BOADICE A. AN ODE. I. WHEN the British warrior queen, Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because refentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. IV. Rome fhall perish-write that word V. Rome, for empire far renowned, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride fhall kifs the groundHark! the Gaul is at her gates! VI. Other Romans shall arise, Heedlefs of a foldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. VII. Then the progeny that springs From the forefts of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. VIII. Regions Cæfar never knew Thy pofterity fhall fway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they. IX. Such the bard's prophetic words, Of his sweet but awful lyre. X. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bofom glow: Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; Dying hurled them at the foe. XI. Ruffians, pitilefs as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us beftowed, Shame and ruin wait for you. VOL. II. HEROISM. THERE was a time when Ætna's filent fire She teemed and heaved with an infernal birth, Mavoc and devaftation in the van, Revolving feasons, fruitless as they pass, Again the mountain feels the imprisoned foe, Ten thousand fwains the wafted scene deplore, That only future ages can reftore. Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, Who write in blood the merits of your cause, Who ftrike 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! |