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This, after Tournay's fatal day,
'Midst sorrow, cares, and dire dismay,

Brought calm, and sure relief;
He scrutiniz'd his noble heart,
Found Virtue had perform'd her part,

And peaceful slept the Chief

From thee he early learnt to feel
The Patriot's warmth for England's weal

(True Valor's noblest spring); To vindicate her Church distrest; To fight for Liberty opprest ;

To perish for his King.

Yet say, if in thy fondest scope
Of thought, you ever dar'd to hope

That bounteous Heaven so soon
Would pay thy toils, reward thy care,
Consenting bend to every prayer,

And all thy wishes crown?

We saw a wretch, with trait'rous aid,
Our King's and Church's rights invade:

And thine, fair Liberty !.
We saw thy Hero fly to war,
Beat down Rebellion, break her spear,

And set the Nation free.

Culloden's field, my glorious theme,
My rapture, vision, and my dream,
Gilds the


Hero's days: Yet can there be one English heart That does not give thee, Poyntz, thy part,

And own thy share of praise ?

Nor is thy fame to thee decreed
For life's short date: when William's head,

For victories to come,
The frequent laurel shall receive ;.
Chaplets for thee our sons shall weave;

And hang 'em on thy tomb.





REMOTE from liberty and truth,
By fortune's crime, my early youth

Drank error's poison'd springs. Taught by dark creeds and mystic law, Wrapt up in reverential awe,

I bow'd to priests and kings.

Soon reason dawn’d, with troubled sight
I caught the glimpse of painful light,

Afflicted and afraid,
Too weak it shone to mark my way,
Enough to tempt my steps to stray

Along the dubious shade.

Restless I roam'd, when from afar
Lo, Hooker shines! the friendly star

Sends forth a steady ray,
Thus cheer'd, and eager to pursue,
I mount 'till glorious to my view,

Locke spreads the realms of day.

Now warm'd with noble Sydney's page,
I pant with all the patriot's rage ;

Now wrapt in Plato's dream,
With More and HARRINGTON around
I tread fair Freedom's magic ground,

And trace the flatt'ring scheme.

But soon the beauteous vision flies:
And hideous spectres now arise,

Corruption's direful train :
The partial judge perverting laws,
The priests forsaking virtue's cause,

And senates slaves to gain.

Vainly the pious artist's toil
Would rear to heaven a mortal pile,

On some immortal plan :
Within a sure, though varying date,
Confin'd, alas! is every state

Of empire and of man.

What though the good, the brave, the wise, With adverse force undaunted rise,

To break th' eternal doom! Though Caro liv'd, though Tulle spoke, Though Brutus dealt the godlike stroke,

Yet perish'd fated Rome.

To swell some future tyrant's pride, Good Fleury pours the golden tide

On Gallia's smiling shores ; Once more her fields shall thirst in vain For wholesome streams of honest gain,

While rapine wastes her stores.

Yet glorious is the great design,
And such, 0 Pultney! such is thine,

To prop a nation's frame.
If crush'd beneath the sacred weight,
The ruins of a falling state

Shall tell the patriot's name,

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