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Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen,

And lo, her rod the rose-lip'd Power extends ! And lo, the lawns are decked in living green,

And Beauty's bright-eyed train from Heaven descends!

Haste, happy days, and make all Nature glad

But will all Nature joy at your return ? O, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed,

Or dry the tears that bathe the untimely urn ?

Will ye
one transient

ray of gladness dart, Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail ? To ease tired Disappointment's bleeding heart,

Will all your stores of softening balm avail!

When stern Oppression, in his harpy fangs,

From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears, Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs,

Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears ?


For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past.

Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends ? Who lays the once rejoicing village waste,

Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends!

But hope not, Muse, vain-glorious as thou art,

With the weak impulse of thy humble strain, Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart,

When ERROL's bright example shines in vain.

Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye,

Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight. Thy haunts, alas ! no gleams of joy supply,

Or transient gleams, that flash and sink in night.

Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego :

Spread, then, Historic Muse, thy pictured scroll ; Bid the great scenes in all their splendour glow,

And rouse to thought sublime the exulting soul.

What mingling pomps rush on the enraptured gaze !

Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep ! Here, glittering towns their spiry turrets raise,

There, bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep.

Bristling with spears, and bright with burnished shields,

The embattled legions stretch their long array; Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields,

With bloody tincture stains the face of day.

And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.

Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires ! Quick as the goddess darts along the line,

Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.

Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien

The smiles of love stern Wisdom's frown controul ; Her fearless eye, determined though serene,

Speaks the great purpose, and the unconquered soul.


Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band,

Each feature fierce and hagard, as with pain! With menace loud he cries, while from his hand

He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.

Lo, at his call, impetuous as the storms,

Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven ; Hatred, to madness wrought, each face deforms,

Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.

Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend,

Shield them, for Liberty who dare to dieAh, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend!

Are those thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly!

Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies,

Can brace the loosened nerves, or warm the heart; Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs,

When festers in the soul misfortune's dart.

See, "where by terror and despair dismayed,

The scattering legions pour along the plain! Ambition's car, in bloody spoils arrayed,

Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.

But who is He, that, by yon lonely brook,

With woods o'erhung, and precipices rude, Lies all abandoned, yet, with dauntless look,

Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?

Ah, BRUTUS! ever thine be Virtue's tear!

Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns,
As, scarce supported on her broken spear,

O’er her expiring son the goddess mourns.

Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies ;

From her dishevelled locks she rends the plume;

No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes,

And on her tear-stained cheek no roses bloom.

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