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Their lives not fated to a second morn,
But doom'd to perish almost soon as born!
And can such gaudy butterflies be priz'd,
While modest genius famishes and dies?
While many an Otway meets an Otway's fate,
Admir'd in vain-assisted when too late!
While Barry's pencil scarcely yielded bread,
Though science mourns the British Raphael dead!
The sorrowing arts their favourite's hearse attend-
Yet Barry, living, found the world no friend!

Let not the sons of vanity, and pride,
The starving author's poverty deride;
In life, perhaps, neglected he may roam,
Without a friend, a comfort, or a home!
Though dull obscurity his days o'ercast,
Yet time does justice to his fame at last;
And many a bard, a moralist, a sage,
Survive the memory of their thankless age!
For when corroding time in dust shall mould
The Muse's votary, and the slave of gold;
The wretched miser to the grave descends,
And with his wealth his worthless story ends:
Not so the man, who rich alone in mind,
Bequeaths his all-his talents, to mankind!
When genius dies, oblivion does not tread
With heavy footsteps on the poet's head;
Some spark will rise immortal from his urn,
To light the lamp which shall for ever burn!
Some portion of that pure æthereal flame,
Aspiring mounts to heav'n from whence it came!
While grosser matter seeks its native earth,
Alike unnotic'd in its death, or birth.

What made Columbus unknown seas explore, Where never vent'rous man had sail'd before? Where death appear'd in ev'ry form most dire, In famine, whirlwinds, elemental fire!

"Twas fame!--that star, by which all heroes steer,
Embodied hope, and banish'd ev'ry fear!
What makes the British flag triumphant ride,
From Plata's river to Byzantium's tide?
Where the proud Hellespont oppos'd in vain +

That Power, which awes the land, and rules the main!
What made great Nelson ev'ry danger brave,
To fix Britannia's empire on the wave?

3Q 2

The storming Monte Video in the river Plata.

+ The forcing the Dardanelles, and over-awing Constantinople,

What

What made him,-rich in honours, still pursue,
And keep bright Glory ever in his view?
What cheer'd the dying Hero's latest breath?
But shouts of vict'ry in the hour of death!
But love of Fame!-that gen'rous, patriot fire,
That noble minds to noblest deeds inspire;
The ruling passions of the truly great,
Which makes amends for all the ills of fate!
And where's the false philosopher would try
To chase this splendid vision from the eye?
To sink in apathy the ardent mind,

And banish patriot feelings from mankind!

When love of Country ceases to inspire,
And unregarded burns the hallow'd fire;
That nation soon will hasten to decay,
The traitor's plunder, or th' invader's prey!
When selfish principles its place supply,
Nip'd in the bud the gen'rous virtues die;
No glory lures the hero to the wave,
No laurel blooms upon the soldier's grave!
And the firm champion of the public cause
Neglected lives, and dies without applause.
May Britons still that fatal error shun,
By which deluded nations were undone!
Let all who hold the pen, or wield the spear,
At England's call, in England's cause appear!
The sacred summons none will dare refuse,
And foremost should be found each British muse!
When, crush'd beneath the Tyrant's galling chain,
Afflicted millions dar'd not to complain,
And, while reduc'd to that degraded state,
Were forc'd to praise the object of their hate;
This Country, in his vain and prosperous hour,
Defied his malice, and curtail'd his power;
Taught Europe first to make the sword her shield,
And brave the hated upstart in the field.
Though kingdoms sunk beneath the despot's stroke,
His sword was shiver'd by the British Oak!
With undiminish'd strength, and matchless form,}
Its head shall rise superior to the storm;
'Gainst which in vain the tyrant's rage is hurl'd-
The mighty bulwark of a suff'ring world!
Th' Imperial Alexander, great as wise!

From realms remote to Europe's succour flies;

Before his face, where sun-bright honour shines,
The pallid star of guilty France declines!
His gallant troops, by Russian Nelson led,

Pour dreadful vengeance on the Spoiler's head,

Who,

a

Who, lower'd in pride, and baffled by defeat,
From plunder’d Poland makes a base retreat!-
Then let the pen enforce this sacred truth,
And write it early on the heart of youth;
A theme all worldly lessons far above,
That their first duty is their Country's love!
Teach them that freeborn empires sink or rise,
As men this duty honour, or despise-
Teach them with loyal zeal to guard the Throne,
Convinc'd their Monarch's interests are their own.
Parties, by turns, may triumph, or may fall,
But England's welfare is above them all!
Whoever rules, no change the patriot knows-
He loves his Country, and detests her foes!

THE HOROLOGE OF THE FIELDS.

Addressed to a Young Lady, on seeing at the House of an Acquaintance

a magnificent French Time-piece.

[From Charlotte Smith's Poems.] OR her who owns this splendid toy,

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Unlike Silene, who declines

The garish noontide's blazing light;
But when the evening crescent shines
Gives all her sweetness to the night.

Thus in each flower and simple bell,
That in our path untrodden lie,
Are sweet remembrancers who tell
How fast the winged moments fly.

Time will steal on with ceaseless pace,
Yet lose we not the fleeting hours,
Who still their fairy footsteps trace,
As light they dance among the flowers.

DIVINE LOVE.

From the Rev. Henry Moore's Poems.

M

Y God, thy boundless love I praise,
How bright on high its glories blaze!
How sweetly bloom below!

It streams from thine eternal throne;
Thro' heaven its joys for ever run,
́And o'er the earth they flow.

"Tis love that paints the purple morn,
And bids the clouds in air upborn,
Their genial drops distil;
In ev'ry vernal beam it glows,
And breathes in ev'ry gale that blows,
And glides in ev'ry rill.

It robes in cheerful green the ground,
And pours its flow'ry beauties round,
Whose sweets perfume the gale;
Its bounties richly spread the plain,
The blushing fruit, the golden grain,
And smile on ev'ry vale.

But in thy gospel see it shine,
With grace and glories more divine,

Proclaiming sins forgiven;

There Faith, bright cherub, points the way
To realms of everlasting day,

And opens all her heaven.

Then

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