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THE LATE FIRE IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
Tho' lighter stanzas form the Minstrel's theme,
And Fairy dreams of fame and fortune crost!
Let War's loud trump, then vanish from our view,
And peaceful conquests, let the Muse pursue,
Drawn from grave Learning's academic bower,
While Cam and Isis, their lov'd offspring hail,
Each art to flatter and persuadecombin'd ;
(And wit and fancy, Envy's shaft disarm ;)
* The Peace of Utrecht.
Next view our Solons of the stormy Bar,
Skill'd in each maze of intellectual war;
Who Law and Justice equally upheld,
And rose to honour, opulence, and fame,
In Somers, Hardwick, and in Erskine's name.
From Courts, and Circuits, now they all repose,
In death-like slumber with both friends and foes;
And tho' yon walls, a prey to raging fire,
“ Oh! yet ere the storms of contention and strife,
“ Yet still her mild and venerable face,
“ Full many a flower is born to blush unknown,' (Chaunts our great Minstrel from his lyric throne ;) Full many a victim, poverty conceals, Who each kind impulse, and attachment feels;
And while each merit of the high-born great,
All ranks with sympathy, and pride relate;
If for ten lustres, in that lowly sphere,
The same devotion has been witness'd here;
One transient sigh, oh! youthful wand'rer heave, 'Ere
yon cold tomb, thy hast’ning footsteps leave; “Act well your part,” the British Poet cries,t From that alone, behold true honour rise ; Thence, and thence only—all distinction springs, Not Eastern splendour or the smile of Kings. Then ere forgotten with our kindred dust, May we as true, and faithful to our trust; Fill up
the station Providence assigns, Like the poor subject of our humble lines ;
* When Camoens was almost starving his servant supported him, by asking charity in the streets of Lisbon.