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For some poor island in the watry waste,"

Where savage Pirates or Albanians throng, Bereft of feeling as devoid of taste ;

No law to punish, or protect from wrong.

Where some rude Moslem in barbaric pride,

With iron sceptre desolates the land,

Loves first to mutilate and then deride,

All Art once polish'd, and all Genius plapn'd.

Far from dear Albion's cultivated plains,

Her peaceful hamlets and romantic spires ; Her crowded ports and opulent domains,

With each gay circle that delights or fires.

Far from her hallow'd Sabbath's cheerful bell,

Far from the precepts of her Faith divine, To see his beads some crafty Abbot tell ;

Deckt in the mumm’ry of his tinsel shrine.

Far from the Cam, or Isis tuneful seat,

The studious grove and Academic hall;

Far, far, from science and each lov'd retreat,

Where early rivals many a theme recall.



Think not to woo fair Freedom in the gale,

Or gather sweets in Plato's ancient bower, Think not the Muses dwell in Tempe's vale,

Fleet as the wind they fly despotic power.

Think not to view fam'd Athens as of old,

Or Sparta's Genius rising from the

grave; Ages long since they in the tomb were cold,

The tyrant hated and despised the slave.

Tho' soft the breezes and tho’ balm the Spring,

Tho' genial suns mature the golden grain, Each lost endearment, will not Nature bring,

As Britain's standard skims the distant main ?

Say when at eve the midnight lamp you burn,

'Midst the loud tempest and the stormy wind, Will not each thought on former duties turn;

On duties, home, and kindred far behind ?

And when by Time the silv'ry locks are spread,

When on the couch of pale disease you lie, What weeping friend will calm your weary head,

Soothe your last breath, receive your parting sigh?

Each idle thought of exile then resign,

To nobler objects of ambition soar;
For many a year in Albion's senate shine,

Where all your ancestors appeared before.

Discharge the duty Providence decreed,

Say, could a higher e’en her bounty give ? In ease and wealth your festive moments lead,

A free-born subject under Brunswick-live.


“Sweet Solitude !-when Life's gay hours are past,

“Howe'er we rove,- in thee we fix at last;

“ Toss'd by each billow-when the struggle's o'er ;
“Pale we look back, and bless thy friendly shore.”


Oft the blossoms of Friendship both wither and fade, When chill’d by the damp of Adversity's shade ;

Yet firm as an oak some will ever remain,

And thro' Winter's bleak season, their fragrance retain :

Such, such,--are the thoughts that I fondly repeat,
When you urge me to leave my sequester'd retreat ;
And visit your objects of beauty and taste,
(From the cultured domain to the heath-covered waste.)
But the autocrat Time has appear'd at my door,

And his mercy-how fruitless to beg and implore;

Neither Conclaves, or Monarchs his power can restrain,

While rank_talent, and fortune, he holds in disdain ;
Vain! vain! was the gift by Olympus bestow'd !
(When the Goddess of Morn sought his lofty abode ;)
What avail'd to her lover a lengthen’d career,
Depriv'd of that youth, to existence so dear ?*
Regard then with pity, the follies of age,
As it feebly attempts to allure and engage ;
While each art of the toilette elicits a smile,

Nor perfumes or cosmetics, the wrinkle beguile.
Home! alone is the place were our wishes must turn,
The altar where incense the purest should burn;

Alike by affection and sympathy blest,
Where misfortune in comfort and quiet should rest.

* The well-known fable of Aurora and Tithonus.

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