"Lo! Philip comes....lo! Philip's hosts draw near! "To arms Athenians....grasp the faithful spear.... "Who from the field of death would basely fly? "Who would live slaves while they might bravely "die?" O hear that voice* by thirsty treason fir'd, By every patriotic thought inspir'd, Which shook the soul of coward Guilt with dread, By those whom ages say have written well. * Cicero. †The Earl of Chatham last appeared in the House of Lords, the 2d of April, 1778. He was then ill and debilitated. He spoke in favour of a motion of the Duke of Richmond, for an address to his majesty, to dismiss his ministers and make peace with America. At the close of his long speech he was overcome and was seized with a convulsive fit....of the effects of which he died on the 4th of April. She marks the eagle whose undazzled eye 69 Wakes all her powers and pours her fervent lays, Young Cymon* rous'd by Iphigenia's charm, 81 Where rolls the Forth his wild romantic flood, Amid the moor an humble dwelling stood; There liv'd an honest pair whose only joy, Dwelt in their child, a simple shepherd boy; With Fancy, kindled by the breath of Fame, They gave their son Orlando's sounding name. * See Dryden's admirable tale of Cymon and Iphigenia. A modest blush, an honest heart he had, 90 Her sleeping green, her mountain beat by storms, Thus smil'd his days...." but why the tale prolong?" He saw fair Anna........Anna 'woke his song; 100 A pensive sorrow shaded o'er her face, Admiring Nature gave her every grace. Orlando lov'd....but all his vows were vain, And all the sweetness of his mournful strain. 110 An happier shepherd from the banks of Tay, Orlando mourns....his sun has set in night, 120 Each sound which strikes the village boor with fear, One night when howl'd the loud and angry north, And wilder tempests beat upon his head: 130 Onward he rush'd....he held the form in view, No Anna there, rewards his eager sight, His dying hopes are follow'd by despair, 140 He calls on Death and breathes his frantic prayer, He murmurs Anna's name, and from the steep, Leaps in the bosom of the whelming deep! What vast delights flow on that glowing breast, By Virtue strengthen'd and by Genius blest! Whate'er in Nature beautiful or grand, In air, or ocean, or the teeming land, 150 Meets its full view, excites a joy unknown, To those whom Genius dashes from her throne. Genius finds speech in trees; the running brook, To her speaks language, like a favourite book; |