He meets, and Avarice prompts the fight;
And Rage enjoys the dreadful sight

Of decks with streaming crimson dy'd,
And wretches struggling in the tide,
Or, midst the' explosion's horrid glare,
Dispers'd with quivering limbs in air.

The merchant now on foreign shores
His captur'd wealth in vain deplores;
Quits his fair home, O mournful change!
For the dark prison's scanty range;
By Plenty's hand so lately fed,
Depends on casual alms for bread;
And, with a father's anguish torn,
Sees his poor offspring left forlorn.
And yet, such Man's misjudging mind,
For all this injury to his kind,
The prosperous Robber's native plain
Shall bid him welcome home again;
His name the song of every street,
His acts the theme of all we meet.
And oft the artist's skill shall place
To public view his pictur'd face!

If glory thus be earn'd, for me
My object glory ne'er shall be ;
No, first in Cambria's loneliest dale
Be mine to hear the shepherd's tale!
No, first on Scotia's bleakest hill
Be mine the stubborn soil to till!
Remote from wealth, to dwell alone,
And die, to guilty praise unknown!

TO HOSPITALITY.*

DOMESTIC Power! erewhile rever'd

Where Syria spread her palmy plain, Where Greece her tuneful Muses heard, Where Rome beheld her Patriot Train; Thou to Albion too wert known, Midst the moat and moss-grown wall That girt her Gothic-structur'd hall With rural trophies strown.

* Thus varied in a copy, dated 1761, and printed in the Eurepean Magazine for November 1799.

TO HOSPITALITY.

SOCIAL Pow'r! erewhile rever'd,
Where on Syria's palmy plain,
Where in polish'd Greece was heard
Many a Muse's lofty strain;

Gentle Hospitality!

Patron of the festive day,

Deign t' accept the grateful lay

I devote to thee.

When fair Truth and Valour bold
Claim'd rude Albion for their own;

In those happy times of old,

To rude Albion thou wert known!
In the abbey's darksome cell,

In the rural-trophy'd hall,

Girt with moat and moss-grown wall,
Thou wert wont to dwell.

Huntsmen in the heat of day,

With the tedious chase o'ertoil'd,
Trav❜llers doubtful of their way,
On the pathless forest wild,

Oft amid the verdant waste

Mark'd the distant rustic tower,
Sought the castle's sheltering bow'r.
Shar'd the free repast
S

VOL. XXXII,

The traveller, doubtful of his way,
Upon the pathless forest wild;
The huntsman in the heat of day,
And with the tedious chase o'ertoil'd;

Midst the city's crowded street,
O'er the landscape glittering gay,
Stands the pompous modern seat,
But disdains to own thy sway;
There, instead of thee, reside
Blithe of tongue, of aspect free,
False of heart, Civility,

Or unsocial Pride.

Yet, amid the lonely farms,
By fair fountain, vale, or hill,
Pleas'd with Nature's simple charms,
Oft 'tis thine to linger still;

Thus with woods and fields around,

Once in Lycon's rural dome,

Where I met a second home,
Thou by me wert found.

Nor to haunts of sylvan swains,
Deem we thy resort confin'd;
Ev'n where splendid Affluence reigns,
Thou wilt rule the gen'rous mind:

From where Thames' waters fall,

By fair's pleasant groves,
Where my friend, my Cynthio roves,
Have I heard thy call.

Wheresoe'er be thy retreat,

Come, kind Pow'r! and dwell with me;

Make my humble rural seat

For the wise and virtuous free:

Nor amid the welcome train

Modest Poverty exclude

But observe that none intrude

Of the vicious or the vain.

Wide their view around them cast,
Mark'd the distant rustic tower,

And sought and found the festive bower,
And shar'd the free repast.

E'en now, on Caledonia's shore,
When Eve's dun robe the sky arrays,
Thy punctual hand unfolds the door,
Thy eye the mountain road surveys;
Pleas'd to spy the casual guest,
Pleas'd with food his heart to cheer,
With pipe or song to sooth his ear,
And spread his couch for rest.

Nor yet ev'n here disdain'd thy sway,
Where Grandeur's splendid modern seat
Far o'er the landscape glitters gay;
Or where fair Quiet's lone retreat
Hides beneath the hoary hill,
Near the dusky upland shade,
Between the willow's glossy glade,
And by the tinkling rill.

There thine the pleasing interviews
That friends and relatives endear,
When scenes, not often seen, amuse;
When tales, not often told, we hear;
There the scholar's liberal mind
Oft instruction gives and gains,
And oft the lover's lore obtains

His fair-one's audience kind.

O gentle Power!, where'er thy reign,
May Health and Peace attend thee still;
Nor Folly's presence cause thee pain,
Nor Vice reward thy good with ill:

Gratitude thy altar raise,
Wealth to thee her offerings pay,
And Genius wake his tuneful lay
To celebrate thy praise.

THE APOLOGY.

"PASTORAL, and Elegy, and Ode!
Who hopes, by these, applause to gain,
Believe me, Friend, may hope in vain--
These classic things are not the mode;
Our taste polite, so much refin❜d,
Demands a strain of different kind.

"Go, court the Muse of Chevy Chace,
To tell in Sternhold's simple rhymes
Some tale of ancient English times;
Or try to win rude Satire's grace,
That Scold, who dirt around her throws,
And many a random stain bestows.

"Or dull trite thoughts in songs combine, And bid the tuneful accents fall,

To wake the echoes of Vauxhall;
Or tow'rd the Stage thy thoughts incline,
And furnish some half-pilfer'd play,
To shine the meteor of the day."

O! no-though such the crowd amuse,
And peals of noisy praise procure;
Will they the critic eye endure,
And pass the ordeal of Reviews?
And who is he for whom they'll gain
A niche in Fame's immortal fane ?