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Genius of Albion! whither art thou fled?

Thou, who wast wont at Freedom's call to rise,

With thund’ring voice, and heav'n-directed eyes, And mock th' oppressor's rage, or smite the tyrant

dead!
O stretch again thy saving hand,

In mercy to this groaning isle !
No common ills thine aid demand :

Corruption triumphs in her spoil;
Fierce Discord hurls her torch on high ;
Nor public weal, nor social tie

Can fix the sordid, selfish mind;
Ambition breaks Law's feeble chain,
Swoln Lux'ry leads her bloated train,

And Ruin stalks behind !

Beyond the rough Atlantic tide,

Inspir’d by Virtue and by Thee,

Thy junior sons still dare be free;

Nor e'er shall subtle fraud divide The gen'rous band. Oh! while the tempest low’rs, Reflect our cause is one that Freedom's foes are ours!

Peace to thy shade, lamented King!

Great Brunswick, second of thy race,

Call’d England's happy throne to grace, What time fair Freedom made each valley ring.

From the cold tomb couldst thou arise,

How would this prospect sear thine eyes, And drive thee back in wild affright!

For lo ! fierce issuing from their native north,

The howling furies murd'rous storms send forth; Glut the Gaul's proud revenge, and spread vile

Slav'ry's night!

In vain, alas! thy gallant son,

On fam'd Culloden’s glorious field,

Taught the proud trait'rous Scot to yield,
And deathless laurels nobly won.
In vain rejoic'd th' admiring world,

When our brave sires, by Nassau led,
At tyrant-pow'r their thunders hurl'd,

While the dark tyrant crouch'd and fled.

No longer now, in patriot shackles bound, With fruitless wailing Envy bites her chain;

Oppression leaps o'er Freedom's sacred mound, And vainly Hampden fought, and Sydney bled in vain!

Lo! Saunders mingles with the mighty dead;

No more th’avenger of his country's wrong:
O’er his cold dust let no weak tear be shed;

He wept, alas ! that he had liv’d too long !
O greatly glorious I had he died

Ere set in darkness Britain's sun ;
Ere frantic rage and Stuart pride,

That empire lost his valor won !
“ What more (he cry’d) can adverse fate require ?"
Dying he saw his country's fame expire;
Saw her bright cross he late triumphant spread,
Drnop on the sick’ning gale, and blush with deeper red!

Hark! thro’ America's indignant shore, What groans for vengeance rend th' affrighted skies ! Foul iinpious war hath broken Nature's ties;

And Britain, terror of the world no more,

Turns on herself, and drinks her children's gore ! Oh! quickly drop the murd'rous sword,

What horrors rise around ?
Canst thou, ill-fated realm, afford
With thine own blood to drench the ground ?

The vet’ran, yet untaught to yield,
Reluctant views the death-fraught field,

Conscious of guilt would fain retreat,

And dreads ev'n victory as defeat ; In vain : still o'er Ontario's flood,

With ghastly smile, and blasting eyes,

Stern Alva's guilty spirit flies, And snuffs the scented air, and rages still for blood!

Hear how her sons Iberia tells

Exulting as the tempest swells ;
And faithless Gallia, with prophetic eye,
Beholds thy golden streams of Commerce dry,
Or marks them for her own. “ O great event !"
She cries,—" Thy shame and punishment,

“ Rash, ruin'd rival! Now I see
“ Thy palm of glory snatch'd by me;
“ That envied prize, by Nature giv'n,

“ Which rais’d thy tow'ring front to Heav'n, “ Spurn’d by thyself !-Oh! speed thy ling’ring fate, " And to thyself be false, to make my empire great."

But Britain, happier fates are thine :
Thy sun shall yet unclouded shine!
A day (not far remote) shall come,
When, Rage disarm’d, and Envy dumb,
The pious child, her sorrows o’er,

the loud complaint no more :
But nourish (in her suff’rings blest)
'Th' expiring parent from her breast !

Shall urge

For lo! Futurity her page

unfolds : What floods of glory fill yon western skies ! I see, I see, the radiant forms arise,

Where venerable Time Fair truth upholds, And awful Justice, her divine compeer, Exalts her gen’rous brow, and shakes her glitt'ring

spear!

“ Ye parricides, who broke the golden cords

Of filial piety-maternal love! “ Ye perjur'd senators--ye venal lords, “ Now curse your damned deeds—for vengeance

dwells with Jove ! « America! no longer thou “ Shalt lift thy plaintive voice in vain ;

“ Nor Britain's sons to slav'ry bow,
“ Nor forge for others' necks the chain!

“ 'Tis Justice speaks !" above controul,
Her thunders smite the guilty soul.
See murder'd Sydney grimly smile,
And virtuous Russel bless her glorious toil !
Oh sleep, ye sacred shades ! in endless rest;

The sign of Mercy, beaming from the west, Kind Heav'n has giv’n ;--for o'er the patriot crowd Bright Conquestsoars aloft, and claps her wings aloud.

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