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Nor Wealth nor Knowledge grant the boon, 'Tis thine, O Virtue, thine alone,

It all belongs to thee.

“ Blest in thy smiles the Shepherd lives, Gay in his morn, his evening gives

Content and sweet repose. Without them-ever, ever cloy'd To sage, or chief one weary void

Is all that life bestows.

" Then wouldst thou, Mortal, rise divine ? Let innocence of soul be thine,

With active goodness join’d:
Thy heart shall then confess thee blest,
And, ever lively, joyful, taste

The pleasures of the mind.

“ So spake the Sage ; my heart reply'd : How poor, how blind is human pride !

All joy how false and vain, But that from conscious Worth which flows, Which gives the death-bed sweet repose,

And hopes an after reign.”

ODE XXVI.

TO

LIBERTY.

BY JOSEPH WARTON, D.D.

O Goddess, on whose steps attend
Pleasure and laughter-loving Health,
White-mantled Peace with olive wand,
Young Joy and diamond-scepter'd Wealth,
Blithe Plenty, with her loaded horn,
With Science bright-ey'd as the morn,
In Britain, which for ages past
Has been thy choicest darling care,
Who mad'st her wise, and strong, and fair,
May thy best blessings ever last.

For thee, the pining prisoner mourns,
Depriv'd of food, of mirth, of light;
For thee pale slaves to galleys chain'd,
That ply tough oars from morn to night;
Thee the proud Sultan's beauteous train,
By eunuch's guarded, weep in vain,
Tearing the roses from their locks;
And Guinea's captive kings lament,

By Christian lords to labour sent,
Whipt like the dull, unfeeling ox.

Inspir'd by thee, deaf to fond Nature's cries,
Stern Brutus, when Rome's Genius loudly spoke,
Gave her the matchless filial sacrifice,
Nor turn’d, nor trembled at the dreadful stroke!
And he of later age, but equal fame,
Dar'd stab the tyrant, tho' he lov'd the friend.
How burn the Spartan with warm patriot-flame,
In thy great cause his valorous life to end !

How burst Gustavus from the Swedish mine!
Like light from chaos dark, eternally to shine.

When heaven to all thy joys bestows,
And graves upon our hearts—Be free-
Shall coward man those joys resign,
And dare reverse this great decree?
Submit him to some idol-king,
Some selfish, passion-guided thing,
Abhorring man, by man abhorr’d,
Around whose throne stands trembling Doubt,
Whose jealous eyes still rowl about,
And Murder with his reeking sword ?

Where trampling Tyranny with Fate
And black Revenge gigantic goes :
Hark, how the dying infants shriek,
How hopeless Age is sunk in woes !
Fly, mortals, from that fated land,

Tho' rivers roll o'er golden sand :
Tho'birds in shades of Cassia sing,
Harvests and fruits spontaneous rise,
No storms disturb the smiling skies,
And each soft breeze rich odours bring.

Britannia, watch !-remember peerless Rome,
Her high-tower'd head dash'd meanly to the

ground;
Remember, Freedom's guardian, Graecia's doom,
Whom weeping the despotic Turk has bound :
May ne'er thy oak-crown'd hills, rich meads and

downs, (Fame, Virtue, Courage, Poverty, forgot) Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns, Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot;

On deep foundations may thy freedom stand, Long as the surge shall lash thy sea encircled land.

ODE XXVII.

TO

LIBERTY.

BY THE REV. MR. HUDSON.

The sable Queen of shades retires,

Encircled with her fading fires ; Yok'd to her iron car, the dragons fly, With slow wing blackening many a league of sky.

Go melancholy Goddess, go,

Nurse of despondency and woe. 'Tis time, the cock's shrill clarion calls The dawn, and strikes the prowling wolf with fear,

And bids the phantoms disappear,
That glimmer ʼmidst yon mouldring walls:

They startle at the sound,

And gliding o'er the trackless ground,
Loth, to their marble mansions haste away.
No more their livid lightnings play ;
The terrors of aërial tumults cease,
Hush'd to serenity and smiling peace.

For, lo! in heaven's ambrosial bowers,
Wak'd by the stationary hours,

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