ODES.

CLASS THE FOURTH.

CLASS THE FOURTH.

ODE I.

THE

REVENGE OF AMERICA.

BY THE REV. JOSEPH WARTON, D. D.

WHEN fierce PISARRO's legions flew
O'er ravag'd fields of rich Peru,
Struck with his bleeding people's woes,
Old India's awful Genius rose.
He sat on Andes' topmost stone,
And heard a thousand nations groan;
For grief his feathery crown he tore,
To see huge PLATA foam with gore;
He broke his arrows, stampt the ground,
To view his cities smoking round.

What woes, he cry'd, hath lust of gold
O'er my poor country widely roll'd!
Plunderers, proceed! my bowels tear,
But ye shall meet destruction there;
From the deep-vaulted mine shall rise
Th' insatiate fiend, pale Av'rice!

Whose steps shall trembling Justice fly,
Peace, Order, Law, and Amity!
I see all Europe's children curst
With lucre's universal thirst:
The rage that sweeps my sons away,
My baneful gold shall well repay.

MONA.

BY THE REV. R. POLWHELE.

"SHROUD-in the billowy mist's deep-bosom shroud

"My ravish'd isle!”—the voice was vain!

Mona! mark yon kindling cloud

That seems to fire the main :

As flashing to th' incumbent skies,
Broad the hostile flames arise
From the reverential wood;
Red its central gloom with blood!
Many a white-rob'd Druid hoar
Totters in the stream of gore;
Meets the falchion's furious blow;
Sinking, execrates the foe!

Or, across the Cromleh's stone,
Struggling, gives to Death a groan!
Or, within the circling fane,
Pours his dark mysterious strain;
Or grasps his shrine, and hails the stroke,
Stabb'd beneath his holy oak!

Yelling while the maniac maid

Hurries down the dimwood glade;