogs, and oh! the ftinging thought! View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs, The deadly priest triumphant in their woes, And thundering worse damnation on their fouls: While that pale form, in all the pangs of death, Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all His native British spirit yet untam'd, Raifes his head, and with indignant frowns Of great defiance, and superior scorn, Looks up and dies.-Oh! I am all on fire! But let me spare the theme, left future times Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain Durst offer Britain fuch outrageous wrong,
Or Britain tamely bore it—
Defcend, ye guardian heroes of the land! Scourges of Spain, defcend! Behold your fons, See how they run the fame heroic race, How prompt, how ardent in their country A a
How greatly proud to affert their British blood, And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame! Ah! would to heaven! ye did not rather fee How dead to virtue in the public cause! How cold, how carelefs, how to glory deaf, They shame your laurels, and belye their birth! Come, ye great spirits, Ca'ndifh, Rawleigh, Blake! And ye of later name your country's pride,
Oh! come, difperfe thefe lazy fumes of floth, Teach British hearts with British fires to glow! In wakening whispers rouze our ardent youth, Blazon the triumphs of your better days, Paint all the glorious fcenes of rightful war, In all its fplendors; to their fwelling fouls Say how ye bow'd the infulting Spaniards pride, Say how ye thunder'd o'er their proftrate heads, Say how ye broke their lines and fir'd their ports, Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes, Could damp your fouls, or fhake the For Right and Britain : Then display the joys The patriot's foul exalting, while he views Tranfported millions hail with loud acclaim The guardian of their civil, facred rights. How greatly welcome to the virtuous man Is death for others good! the radiant thoughts That beam celestial on his paffing foul, The unfading crowns awaiting him above, The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme, Who in his actions with complacence views His own reflected fplendor; then descend,
Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene; Paint the juft honours to his reliques paid, Shew grateful millions weeping o'er his grave; While his fair fame in each progreffive age For ever brightens; and the wife and good Of every land in univerfal choir
With richest incenfe of undying praise His urn encircle, to the wondering world His numerous triumphs blazon; while with awe, With filial reverence, in his fteps they tread, And, copying every virtue, every fame, Transplant his glories into fecond life, And, with unsparing hand, make nations bleft By his example. Vaft immenfe rewards! For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold? Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call Of your poor injur'd countrymen? Ah! no. I fee ye are not; every bofom glows With native greatnefs, and in all its state The British spirit rifes: Glorious change! Fame, Virtue, Freedom, welcome! Oh! forgive The Mufe, that ardent in her facred caufe Your glory queftion'd: She beholds with joy; She owns, fhe triumphs in her wifh'd mistake. See! from her fea-beat throne in awful march Britannia towers : upon her laurel creft The plumes majestic nod; behold the heaves Her guardian fhields, and terrible in arms For battle fhakes her adamantine fpear
Loud at her foot the British lion roars,
Frighting the nations; haughty Spain full foon Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth, Your country's daring champions: tell your foes, Tell them in thunders o'er their proftrate land You were not born for slaves: Let all your deeds Shew that the fons of thofe immortal men,
The stars of shining story, are not slow In virtue's path to emulate their fires,
To affert their country's rights, avenge her sons, And hurl the bolts of juftice on her foes.
"O Vitæ Philofophia Dux! O Virtutis indagatrix, Tu Urbes peperisti;
"tu inventrix Legum, tu magistra Morum & "Difciplinæ fuifti: Ad te confugimus, a te Opem "petimus." Cic. Tufc. Quæft.
CIENCE! thou fair effufive ray
From the great fource of mental day, Free, generous, and refin'd!
Defcend with all thy treasures fraught, Illumine each bewilder'd thought,
And blefs my labouring mind.
But firft with thy resistless light,
Difperfe thofe phantoms from my fight,
Thofe mimic fhades of thee:
The fcholiaft's learning, fophift's cant, The visionary bigot's rant,
The monk's philosophy.
O! let thy powerful charms impart The patient head, the candid heart, Devoted to thy sway;
Which no weak paffions e'er mislead, Which still with dauntles fteps proceed Where reafon points the way.
Give me to learn each fecret caufe; Let Number's, Figure's, Motion's laws Reveal'd before me stand;
These to great Nature's fccees apply, And round the globe, and through the sky, Difclofe her working hand.
Next, to thy nobler search resign'd, The bufy, reftlefs, human mind Through every maze pursue ; Detect Perception where it lies, Catch the ideas as they rise, And all their changes view.
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