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Princess J if our aged eyes
'"Tis because resentment ties
Rome shall perish—write that word
In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
v. Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground—
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
vI. Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.
Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.
Regions Cassar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
x. She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow: Rushed to battle, fought, and died;
Dying hurled them at the foe.
XI. Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Heaven awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestowed,
Shame and ruin wait for you.
Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the
Pallida Mors cequo fiulsat jiede fiaufierum tabernas,
Pale death with equal foot strikes wide the door
While thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
Have found their home, the grave.
Than in foregoing years?
That so much death appears?
No; these were vigorous as their sires.
Nor plague nor famine came;
And never waves his claim.
And some are marked to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command.
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on,
I passed—and they were gone.
Read, ye that run, the solemn truth,
With which I charge my page; A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.
No present health can health insure
Fo» yet an hour to come;
Can always baulk the tomb.
And Oh! that humble as my lot,
And scorned as is my strain, These truths, though known, too much forgot,
I may not teach in vain.
So prays your clerk with all his heart,
And ere he quits the pen,
And answer all—Amen 1
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR THE YEAR 1788.
Quod adest, memento
Improve the present hour, for all beside
Could I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage
How each -would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
Time then would seem more precious than the joys,
Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink