Bestows the smile that Peace and Pity claim,
To add new powers to thy destructive flame!
O! could she see in fields of dire alarm,

Naked, and streaked with gore, thy giant arm
The life-strings from thy victim's bosom snatch,
And throw thy brand on Quiet's humble thatch;
Sure she would loathe thy trumpet's murderous cry,
And from thy yelping hounds abhorrent fly!
Save when in LIBERTY's immortal cause
'Gainst tyrant Might, a land invaded, draws
The sword of Honour-then, indeed, her hand
Should bind on Valour's brow the laurel band.
For blest is FREEDOM! And the meanest hind
Who on Philippi's field his life resign'd
When virtuous Brutus, last of Romans, fell,
DIED NOBLY!

An eloquent Preacher thus breaks forth on the threatened invasion of BRITAIN, during the late protracted and bloody contest—.

"While you have every thing to fear from the success of THE ENEMY, you have every means of preventing that success, so that it is next to impossible for victory not to crown your exertions. But should PROVIDENCE determine otherwise, should you fall in this struggle, should the Nation fall--you will have the satisfaction, the purest allotted to man, of having performed your part; your name will be enrolled with the most illustrious dead-while posterity, to the end of time, as they revolve the events of this period (and they will incessantly revolve them), will turn to you a reverential eye, while they mourn over the freedom which is en

H

tombed in your sepulchre! I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, legislators, and patriots, of every age and country, are bending from their elevated seats to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till it be brought to a favourable issue, of enjoying their eternal repose. Enjoy the repose, ILLUSTRIOUS IMMORTALS! Your mantle fell when you ascended, and thousands, inflamed with your spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to swear by HIM that sitteth upon the throne and liveth for ever and ever, they will protect FREEDOM in her last asylum, and never desert that cause which you sustained by your labours, and cemented with your blood! And THOU, sole ruler among the children of men, to whom the shields of the earth belong, gird on thy sword thou Most Mighty, go forth with our hosts in the day of battle! Impart, in addition to hereditary valour, that confidence of success which springs from thy presence! Pour into their hearts the spirit of departed heroes! Inspire them with thine own! And while led by thy hand, and fighting under thy banners, open Thou their eyes to behold in every valley, and in every plain,, what the Prophet beheld by the same illumination— CHARIOTS OF FIRE, AND HORSES OF FIRE! Then shall the strong man be as tow, and the maker of it as a spark, and they shall burn together, and none shall quench them!” Hall.

STANZAS,

ON THE THREATENED INVASION OF BRITAIN, 1803.

Hark! the threats of INVADERS resound thro' the air,
See a vengeful and menacing foe;

Already the warriors for conquest prepare,
Our riches, our beauty, already they share,
Our cities and commerce lie low!

But conquest and plunder by Britons withstood,
Shall sink with the boasters in waves;

Or the soil which our forefathers nurtur'd in blood,
Shall drink from our bosoms the rich vital flood,
Ere Britons submit to be slaves!

No-it never shall be-to a man will we rise

Round THE KING whom we love and admire ;

See, the phalanx we form, all danger despise,

And with hand lifted high, we make oath to the skies, To succeed in this cause or expire!

No-it never shall be-that THE FAIR, our delight,
Shall, dishonour'd, go down to the grave;

All the charities mingle, and urge to the fight,
In such cause e'en the darkness of death appears bright,
And sacred's the dust of the brave!

No-it never shall be—that they dare to defile
The fanes of THE GOD we adore;
He, for ages, has guarded our much-beloved Isle,
Has bid it with freedom and plenty to smile,
And rever'd be His name on our shore!

View the noble assemblage, a NATION in arms!
Should legions escape us by sea,

We'll rush on the foe-in thick danger find charms,
United, exulting in WAR's deep alarms,

Determin'd to die or be FREE!

Then, BRITONS, arise 'tis our country demands
That we guard the lov'd Isle of the waves!
'Tis the soil which our forefathers nurtur'd with blood,
And each vein in our bosom shall pour its 'rich flood,
Ere BRITONS submit to be slaves * !

SMITHERS.

These two exquisite stanzas written on the extinction of the REBELLION in 1746, must not be omitted

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their COUNTRY'S wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod!

!

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung
There HONOUR comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And FREEDOM shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

COLLINS.

But lamentable to say, the generality of wars of which we read in the page of history, are not defensive, but offensive; and of course abhorrent

Affection, with other Poems. By Henry Smithers of the Adelphi. Inscribed to her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte Augusta of Wales. This volume, embe!lished with beautiful vignettes, has considerable merit, and its perusal yields no small gratification.

to humanity. The tablet of ancient and modern story is inscribed with characters of blood. Originating in a wild and unprincipled ambition, the mere conqueror is the devastator of mankind; and like a meteor, glares destructively over an affrighted world*.

Ye MONARCHS, whom the lure of honour draws,
Who write in blood the merits of your cause;
Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence,
Glory your aim, but justice your pretence;
Behold in Ætna's emblematic fires

The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires!
Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain
And tells you where you have a right to reign,
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne,
Studious of peace, their neighbours', and their own-
Ill-fated race! how deeply must they rue
Their only crime-vicinity to you!

t

The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad,
Through the ripe harvest lies their destin'd road;
At every step, beneath their feet, they tread
The life of multitudes-a nation's bread!
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress
Before them-and behind, a wilderness!
Famine,―and Pestilence, her first-born son,
Attend to finish what the sword begun!
And echoing praises such as fiends might earn,
And Folly pays, resound at your return.

* See Dr. Knox's Essays on the Folly and Wickedness of War; also, the Complaint of Peace, by Erasmus, which Dr. Knox republished, with an admirable introduction. This respectable clergyman has thus acted in his proper character, as the minister of the Prince of Peace, and is entitled to the thanks of the community.