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There mighty nations shall enquire their doom,
Thy trees, fair Windsor ! now shall leave their woods, And half thy forests rush into thy floods, Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display, To the bright regions of the rising day: Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole : Or under southern skies exalt their sails, Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales ! For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow; The coral redden, and the ruby glow, The pearly shell its lucid globe infold, And Phæbus warm the ripening ore to gold. The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind, Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind; Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide; Earth’s distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world launch forth to seek the old. Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side, And naked youths and painted chiefs admire Our speech, our color, and our strange attire! Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to shore, Till conquest cease, and slavery be no more ! Till the freed Indians, in their native groves, Beap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves ! Peru once more a race of kings behold, And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold!
Bxiled by thee from earth to deepest hell,
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays
A NIGHT PIECE.
BY MISS CARTER.
WHILE night in solemn shade invests the polė, And calm reflection soothes the pensive soul ; While reason, undisturb’d, asserts her sway, And life's deceitful colors fade away ;
To thee, All-conscious Presence! I devote
If, by the day's illusive scenes misled, My erring soul from virtue's path has stray'd; Snared by example, or by passion warm’d, Some false delight my giddy sense has charm’d; My calmer thoughts the wretched choice reproves And my best hopes are center'd in thy love. Deprived of this, can life one joy afford ? Its utmost boast a vain, unmeaning word.
But ah! how oft my lawless passions rove, And break those awful precepts I approve ! Pursue the fatal impulse I abhor, And violate the virtue I adore ! Oft, when thy better Spirit's guardian care Warn'd my fond soul to shun the tempting snare, My stubborn will his gentle aid repress'd, And check'd the rising goodness in my breast : Mad with vain hopes, or urged by false desires, Still’d his soft voice, and quench'd his sacred fires.
With grief oppress'd, and prostrate in the dust, Shouldst thou condemn, I own thy sentence just. But, oh! thy softer titles let me claim, And plead my cause by Mercy's gentle name. Mercy! that wipes the penitential tear, And dissipates the horrors of despair ; From righteous justice steals the vengeful hour, Softens the dreadful attribute of power, Disarms the wrath of an offended God, And seals my pardon in a Savior's blood!
All-powerful Grace, exert thy gentle sway,
Secure its safety by a sudden doom,
Calm let me slumber in that dark repose,
In a Hermitage, at Ansley-Hall, in Waricickshire.
BY T. WARTON.
BENEATH this stony roof reclined,
Within my limits lone and still,
staff and amice gray ? And to the world's tumultuous stage Prefer the blameless hermitage ?