Transfix'd, amaz'd, Alcides gaz'd: Enchanting grace Adorn'd her face,

The wat'ry profound, Awak'd by the sound,

And all his changing looks confest Th' alternate passions in his breast: Her swelling bosom half reveal'd,

Her eyes that kindling raptures fir'd,
A thousand tender pains instill'd,

A thousand flatt'ring thoughts inspir'd:
Persuasion's sweetest language hung
In melting accent on her tongue:
Deep in his heart, the winning tale
Infus'd a magic power;

She prest him to the rosy vale,

And show'd th' Elysian bower:

Her hand, that trembling ardours move, Conducts him blushing to the blest alcove: Ah! see, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms, And won by Love's resistless arms, The captive yields to Nature's soft alarms!

CHORUS.

Ah! see, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms, And won by Love's resistless arms, The captive yields to Nature's soft alarms!

Assist, ye guardian powers above!
From ruin save the son of Jove!
By heavenly mandate Virtue came,
And check'd the fatal flame:
Swift as the quivering needle wheels,
Whose point the magnet's influence feels,
Inspir'd with awe,
He, turning, saw
The nymph divine
Transcendent shine;

And, while he view'd the godlike maid,
His heart a sacred impulse sway'd:
His eyes with ardent motion roll,
And love, regret, and hope, divide his soul.
But soon her words his pain destroy,

And all the numbers of his heart, Return'd by her celestial art, Now swell'd to strains of nobler joy. Instructed thus by Virtue's lore, His happy steps the realms explore Where guilt and errour are no more: The clouds that veil'd his intellectual ray, Before his breath dispelling, melt away: Broke loose from Pleasure's glittering chain, He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign: Convinc'd, resolv'd, to Virtue then he turn'd, And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.

CHORUS.

Broke loose from Pleasure's glittering chain,
He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign:
Convinc'd, resolv'd, to Virtue then he turn'd,
And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.

So when on Britain's other hope she shone,
Like him the royal youth she won:
Thus taught, he bids his fleet advance
To curb the power of Spain and France:
Aloft his martial ensigns flow,

And hark! his brazen trumpets blow!

All trembles around:

While Edward o'er the azure fields

Fraternal wonder wields:

High on the deck behold he stands,
And views around his floating bands
In awful order join:

They, while the warlike trumpet's strain,
Deep sounding, swells along the main,
Extend th' embattled line.
Then Britain triumphantly saw
His armament ride

Supreme on the tide,

And o'er the vast ocean give law.

CHORUS.

Then Britain triumphantly saw
His armament ride
Supreme on the tide,
And o'er the vast ocean give law.

Now with shouting peals of joy,
The ships their horrid tubes display,
Tier over tier in terrible array,

And wait the signal to destroy:
The sails all burn to engage:
Hark! hark! their shouts arise,
And shake the vaulted skies!
Exulting with bacchanal rage.
Then, Neptune, the hero revere,

Whose power is superior to thine! And, when his proud squadrons appear, The trident and chariot resign!

CHORUS.

Then, Neptune, the hero revere,

Whose power is superior to thine! And, when his proud squadrons appear, The trident and chariot resign!

Albion, wake thy grateful voice!
Let thy hills and vales rejoice:
O'er remotest hostile regions

Thy victorious flags are known;
Thy resistless martial legions

Dreadful move from zone to zone;
Thy flaming bolts unerring roll,
And all the trembling globe, control:
Thy seamen, invincibly true,

No menace, no fraud, can subdue:
To thy great trust
Severely just,

All dissonant strife they disclaim:
To meet the foe,

Their bosoms glow;
Who only are rivals in fame.

CHORUS.

Thy seamen, invincibly true,
No menace, no fraud, can subdue:
All dissonant strife they disclaim,
And only are rivals in fame.

For Edward tune your harps, ye Nine!
Triumphant strike each living string,
For him, in ecstasy divine,

Your choral lo Pæans sing!

For him your festive concerts breathe!
For him your flowery garlands wreathe!
Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye fauns of the woods,
Ye nymphs of the floods,
The musical current prolong!
Ye sylvans, that dance on the plain,
To swell the grand chorus accord!
Ye tritons, that sport on the main,
Exulting, acknowledge your lord!
Till all the wild numbers combin'd,
That floating proclaim
Our admiral's name,
In symphony roll on the wind!

CHORUS.

Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye sylvans, that dance on the plain,
Ye tritons, that sport on the main,
The musical current prolong!

O! while consenting Britons praise,
These votive measures deign to hear!
For thee my Muse awakes her lays,
For thee th' unequal viol plays,

The tribute of a soul sincere.
Nor thou, illustrious chief, refuse
The incense of a nautic Muse!

For ah! to whom shall Neptune's sons complain,
But him whose arms unrivall'd rule the main?

Deep on my grateful breast

Thy favour is imprest:
No happy son of wealth or fame
To court a royal patron came!
A hapless youth, whose vital page
Was one sad lengthen'd tale of woe,

Where ruthless Fate, impelling tides of rage, Bade wave on wave in dire succession flow,

To glittering stars and titled names unknown, Preferr'd his suit to thee alone.

The tale your sacred pity mov'd;
You felt, consented, and approv'd.
Then touch my strings, ye blest Pierian quire!
Exalt to rapture every happy line!
My bosom kindle with Promethean fire!
And swell each note with energy divine.
No more to plaintive sounds of woe
Let the vocal numbers flow!
Perhaps the chief to whom I sing

May yet ordain auspicious days,
To wake the lyre with nobler lays,
And tune to war the nervous string.
For who, untaught in Neptune's school,
Though all the powers of genius he possess,
Though disciplin'd by classic rule,

With daring pencil can display
The fight that thunders on the watery way,
And all its horrid incidents express?

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong!
Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

CHORUS.

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong! Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

THE FOND LOVER,

A BALLAD.

A NYMPH of ev'ry charm possess'd,
That native virtue gives,
Within my bosom all confess'd,
In bright idea lives.

For her my trembling numbers play
Along the pathless deep,
While sadly social with my lay
The winds in concert weep.

If beauty's sacred influence charms
The rage of adverse Fate,
Say why the pleasing soft alarms
Such cruel pangs create?

Since all her thoughts by sense refin'd,
Unartful truth express,

Say wherefore sense and truth are join'd To give my soul distress?

If when her blooming lips I press,
Which vernal fragrance fills,
Through all my veins the sweet excess
In trembling motion thrills;

Say whence this secret anguish grows,
Congenial with my joy?

And why the touch, where pleasure glows,
Shou'd vital peace destroy?

If when my fair, in melting song,
Awakes the vocal lay,

Not all your notes, ye Phocian throng,
Such pleasing sounds convey;
Thus wrapt all o'er with fondest love,
Why heaves this broken sigh?
For then my blood forgets to move,
I gaze, adore, and die.

Accept, my charming maid, the strain
Which you alone inspire;
To thee the dying strings complain
That quiver on my lyre.

O! give this bleeding bosom ease,
That knows no joy but thee;
Teach me thy happy art to please,
Or deign to love like me.

THE DEMAGOGUE.

BOLD is th' attempt, in these licentious times,
When with such towering strides Sedition climbs,
With sense or satire to confront her power,
And charge her in the great decisive hour:
Bold is the man, who, on her conquering day,
Stands in the pass of Fate to bar her way:
Whose heart, by frowning Arrogance unaw'd,
Or the deep-lurking snares of specious Fraud,
The threats of Giant-faction can deride,
And stem, with stubborn arm, her roaring tide.
For him unnumber'd brooding ills await,
Scorn, malice, insolence, reproach, and hate:
At him, who dares this legion to defy,
A thousand mortal shafts in secret fly:
Revenge, exulting with malignant joy,
Pursues th' incautious victim to destroy:

And Slander strives, with unrelenting aim,
To spit her blasting venom on his name:
Around him Faction's harpies flap their wings,
And rhyming vermin dart their feeble stings:
In vain the wretch retreats, while in full cry,
Fierce on his throat the hungry blood-hounds fly.
Enclos'd with perils thus the conscious Muse,
Alarm'd, though undismay'd, her danger views.
Nor shall unmanly terrour now control
The strong resentment struggling in her soul;
While Indignation, with resistless strain,
Pours her full deluge through each swelling vein.
By the vile fear that chills the coward breast,
By sordid caution is her voice supprest,
While Arrogance, with big theatric rage,
Audacious struts on Pow'r's imperial stage;
While o'er our country, at her dread command,
Black Discord, screaming, shakes her fatal brand:
While, in defiance of maternal laws,
The sacrilegious sword Rebellion draws;
Shall she at this important hour retire,
And quench in Lethe's wave her genuine fire?
Honour forbid! she fears no threat'ning foe,
When conscious Justice bids her bosom glow:
And while she kindles the reluctant flame,
Let not the prudent voice of Friendship blame!
She feels the sting of keen Resentment goad,
Though guiltless yet of Satire's thorny road.
Let other Quixotes, frantic with renown,
Plant on their brows a tawdry paper crown!
While fools adore, and vassal-bards obey,
Let the great Monarch Ass through Gotham bray!
Our poet brandishes no mimic sword,
To rule a realm of dunces self-explor'd:
No bleeding victins curse his iron sway;
Nor murder'd reputation marks his way.
True to herself, unarm'd, the fearless Muse
Through Reason's path her steady course pursues:
True to herself advances, undeterr'd
By the rude clamours of the savage herd.
As some bold surgeon, with inserted steel,
Probes deep the putrid sore, intent to heal;
So the rank ulcers that our Patriot load,
Shall she with caustic's healing fires corrode.

Yet ere from patient slumber Satire wakes,
And brandishes th' avenging scourge of snakes;
Yet ere her eyes, with lightning's vivid ray,
The dark recesses of his heart display;
Let Candour own th' undaunted pilot's power,
Felt in severest Danger's trying hour!
Let Truth consenting, with the trump of Fame,
His glory, in auspicious strains, proclaim!
He bade the tempest of the battle roar,
That thunder'd o'er the deep from shore to shore.
How oft, amid the horrours of the war,
Chain'd to the bloody wheels of Danger's car,
How oft my bosom at thy name has glow'd,
And from my beating heart applause bestow'd;
Applause, that, genuine as the blush of youth
Unknown to guile, was sanctify'd by truth!
How oft I blest the Patriot's honest rage,
That greatly dar'd to lash the guilty age;
That, rapt with zeal, pathetic, bold, and strong,
Roll'd the full tide of eloquence along;
That Power's big torrent brav'd with manly pride,
And all Corruption's venal arts defy'd!
When from afar those penetrating eyes
Bebeld each secret hostile scheme arise;
Watch'd every motion of the faithless foe,
Each plot o'erturn'd, and baffled every blow:

A fond enthusiast, kindling at thy name,
I glow'd in secret with congenial flame;
While my young bosom, to deceit unknown,
Believ'd all real virtue thine alone.

Such then he seem'd, and such indeed might be,
If Truth with Errour ever could agree!
Sure Satire never with a fairer hand
Portray'd the object she design'd to brand.
Alas! that Virtue should so soon decay,
And Faction's wild applause thy heart betray!
The Muse with secret sympathy relents,
And human failings, as a friend, laments:
But when those dangerous errours, big with fate,
Spread discord and distraction through the state,
Reason should then exert her utmost power
To guard our passions in that fatal hour.

There was a time, ere yet his conscious heart Durst from the hardy path of Truth depart, While yet with generous sentiment it glow'd, A stranger to Corruption's slippery road; There was a time our Patriot durst avow Those honest maxims he despises now. How did he then his country's wounds bewail, And at the insatiate German vulture rail! Whose cruel talons Albion's entrails tore, Whose hungry maw was glutted with her gore? The mists of errour, that in darkness held Our reason, like the Sun, his voice dispell'd. And lo! exhausted, with no power to save, We view Britannia panting on the wave; Hung round her neck, a millstone's pond'rous weight Drags down the struggling victim to her fate! While horrour at the thought our bosom feels, We bless the man this horrour who reveals.

But what alarming thoughts the heart amaze,
When on this Janus' other face we gaze;
For, lo! possest of Power's imperial reins,
Our chief those visionary ills disdains!
Alas! how soon the steady Patriot turns!
In vain this change astonish'd England mourns!
Her vital blood, that pour'd from every vein,
So late, to fill th' accurs'd Westphalian drain,
Then ceas'd to flow; the vulture now no more
With unrelenting rage her bowels tore.
His magic rod transforms the bird of prey!
The millstone feels the touch, and melts away!
And, strange to tell, still stranger to believe,
What eyes ne'er saw, and heart could ne'er conceive,
At once, transplanted by the sorcerer's wand,
Columbian hills in distant Austria stand!
America, with pangs before unknown,
Now with Westphalia utters groan for groan:
By sympathy she fevers with her fires,
Burns as she burns, and as she dies expires.
From maxims long adopted thus he flew,
For ever changing, yet for ever true;
Swoln with success, and with applause inflam'd,
He scorn'd all caution, all advice disclaim'd;
Arm'd with war's thunder, he embrac'd no more
Those patriot principles maintain'd before.
Perverse, inconstant, obstinate, and proud,
Drunk with ambition, turbulent and loud,
He wrecks us headlong on that dreadful strand
He once devoted all his powers to brand!

Our hapless country views with weeping eyes,
On every side, o'erwhelming horrours rise;
Drain'd of her wealth, exhausted of her power,
And agoniz'd as in the mortal hour;
Her armies wasted with incessant toils,
Or doom'd to perish in contagious soils,

To guard some needy royal plunderer's throne,
And sent to fall in battles not their own.
Th' enormous debt at home, though long o'er-
charg'd,

With grievous burthens annually enlarg'd:
Crush'd with increasing taxes to the ground,
That suck, like vampires, every bleeding wound:
Ground with severe distress th' industrious poor,
Driven by the ruthless landlord to the door.

While thus our land her hapless fate bemoans
In secret, and with inward sorrow groans;
Though deck'd with tinsel trophies of renown,
All gash'd with sores, with anguish bending down,
Can yet some impious parricide appear,
Who strives to make this anguish more severe ?
Can one exist, so much his country's foe,
To bid her wounds with fresh effusion flow?
There can; to him in vain she lifts her eyes,
His soul relentless hears her piercing sighs!
Shameless of front, impatient of control,
He spurs her onward to Destruction's goal!
Nor yet content on curst Westphalia's shore
With mad profusion to exhaust her store,
Still Peace his pompous fulminations brand,
As pirates tremble at the sight of land:
Still to new wars the public eye he turns,
Defies all peril, and at reason spurns;
Till prest with danger, by distress assail'd,
That baffled courage, and o'er skill prevail'd;
Till foundering in the storm himself had brew'd,
He strives at last its horrours to elude.
Some wretched shift must still protect his name,
And to the guiltless head transfer his shame:
Then hearing modest Diffidence oppose
His rash advice, that golden time he chose;
And while big surges threaten'd to o'erwhelm
The ship, ingloriously forsook the helm.

But all th' events collected to relate, Let us his actions recapitulate.

He first assum'd, by mean perfidious art,
Those patriot tenets foreign to his heart:
Next, by his country's fond applauses swell'd,
Thrust himself forward into power, and held
The reins on principles which he alone,
Grown drunk and wanton with success, could own;
Betray'd her interest and abus'd her trust;
Then, deaf to prayers, forsook her in disgust;
With tragic mummery, and most vile grimace,
Rode through the city with a woeful face,
As in distress, a Patriot out of place!
Insults his generous prince, and in the day
Of trouble skulks, because he cannot sway!
In foreign climes einbroils him with allies!
And bids at home the flames of Discord rise!
She comes! from Hell th' exulting Fury
springs!

With grim Destruction sailing on her wings!
Around her scream an hundred harpies fell!
An hundred demons shriek with hideous yell!
From where, in mortal venom dipt on high,
Full-drawn the deadliest shafts of Satire fly,
Where Churchill brandishes his clumsy club,
And Wilkes unloads his excremental tub,
Down to where Entick, awkward and unclean,
Crawls on his native dust, a worm obscene!
While with unnumber'd wings, from van to rear,
Myriads of nameless buzzing drones appear:
From their dark cells the angry insects swarm,
And every little sting attempt to arm.
VOL. XIV.

Here Chaplains, Privileges', moulder round,
And feeble Scourges, rot upon the ground:
Here hungry Kenrick strives, with fruitless aim,
With Grub-street slander to extend his name:
At Bruin flies the slavering, snarling cur,
But only fills his famish'd jaws with fur.
Here Baldwin spreads th' assassinating cloke,
Where lurking Rancour gives the secret stroke;
While gorg'd with filth, around this senseless block,
A swarm of spider-bards obsequious flock:
While his demure Welch goat, with lifted hoof,
In Poet's-Corner hangs each flimsy woof;
And frisky grown, attempts, with awkward prance,
On Wit's gay theatre to bleat and dance.
Here, seiz'd with iliac passion, mouthing Leech,
Too low, alas! for Satire's whip to reach,
From his black entrails, Faction's common sewer,
Disgorges all her excremental store.

With equal pity and regret the Muse

The thundering storms that rage around her views;
Impartial views the tides of Discord blend,
Where lordly rogues for power and place contend;
Were not her patriot-heart with anguish torn,
Would eye th' opposing chiefs with equal scorn.
Let Freedom's deadliest foes for freedom bawl,
Alike to her who govern or who fall!

Aloof she stands, all unconcern'd and mute,
While the rude rabble bellow, "Down with Bute!"
While villany the scourge of Justice bilks,
Howl on, ye ruffians "Liberty and Wilkes."
Let some soft mummy of a peer, who stains
His rank, some sodden lump of ass's brains,
To that abandon'd wretch his sanction give;
Support his slander, and his wants relieve!
Let the great hydra roar aloud for Pitt,
And power and wisdom all to him submit!
Let proud Ambition's sons, with hearts severe,
Like parricides, their mother's bowels tear!
Sedition her triumphant flag display,
And in embodied ranks her troops array!
While coward Justice, trembling on her seat,
Like a vile slave descends to lick her feet!
Nor here let Censure draw her awful blade,
If from her theme the wayward Muse has stray'd!
Sometimes th' impetuous torrent, o'er its mounds
Redundant bursting, swamps th' adjacent grounds;
But rapid, and impatient of delay,

Through the deep channel still pursues its way.

Our pilot now retir'd, no pleasure knows, But every man and measure to oppose; Like Asop's cur, still snarling and perverse, Bloated with envy, to mankind a curse, No more at council his advice will lend, But with all others who advise contend: He bids distraction o'er his country blaze, Then, swelter'd with revenge, retreats to Hayes 2:

1 Certain poems intended to be very satirical; but, alas! we refer our reader to the Reviews.

After reflecting on the various events by which this extraordinary person is characterised, we cannot resist the temptation of quoting a few anecdotes from Machiavel, relative to a man of a very similar complexion and constitution, who was also distinguished by a train of incidents pretty nearly resembling those we have mentioned above; although he possibly never anticipated the similitude of fortune and character that might happen between him and any of his progeny. Speaking of

Ee

But should some frantic wretch, whom all men To Nature and humanity a foe,

Deaf to the widow's moan and orphan's cry,
And dead to shame and friendship's social tie;
Should such a miscreant, at the hour of death,
To thee his fortunes and domains bequeath;
With cruel rancour wresting from his heirs
What Nature taught them to expect as theirs ;
Would'st thou with this detested robber join,
Their legal wealth to plunder and purloin?
Forbid it, Heaven! thou canst not be so base,
To blast thy name with infamous disgrace!
The Muse who wakes, yet triumphs o'er thy hate,
Dares not so black a thought anticipate:
By Heaven, the Muse her ignorance betrays;
For while a thousand eyes with wonder gaze,
Though gorg'd and glutted with his country's store,
The vulture pounces on the shining ore;
In his strong talons gripes the golden prey,
And from the weeping orphan bears away.

The great, th' alarming deed is yet to come,
That, big with fate, strikes Expectation dumb.
O! patient, injur'd England, yet unveil
Thy eyes, and listen to the Muse's tale,
That true as honour, unadorn'd with art,
Thy wrongs in fair succession shall impart !
Ere yet the desolating god of war
Had crush'd pale Europe with his iron car,
Had shook her shores with terrible alarms,
And thunder'd o'er the trembling deep, "To arms!"

the government of Florence, our historian informs us, that "Luca Pitt, a bold and resolute man, being now made gonsalionere of justice,-having entered upon his office, was very importunate with the people to appoint a balia; but perceiving it was to no purpose, he not only treated those that were members of the council with great insolence, and called them opprobrious names, but threatened them, and soon after put his threats in execution: for having filled the palace with armed men, on the eve of St. Lorenzo, in the month of August 1455, he called the people together into the Piazza, and there compelled them, by force of arms, to do that which they would not so much as hear of before. Pitt had also very rich presents, not only from Cosimo and the signiory, but from all the principal citizens, who vied with each other in their generosity to him; so that it was thought he had above twenty thousand ducats given him at that time; after which he became so popular, that the city was no longer governed by Cosimo di Medici, but by Luca Pitt. This inspired him with vanity. -After this he had recourse to very extraordinary means; for he not only extorted more and greater presents from the chief citizens, but also made the commonalty supply him with workmen and artificers," Machiavel's Hist. Florence. This has an unlucky resemblance to a certain great person's driving through the city with borrowed horses, and being offered to have his horses unyoked, and his chariot drawn by his good friends the mob. We shall, in due time and place, give some account of the fall of Mr. Luca Pitt, and the contempt with which, after some particular events, he was universally regarded.

In climes remote, beyond the setting Sun,
Beyond th' Atlantic wave, his rage begun.
Alas! poor country, how with pangs unknown
To Britain did thy filial bosom groan!
What savage armies did thy realms invade,
Unarm'd, and distant from maternal aid!
Thy cottages with cruel flames consum'd,
And the sad owner to destruction doom'd;
Mangled with wounds, with pungent anguish torn,
Or left to perish naked and forlorn!
What carnage reek'd upon thy ruin'd plain!
What infants bled! what virgins shriek'd in vain!
In ev'ry look distraction seem'd to glare,
Each heart was rack'd with horrour and despair.
To Albion then, with groans and piercing cries,
America lift up her dying eyes;

To generous Albion pour'd forth all her pain,
To whom the wretched never wept in vain.
She heard, and instant to relieve her flew,
Her arm the gleaming sword of vengeance drew;
Far o'er the ocean wave her voice was known,
That shook the deep abyss from zone to zone:
She bade the thunder of the battle glow,
And pour'd the storm of lightning on the foe;
Nor ceas'd till, crown'd with victory complete,
Pale Spain and France lay trembling at her feet3.

3 Although our author has no present inclination to enter into political controversy, yet he cannot avoid citing an article from one of the modern dictionaries, which in some measure is connected with this part of his subject, and exhibits a view of the fidelity and gratitude of our fellow-subjects in America.

We are informed in the article referred to, that a "cartel in the marine is a ship provided in time of war to exchange the prisoners of any two hos tile powers; also to carry any particular request or proposal from the one to the other: for this reason she is particularly commanded to carry no cargo or arms, only a single gun for firing signals.

"Our honest Americans, however, who have so sorely grieved of late for paying a small part of the great taxes of this country, although demanded for their own particular protection, made not only no scruple to disobey and despise this regulation of cartels during the late war, but, on the contrary, gave continual supplies of provisions to our enemies in the West Indies, and thereby recovered them, and recruited their fallen spirits, at a time when they were gasping under the weight of our arms. With so much address, indeed, did these oppressed and unfortunate traders conduct this scheme, that ten or twelve cartels being laden at the same time with beef, pork, bread, flour, &c. sailed together for the French islands, and, in order to evade the strict examination of our ships of war, were provided with a guardian privateer, equipped by the same expert owners, to seize their own vessels, and direct their course to the places of their first destination; but if they were examined by our ships of war, to an English port. But this clumsy trick did not long escape the vigilance of our naval officers, who found that the fellows sent abroad, by way of commanders or prize-masters, were utterly ignorant, and incapable of piloting any ship; and of consequence only sent to elude their scrutiny.

"The most bare-faced piece of effrontery, how. ever, that was ever committed of this kind, was